Chapter 54 #2
Brooke pulls on the first clothes she can reach, then follows me down the hall. We gather around the television on the wall.
Travis flicks something on the screen. The television feed shifts to a breaking news banner. A reporter stands in front of a graphic with two photos side by side.
My old booking photo.
Brooke’s Stratford photo.
Bold text beneath them calls us a nationwide manhunt.
“Turn it up,” I say.
Beau grabs the remote and raises the volume.
“…authorities are asking the public to be on the lookout for Seth Kincaid and Brooke Sinclair,” the anchor says.
“The pair is now wanted in connection with the Everspring Hotel massacre, multiple kidnappings, and a series of homicides involving dismemberment. Investigators believe they may be operating as a psychotic serial killer couple, responsible for a growing number of violent crimes across several states.”
Brooke’s fingers tighten on the back of the chair in front of her.
The screen shifts to footage from different angles.
Grainy shots from Everspring security cameras play first, catching blurred figures and streaks of motion.
Still images follow, rows of body bags lined up outside the hotel while emergency lights wash everything in red and blue.
Then they pull an old photo from the campus vigil for the Stratford students.
The anchor keeps talking.
“Some online communities have already begun referring to the pair as ‘The Stratford Slashers,’” she says. “The name references both the Stratford student homicides and the dismemberment patterns present in later crime scenes.”
Travis lets out a breath that sounds half horrified and half impressed.
“I mean, at least they gave you guys a cool serial killer name,” he says quietly.
Brooke shoots him a look that could cut through bone.
“Really? That is the part you focus on.”
Travis lifts his hands in front of his chest. “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking,” he mutters.
“Law enforcement sources confirm that both suspects are considered armed and extremely dangerous,” the anchor continues. “Officers have been instructed to treat any contact as a lethal threat. If you see them, you should not approach. You should call the tip line immediately.”
A message bar crawls along the bottom, listing a reward amount and a federal number in bold white text.
“Fucking fantastic,” Brooke says quietly. “They made it sound like we planned the Everspring massacre.”
“They needed a story that made sense to people who watch this shit over dinner,” I glance at Brooke. “Serial killer couple sells more fear than the truth ever will.”
Beau exhales through his nose and points at the screen. “Listen to this part.”
The feed cuts to another talking head, some former profiler with too much hairspray and a practiced frown.
“Based on current evidence, this fits a pattern of pair bonding around violence,” she says.
“He has military training and a history of aggression. She is the survivor of multiple mass homicides who appears to have fused her attachment to him with participation in his crimes. Together they present an extreme risk. Law enforcement will likely prioritize neutralization over capture.”
Brooke’s mouth pulls tight. She turns her head just enough to meet my eyes.
“Wow, they really psychoanalyzed us.”
Travis shifts uncomfortably beside the couch. “I mean… I can’t say they’re exactly wrong.”
Brooke raises an eyebrow.
Travis lifts his hands defensively. “But also, context matters. You guys are killing people, but it’s justified. And you are killing bad people.”
He pauses.
“Like… really bad people.”
Beau walks out the room.
“Travis,” Beau’s voice carries down the hallway, “stop talking.”
“Seth. Office. Now.”
I walk down the hall and push the office door open.
Beau stands by the desk with his arms folded. He waits until I shut the door.
“I need your help with something,” he says.
“With what?” I ask.
“Mercer.”
The anger comes back the second I hear his name.
My fingers flex at my sides. I keep my face neutral.
“He was supposed to be my last hit,” Beau says.
I look at him.
“He slipped me,” Beau adds. “Got away before I could finish it.”
That alone is enough to tell me how bad the situation is.
Mercer is not sloppy. Mercer is not careless. Mercer is smart.
He is tactical in a way that makes most men look like amateurs, and when we were still in the Marines he has a reputation that only a handful of people ever earn. He was one of the most vicious killers in the unit.
Besides us.
“He knew I was coming for him,” Beau continues. “Which means he knows the contract is still open. And Mercer is not the type to sit around waiting for someone to try again. He is the type who hunts the person hunting him.”
Beau looks straight at me.
“So before I get the chance to recalibrate and go after him again, he is most likely going to come for me.”
Mercer is what happens when the military takes a violent ego and gives it structure. He learns the rules well enough to bend them. He learns the language of brotherhood well enough to hide behind it. He's the guy who volunteers first, then makes sure someone else pays the cost.
He likes pressure. He likes watching people crack. He likes testing boundaries until you either fight back or fold.
Me and Beau clocked him early. I mean we are no saints, but Mercer’s kind of cruelty isn’t about orders or missions. It is personal entertainment. He never says the quiet parts out loud, but everybody hears them anyway.
The worst part is that Mercer can perform competently when it matters. He can shoot. He can move. He can plan. He can make it look clean. When you try to warn someone about him, you sound paranoid because Mercer knows how to keep his record polished while he dirties everything else.
I look at Beau and keep my voice low. “Fuck. I always hated that asshole.”
Beau holds my gaze. “Now you can kill him. I need backup for this.”
“Beau,” I sigh. “Brooke is in the other room. We are already on a nationwide manhunt list. Every move we make is a risk. We can’t start taking side work.”
Beau’s jaw tightens. “This is not side work. This is a threat coming at us.”
I look at him. “You have people. You always have people.”
“None that I trust more than you,” Beau replies. “I need your help, Seth.”
That lands harder than Mercer’s name.
Beau doesn’t ask often. Beau doesn’t beg. If he says he needs me, it means he has already run through every other option and hated the results.
“Mercer has backup,” Beau continues. “At least two. Possibly more. He isn’t moving alone.”
My eyes drift to the desk. My mind pulls up Brooke’s face without asking.
I swallow.
I owe Beau my life.
That debt is not something you pay back with words.
Beau has pulled me out of situations that should have ended me.
He has done it without ever saying it out loud, but I keep the score anyway.
I keep it because I’m not stupid. When you owe someone like Beau, you don't forget it without becoming the kind of man I refuse to be.
Still, guilt burns in my chest because I know what this will look like from Brooke’s side.
I disappear again.
I choose violence again.
I choose someone else’s need over her peace again.
Brooke has been through too much to be treated like that. She has earned truth in blood. Every secret I keep from her feels like stealing something.
I drag a hand down my face. “She’ll know something is off.”
“She’ll know if you act weird,” Beau replies. “So don’t.”
I let out a slow breath. “That's not helpful advice.”
“You want helpful?” Beau folds his arms. “Mercer is already moving. Someone most likely sent him to kill me.”
My stomach twists.
I could say no. I could stay.
And then Mercer would show up anyway, and I would have to live with the fact that I left Beau alone against a man who has always loved stacked odds.
I rub a hand over my mouth and stare at the floor for a beat.
“How soon?”
“Tonight,” Beau pushes off the desk. “We go in quiet. We end it fast. We come back.”
I nod once, slow, because my body has already decided and my mind is still trying to fight it.
“If anything shifts, we leave.” I hold his stare. “If I say we’re done, we’re done.”
Beau nods. “Fine.”
I move toward the door, then stop with my hand on the knob.
Behind it, Brooke is still in the living room. She's still waiting in that soft, fragile space we keep trying to build inside chaos. If I walk back in there and lie to her face, part of me will hate myself for it.
If I don’t go with Beau, part of me will hate myself for that too.
I stand there, trapped between loyalty and love, and neither one feels clean.
I open the door and step back into the hall with Beau right behind me. The quiet in the house feels different from the tension in the office.
Brooke looks up from the couch the second we come back in. Her eyes move between us.
“What’s going on?” she asks.
“Me and Beau are going to check in with a couple of his connections,” I say. “See if we can get ahead of the Mercer problem before it turns into something bigger.”
Her brows pull together slightly.
“Can I come?”
“No.”
The answer comes out fast, but I keep my tone calm.
“It’s not like that,” I add. “We’re not walking into anything. We just need to ask a few questions. These are people who only trust us, so I don’t need backup.”
She holds my gaze for a second, reading it, trying to decide how much of that she believes.
“I should at least come in the car.”
I shake my head.
“No.”
Her expression tightens.
“Seth—”
I step closer before she can keep going and cup her face, pulling her into a kiss that cuts off whatever she's about to say.
She softens against me for a second before I pull back.
“I’ll be back,” I murmur. “Three hours. Max.”
Her eyes search mine.
I can see it.
The hesitation. The part of her that doesn’t like this, that doesn’t trust it, that doesn’t want to let me walk out that door again.
“Three hours?”
“Three hours.”
She exhales slowly, like she is forcing herself to accept it.
“Fine,” she relents, even though it isn’t.
I brush my thumb along her jaw once, then step back.
“Lock the doors after we leave.”
Her lips press together, but she nods.
I turn before I give myself a reason to stay.