Chapter Twenty-One #4
He’s shocked, yes, but he should be terrified.
I step forward, and the warehouse seems to narrow until it’s just me and him and the history between our families.
I smile, small and calculating, and for the first time tonight I feel like I’m finally standing on the edge of revenge that belongs to me to finish.
Until the air in the shed shifts before words even come—one of those instinctive warnings that slithers through your veins before your mind can catch up.
Bryce’s expression twists, his mouth curling into that ugly, satisfied smirk that makes my stomach turn.
The lights flicker, casting his shadow long and crooked across the filthy floor, and I know something’s changed.
The balance we had, the quiet control in the room—it’s gone.
He’s talking before I can breathe. “You know,” he drawls, voice thick with arrogance, “I’m actually glad you’re here to witness it. Their downfall.” His finger sweeps across my men, his grin widening. “And yours.”
He laughs—a sharp, grating sound that doesn’t belong to someone sane.
The noise ricochets off the concrete walls.
Then he reaches into his slacks, hand emerging with a small black device.
It looks harmless at first glance, but the way he waves it makes my pulse spike.
“I thought it was you three,” he says, gesturing toward Rowan, Ronan, and Emerson, “but now…” His gaze slides to me, deliberate and taunting.
“Now, I’m thinking your girlfriend had a hand in this too.
She always was the smart one, wasn’t she? ”
The insult rolls off me. I smile instead, letting him see it.
“You’d be correct,” I tell him, voice calm and amused.
I take a step forward, quiet, measured. “I’m the one who cut through your network.
The one who gutted your accounts, one by one.
And those pretty little warehouses you thought were untouchable? I enjoyed watching them burn.”
The smirk slips away. His jaw tightens, anger warping his features until there’s nothing left but something hollow and vicious. Then, right on cue, he reaches for the last weapon he has—cruelty.
He starts talking about me and Reign, the words vile and slick. He uses her name like a curse, painting pictures meant to hurt. Then he turns it sharper, his grin wide and mean. He asks if I’m still as tight as he remembers or if my guys have loosened me up.
The sound that leaves Ronan is more animal than human. Rowan steps forward, every inch of him wired tight, and Emerson’s hand drops to his weapon with a slow, surgical precision that makes me certain Bryce is seconds away from dying.
But Bryce lifts the device, and they freeze. “I wouldn’t,” he says, voice trembling with adrenaline and ego. “I’ve got this whole place rigged to blow. Figured you’d come eventually.”
My mind snaps back to the second section of the warehouse—the poorly concealed device I’d found on the beam. He wasn’t bluffing. That one was his. He planted it as insurance.
He opens his mouth to keep talking, but the sound of a ringtone cuts him off. The device in his pocket buzzes, and he juggles both—the detonator and the phone, his hands shaking as he tries not to drop either. He answers.
“Do you have them?” Dean’s voice slithers through the speaker, the connection just clear enough to make my skin crawl.
Bryce’s grin slides back into place, slick with triumph. “I’ve got something better,” he says, angling the phone like he’s unveiling a prize. He means to parade me in front of Dean—but the balance shifts before he realizes it has.
The camera flips.
For a single, brutal heartbeat, my lungs forget how to work.
Kimber.
She’s tied to a chair, her little face streaked with tears and grime, her eyes wide and terrified. Her wrists are bound so tight I can see the red marks even through the shaky video.
“Give her back,” Emerson snarls, his voice breaking the quiet like a blade.
Bryce tilts his head, amused. “Now, now,” he says. “Dean’s the one who took her, not me. I told him it was a mistake, but you know how he gets.”
Dean laughs through the speaker, a deep, hollow sound that prickles across my skin. “Berkley,” he drawls, tasting my name like poison and delight. “It’s good to see you again. I thought you’d stay buried.”
I can’t stop the tremor that moves through me. They know. Both of them. The secret we’ve protected for months is gone, and the air feels thinner because of it.
Dean leans toward the camera, his smile too wide. “Let’s make a deal,” he says smoothly. “You, for her.”
The guy’s answer before I can, knowing I would have accepted the trade without hesitation. “No,” Ronan growls, the word shaking with fury. Rowan echoes him, sharper, angrier. Emerson just shakes his head, jaw tight.
Dean chuckles. “No problem,” he says, the words dripping with amusement.
Bryce laughs along, like the two of them rehearsed this.
“You see,” he says, still grinning, “this is how it’s going to go.
I walk out of here, and none of you follow.
If you do, I’ll blow the charges. You’ll all die right here, and I’ll make sure what’s left of your precious sister is sold to men who will appreciate her youth. ”
The way he says it makes bile rise in my throat. He mimics a parent’s tone, sick and cruel, as if he’s proud.
The room goes dead quiet. Even the air seems to pause. None of us moves. None of us speaks.
Bryce exhales sharply, his tone turning cold and detached. “Well,” he says, almost casually, “looks like there’s no need to keep this one around.” He tilts his head toward Dahlia; the gesture is cruel and deliberate.
He lifts the gun before I can draw breath. The shot cracks through the shed, sharp and brutal, echoing off the walls like thunder. Dahlia’s body snaps with the impact, momentum carrying her forward. She hits the floor hard, the sound final and unmistakable, leaving the air heavy in its wake.
“Dahlia!” My scream rips through my throat before I realize I’m moving.
The world narrows to red. I launch across the room, all reason gone. He’s still laughing when I hit him, driving him back into the wall. My hands grab for his wrist, the gun, anything, but he’s already pressing something—his detonator.
I don’t think. I grab my trigger and press.
The explosion swallows every other sound. Heat slams into me, shards of debris clawing through the air. For a heartbeat, the world is white and roaring. Then, it folds in on itself.
When the smoke clears, the shed is gone—half of it swallowed by fire, the other half shredded.
Bryce is nowhere to be seen—vanished into the smoke like a coward.
He’s either hiding or running, but I don’t care which.
All that’s left in me is a hollow ache and a fury so sharp it burns the back of my throat like blood.
Dahlia’s body lies still, broken and silent. My men are shouting, trying to regroup, but the sound doesn’t reach me. Dean’s voice still echoes in my head; Kimber’s terrified eyes burned into my skull.
We should have been one step closer to finishing this tonight. Instead, they took something else from us.
I straighten slowly, ash settling in my hair, and meet Ronan’s eyes through the haze. “He doesn’t get to live,” I whisper, my voice shaking with exhaustion and rage. “Neither of them.”
The flames rise higher, devouring what’s left behind us. Somewhere in that chaos, I swear I can still hear Bryce laughing. But next time, it’ll be his screams.
Because we all know this isn’t over. It’s only just begun.