Chapter 83 Carter
Carter
Sable leaned back in the chair as much as the zip ties allowed, blood dripping onto the wood floor, his smirk curling like he’d already won. I’d seen that look before—in warlords, in men who thought money and hired guns made them immortal.
They all bled the same.
River pulled a chair around, sitting across from him, calm as a judge. Gideon hovered at the table, laptop open, waiting to cross-check every word. Cyclone stayed by the door, his hand flexing against the grip of his sidearm like he was praying for an excuse to pull it.
And me—I stood right in front of Sable, rifle lowered but ready, every nerve strung tight.
Harper was just behind me. I didn’t need to look to know; I could feel her eyes on me, feel the tremor of her breath.
She shouldn’t have been in the room for this.
But I’d promised her the truth, and I wasn’t breaking that vow.
River spoke first, voice steady. “You’ve got a choice. Talk, and maybe you keep breathing. Stay silent, and Carter here makes sure you don’t.”
Sable chuckled low, shaking his head. “Your threats don’t work on me? They might have worked on Graves now he’s rotting, rotting in the grave.”
My boot slammed into the leg of the chair, knocking it back against the wall. His smirk slipped when I leaned down, my face inches from his. “You’ve got thirty seconds to start giving me names before I put another bullet in you. And trust me—it won’t be a clean one this time.”
His eyes flicked to Harper then, like he wanted to see if he could rattle me by using her. Wrong move.
I pressed the rifle muzzle against his collarbone until he hissed in pain. “Look at me. Only me. If you so much as glance at her again, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”
For the first time, he swallowed. The smirk faltered.
“Fine,” he spat. “You want names? Accounts? I’ll give you something.
But you won’t like what you find. Because this doesn’t end with me—or with Harper.
This runs higher. Deeper. And when you see who’s really pulling the strings…
” He leaned forward, his voice dropping low.
“You’ll wish you’d killed me when you had the chance. ”
The silence that followed was heavy, thick with more than just threats.
I stepped back, jaw clenched, rifle steady. “Then start talking.”
Because whatever storm was waiting, I wasn’t letting it touch her. Not while I was breathing.