Chapter 25
Chapter twenty-five
Do Your Fucking Worst
The bottle felt heavy in Greyson’s hand, the expensive liquor burning a path down his throat that did nothing to dull the rage pulsing beneath his skin.
The town car’s interior pressed in on him, too small to control both his fury and the woman sitting beside him.
She hadn’t spoken since Jameson left the club.
Neither had he. Words seemed futile in the wake of what had just happened—what she’d almost done.
Shadera sat with her body angled away from him, one leg drawn up beneath her, creating as much distance as the back seat would allow.
The whiskey bottle in her hand tilted toward her lips, her throat working as she swallowed.
Her mask caught the shifting lights from outside, shadows dancing across the skull’s hollow eyes as they passed through the Heart’s gleaming streets.
He took another drink, letting the burn distract him from the images that kept flashing through his mind—Shadera in Jameson’s arms, her body pressed against his, the way her fingers had lingered on him. The fucking way she’d looked at him.
Chapman’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then quickly away. Smart man. He had served him long enough to recognize when silence was the safest option.
Greyson’s jaw clenched as the car hit a small bump, forcing his shoulder briefly against hers.
She shifted farther away, pressing herself against the door.
She’d been ready to leave. To walk out that door with Ghost and disappear into the night, knowing exactly what it would cost. Knowing what his father would do to the rings, to Lira, to Callum. Knowing what he would do to Greyson.
The realization came with a bitter taste that even the alcohol couldn’t wash away. She’d rather risk everything—risk everyone—than remain with him. The thought dug hooks into his chest, tearing at something he couldn’t name. Wouldn’t name.
He drank again, deeper this time.
Outside the window, Serel Tower loomed ahead, platinum spires reaching toward the sky like accusing fingers.
Home. Or the closest thing to it now. Except it didn’t feel like home anymore—not with her in it, bringing chaos into his carefully ordered existence.
Not with her betrayal still bleeding between them.
The car pulled into the private garage beneath the tower, the transition from street to underground marked by a sudden dimming of light.
Chapman brought the vehicle to a smooth stop and Shadera was out before Chapman could open her door, striding toward the elevator without waiting.
Greyson followed, his movements controlled despite the alcohol making the edges of his vision swim.
The elevator ride stretched, eternal, silence broken only by the mechanical hum of their ascent.
She stood in the corner, still clutching her bottle, mask firmly in place.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body despite the distance between them.
Could smell the mix of club smoke and her skin.
Could hear each controlled breath she took.
The elevator doors slid open and she could feel his eyes on her back as he unlocked the door to the apartment and stepped inside. She pushed in beside him, moving with purpose toward the hallway, toward her room—away from him. Away from the conversation they needed to have.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice low as he followed her into the apartment, not bothering to turn on any lights.
She paused mid step but didn’t turn.
“Don’t walk away from me.” Greyson set his bottle down on the entry table with enough force that liquid sloshed over the rim.
Shadera’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath before she turned to face him. Her mask stared back at him, impassive and cold.
“Take it off,” he commanded, reaching up to remove his own. The mask came away with a soft sound, the apartment’s air cool against his exposed skin.
For a moment, he thought she might refuse. Then her fingers found the edges of her mask, lifting it from her face carefully. Her eyes met his, green and defiant and beautiful in their hatred.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her voice flat.
Something inside Greyson snapped. The control he’d maintained since the club, the restraint he’d forced upon himself during the drive—it all collapsed beneath the weight of her indifference.
“It’s really that easy for you?” The words tore from him, alcohol making his voice rough. “To just betray whoever you need to on a whim?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Betray you? I can’t betray someone I’m not loyal to in the first place.”
“We had an agreement.”
“We had a threat,” she corrected, stepping closer, her finger jabbing toward his chest. “Your father’s threat. Don’t confuse that with loyalty or choice.”
Greyson matched her step, closing the distance between them. “You were really going to fucking leave knowing what would happen? To the rings. To Lira. To Callum.”
“Don’t you dare.” Her voice dropped, dangerous now. “Don’t you dare try to make me responsible for your father’s actions.”
“But you are responsible for yours,” he snapped. “And if I hadn’t shown up, you would have chosen to leave us all here, knowing we would die because of your choice.”
“I want out!” The bottle in her hand swung wide with her gesture, liquid splashing onto the floor. “I want freedom from this fucking prison you call home. I want to stop playing house with the Heart’s Executioner.”
Greyson refused to flinch at her words. “Is that what we are doing? Playing house?”
“What else would you call it?” She laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “You can call me your fiancée all you want, but I am your prisoner. That’s all I’ll ever be.”
Greyson stepped closer still, his height forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.
“Is that what he was to you too? Why you left him in the Boundary so easily? Just another jailer keeping the infamous Shade tied down? Or did you actually give a fuck about him when you betrayed him too.”
Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps, at the naked jealousy in his voice.
“I have never betrayed him,” Shadera hissed up at him. “You don’t know anything about him, about us.”
“I know enough.” His voice hardened. “I know he was ready to get you killed. To risk everything on a fucking suicide mission that would’ve ended with both of you dead.”
“At least he was willing to try.” Her voice rose, edged with something raw. “At least he was willing to fight for me.”
“And I wasn’t?” Greyson demanded. “What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing since you got here? Sitting back and enjoying the show? I’m fighting every day—against my father, against the Heart, against this whole fucking system—just to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.”
Her lips curled. “While still doing his bidding. While still playing Executioner.” She took another drink, her eyes never leaving his. “And what about your little reunion with Maya? Don’t talk to me about Jameson when you were so quick to disappear upstairs with her.”
The accusation startled a harsh laugh from him. “Is that what you thought that was? You jealous, Daggermouth?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.” Shadera’s tone dripped venom. “I couldn’t care less who you fuck.”
“I wasn’t fucking her,” Greyson snapped. “I was getting information. About my father’s plans, about the military base, about the bombs he’s threatening to drop on your precious Boundary. She hears things in those clubs.”
“How convenient,” she mocked. “I’m sure her hands all over you was just part of the exchange.”
“Careful, Shade.” His voice lowered to a dangerous register. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”
They were close now, nearly touching. Greyson could smell the whiskey on her breath, could see the flush spreading across her cheeks, the rapid pulse at her throat. Her anger was a tangible thing between them, reflecting his own, beat for beat.
“I care about surviving,” she said, her voice dropping to match his. “I care about getting out of this alive.”
“Is that why you kept that tablet?” he asked. “The one tucked into your back pocket? Or is it merely for staying in touch with your lover?”
Her eyes widened fractionally, but she recovered quickly. “I’ll use whatever tools I can get.”
“And what about me?” Greyson’s hand came up, not quite touching her hair, but hovering in the charged space between them. “Am I just another tool for you to use?”
Her breath caught, her eyes dropping briefly to his lips before snapping back up. The moment stretched between them, taut and electric.
Then a red dot appeared on the wall beside them.
Greyson reacted on instinct, grabbing Shadera and pulling her to the floor just as the glass of the nearby window spiderwebbed with the impact.
“Stay down,” he hissed, his body covering hers as his hand reached for the gun holstered at his shoulder.
She stiffened beneath him, then went completely still as the sound of movement registered from within the apartment—soft footfalls, the rustle of fabric, the nearly imperceptible click of a safety being disengaged.
“We’re not alone,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear.
Greyson’s mind raced, adrenaline cutting through the alcohol’s fog. The apartment should have been secure, the security system engaged. Someone had overridden his protocols, which meant only one thing—Veyra.
He moved off Shadera, pressing her against the wall as he unholstered his gun.
Shadera’s eyes were wide but focused, her breathing controlled. Not fear—calculation.
“Give me a weapon,” she demanded, her voice steady.
“No.” Greyson checked the magazine, then chambered a round.
“Are you fucking insane? We’re under attack and you won’t—”
“Figure it out.” He met her eyes, saw the fury there, the disbelief, and smirked at her. “You’re resourceful.”
Before she could respond, he was moving, cracking the balcony door and firing two shots at the sniper position. Return fire erupted immediately.