44. Ryker
RYKER
The moment I was alone in my car, my hands started shaking with a white-hot, murderous rage. The kind that lives under your skin and waits for permission.
Hamilton’s words kept replaying, I know where Nate is. You don’t set the terms. You just show up and comply.
Sloane’s brother.
A missing man. A leverage point.
I gripped the steering wheel until the leather bit into my palms, then forced myself to breathe through my nose. In. Out. Control it. If I lost control now, I’d make sloppy decisions, and sloppy decisions got people buried.
I pulled my phone out, and Sloane’s missed call notification popped up. If I called her back now, I’d let something slip. No fucking way could I drag her any deeper into what Hamilton had just set in motion.
I messaged Death and Kip first.
9-1-1
Death’s response came almost immediately.
Bunker. One hour.
Kip followed a beat later.
On my way.
“Fuck,” I muttered, slamming the heel of my hand against the wheel hard enough to make the horn blip once. Heads turned in the parking lot. I didn’t care.
I messaged Sloane.
Me:
You good, little fox?
I watched the screen like it could bleed. My stomach clenched as I willed her to answer faster. She was probably laughing with the girls, wine in hand, and safe because I’d told her to be.
But safety in our world was temporary, often borrowed. Sometimes stolen. I wanted to tell her everything. Right now. I wanted to hear her voice and anchor myself to it. I couldn’t, though.
Not in a fucking text. Especially not when the wrong person could be watching or listening. And Hamilton had proven he could reach into my past and pull strings until my present snapped.
Sloane:
With the girls at Ella’s. I tried calling you. Are you okay? I found something, and I don’t want to put it in a text. We need to talk.
My pulse kicked.
Found something.
I didn’t like the timing of that, but it would have to wait.
Me:
Same. I’ll be later than expected. Meeting the guys for a drink.
A lie that tasted wrong. She’d never seen me drink. I hadn’t since before the attack. Not since I’d clawed my way back into my own body and promised myself that I wouldn’t numb anything again. This wasn’t a drink, though. This was a lead.
Sloane:
Drive safe. Call me if you want me to pick you up instead.
I stared at the offer longer than I should have. The sweetness of it. The normalcy. Like we were a couple making plans after dinner, not two people caught in something that didn’t forgive attachments.
I tapped a thumbs-up reaction and tossed the phone into the cup holder.
As soon as I started the car, Spotify kicked on too loud, too sudden. “Devil’s Gonna Come” by Raphael Lake and Royal Baggs filled the car.
A humorless laugh scraped out of me.
“Motherfucker’s already here,” I muttered as I pulled out of the lot and headed for the bunker.
An hour and ten minutes later, I met Death and Kip at the bunker.
It was the same as I’d left it after Sloane and I had been there. Chains still on the floor. The room still carried the faint memory of metal and sweat and violence. I’d cleaned up the rest, but some things didn’t wipe away.
Death didn’t greet me when I walked in. He just looked at me from across the room, arms folded, that stillness that meant he wasn’t happy with me. Far from it.
Maybe I was just paranoid, and he didn’t know about Sloane. Yeah, right.
I didn’t wait for him to start. “Did Bass talk to you about Sloane and Mick?”
His grey eyes narrowed on me, anger rolling off him in waves strong enough to force me to take a step backward. “Yes. She should be dealt with. Permanently.”
The hair on the back of my neck rose. When Death made up his mind, there was no going back.
I squared my shoulders. “Sloane stays. No one will touch her.” I’d known Death for years. Deep inside he might want to deal with me, but he’d never kill me. I had that on my side at least. But no one, not even my family, would ever hurt her.
Death’s jaw shifted. “Sebastian already made that argument.”
“Good. I remember you making the same argument when Kip and I warned you away from the cam site.”
The muscle in his jaw twitched. Checkmate.
“And?”
“And I’m still here.” His eyes moved over me, slow and deliberate. “So is she.”
That was as close to a blessing as I was going to get from him. I’d take it.
Kip said nothing. He didn’t have to.
“Ready to deal with this other shit show?” I asked.
Death nodded.
I paced while I talked, rubbing my hands together. I laid out what Hamilton had given me, which wasn’t much.
Just a promise. Just a noose with a clock on it.
Death leaned against the wall with his arms folded. The way he did when he was deciding who would die.
Kip sat back in a chair, watching me like he was watching a fuse burn.
“What’s your gut say, Ryker? Is Hamilton telling you the truth?” Death studied me as I paced.
I stood still. The question landed heavier than it should’ve, because my gut had been right about things I didn’t want to be right about.
“There was something about how he said it,” I admitted. “Quiet. Controlled. Like he was afraid the wrong sound would travel.” I dragged a hand down my cheek. “The whole office was staged. Not a speck of dust. Too clean. And no plaque on the door.”
Kip’s forehead creased. “Like he was borrowing the office to meet you in.”
“Exactly.”
Death pushed off the wall. “Regardless, he’s kept tabs on you. Something’s changed, or he’s trying to cut ties with whoever he’s working for.”
My chin tipped up. The anger sharpened into something lethal.
“One thing I can tell you is Hamilton isn’t walking away free.
He’ll be ten fucking feet underground when I’m done with him.
” I rubbed the back of my neck imagining it was Hamilton’s, and his face darkening to a bluish purple beneath my grip.
“He opened doors for me. At the time, we thought those programs for gifted kids were good.”
Kip’s stare didn’t waver. “Do you remember any of it?”
“Yeah. I remember everything up until I went missing at eleven. After, nothing lines up. It’s all fragments and gaps like someone took scissors to my brain.
” My hand curled into a fist. “Whatever they used, it didn’t only erase.
It rearranged. I’m positive they used it on me.
Probably when I was a kid. And again, when I got the rabbit. ”
Death’s expression didn’t change, but his energy did. He reached down and tugged his pant leg up enough to free the blade strapped there. He twirled it once, casual as sin.
“You know how I feel about people who mess with kids,” he said. “It’s a goddamn no for me.”
He wasn’t the only one ready to kill.
“First,” I said, forcing myself back into strategy, “we get Nate back if he’s really alive. I’m not saying a word to Sloane until I’m sure. The last thing I want is to get her hopes up, then walk in empty-handed.”
“Smart,” Kip said. “No reason to fuck with her head. Besides, we need time to figure out a strategy.”
Death turned to me. “In other words, we’re going with you.”
“I hoped you would,” I said. “Problem is, I don’t know where the hell we’re going yet.”
As if the universe heard me, my phone buzzed. I yanked it out of my pocket. It was an unknown number with a street address.
Then a second message with directions.
Unknown:
8 pm.
I read it, heat blooming behind my eyes. “Wait,” I said to my phone, “You said twenty-four hours, asshole.” I typed back.
Me:
8 p.m. tomorrow?
The response came instantly.
Unknown:
Tonight. Or the deal is off.
My blood ran fucking backward in my veins. “Son of a bitch. He’s moving it to tonight.”
“Good.” Death’s mouth curved into something ugly. “We’re ready.”
Kip shot him a look. “We are?”
Death didn’t blink. “Always.”
I grabbed my bag and pulled my computer out. The bunker’s internet was slow, but it didn’t need to be fast. I just needed the map. The terrain. The blind spots.
I set the laptop on the table and typed the address in. The screen glow washed my hands pale as the satellite image loaded.
Google Earth snapped into place.
“Here,” I said.
Kip and Death stood behind me, studying the location.
“It’s in the middle of nowhere,” Death said.
“I figured as much.” I looked at Kip. He was quiet, the way he got when he was building something inside his head.
Death’s voice went thoughtful. “What would we do if the tables were turned, and we were baiting someone?”
Kip’s mouth twitched. “Bait and kill.”
“Yeah.” Death’s gaze sharpened. “So that’s how we approach it.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “What do you have in mind?”
For the next thirty minutes, we built the plan. Tight. Brutal. Every hole covered, every exit mapped. I needed it to work.
Because if Nate wasn’t really there, we still had to walk away alive.
And if Nate was there …
I was walking into a trap that wasn’t designed to be fair. One wrong move and I wouldn’t get another.
The thought landed hard. This could be the last time I saw any of my friends. Again.
And I hadn’t admitted it to myself until that second, but if this was the price of getting Nate out alive—
I would pay it. I’d walk into whatever they built for me and burn my way back out.
Little did I realize, it had very little to do with Nate at all.