Chapter 62
RYKER
Two weeks didn’t fix anything. It only let my body stop screaming long enough for my mind to start.
The bruises faded. The rope burns scabbed over.
The soreness dulled into a constant ache that reminded me where the line had been crossed.
I could sit without gripping the edge of the couch.
I could breathe without feeling that low, surgical pull every time my lungs expanded.
I could walk and even return to the gym.
But the rest of me stayed wired.
Sloane tried to keep me in the house for three extra days. She didn’t demand it. She didn’t argue. She stayed with me, close enough that if I slipped sideways into something dark, she could catch my sleeve.
I let her, because she deserved to know where I was. To have a say in what happened next. I wasn’t going to disappear and leave her holding the aftermath alone.
When I finally told Kip and Death I was ready, the text was short.
Me:
Tonight.
No address in writing. No details. Just the time and the rule.
They didn’t reply with questions. They replied with confirmation.
That was what I needed from them.
Sloane waited until Nate was asleep before she stood in the doorway and watched me lace my boots.
Her face stayed calm. Her eyes didn’t.
“You’re sure?” she asked.
I tugged my jacket on and checked my phone. The burner sat heavy in my palm. “Yes.”
She didn’t smile at that. She came closer and adjusted the collar of my shirt like she was smoothing me into place.
“Bring yourself back.”
I caught her wrist and held it. “I’m coming back.”
Sloane’s fingers tightened around mine. “Don’t make me regret believing you.”
I leaned down and kissed her, slowly, not hungry. A promise I could live with. “I won’t.”
I left through the back door and didn’t look over my shoulder until I reached the end of her driveway.
The night air felt cleaner away from the house. It always did. Like danger didn’t have any rules out there. Like the shadows made more sense than living rooms and soft blankets and a woman who could look at me like I was still worth keeping.
Kip’s car was parked two streets over, engine running, lights off.
He didn’t get out. He watched me approach in the side mirror, then pushed the passenger door open.
I slid in and shut it behind me.
Kip tracked my face, my hands, the way I moved. The way I kept my shoulders squared as if the night was waiting to grab me again. “You’re upright,” he said. “That’s something.”
“Yeah.”
He glanced at me again. “Death’s already set. He’s waiting for us.”
“I’m ready.”
Kip pulled away from the curb and drove. He already knew where the cameras were, where the blind spots lived, where the city stopped being a city and turned into a place you could bury mistakes.
We didn’t talk for the first ten minutes.
Kip didn’t force it, and I didn’t trust my own words yet.
Finally, Kip broke the silence. “Give me the clean version. No spirals.”
I stared through the windshield at the streetlights blurring into lines.
“Pied Piper took me. He held me. He restrained me. He made it clear he could do whatever he wanted.”
Kip’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.
I kept my voice level because if it cracked, the car would fill with the kind of darkness none of us wanted to touch.
“He took my sperm while I was in recovery at the rehab center. I was having flashbacks. I thought it was the time I was in the hospital right after the attack, but it wasn’t.
He told me he was building children. I saw where they’re nursing the babies.
My sons. Like their goddamn inventory.” I seethed.
“Fuck.”
I didn’t look at him. I didn’t need his reaction. I needed the next part out before I couldn’t say it.
“And the price for coming home—” I stopped. “He made sure I’ll never have kids. Not on my own. Not ever. Then he took what my body had already made before it was done. To make sure my future line belonged only to him.”
Kip exhaled hard through his nose, slow and sharp. “Goddamn him. That sick son of a bitch has to be stopped.”
“I wish I knew how. The bastard is always three steps ahead of us.”
“No shit.” Kip’s hold on the steering wheel tightened. “So, Hamilton was really working with the Pied Piper and we had no idea?”
“Yeah.” The name sounded like old metal.
“Hamilton arranged it. Hamilton facilitated it. Hamilton is the reason any of it was possible. The programs for the gifted, the fucking rabbit tattoo was a tracker. They marked gifted, highly intelligent young men to use. Hamilton is as guilty as the Pied Piper.”
Kip’s attention landed on me. “You’re sure?”
“Very. I saw both of them while I was … away.”
Kip rubbed his jaw. “You want Hamilton.”
It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t permission. It was a statement of fact.
“I want him.”
Kip’s attention remained on the road. “Good because Death has a welcome home gift for you.”
Even though I suspected who that gift was, I would have to wait and see.
The city fell behind us as we headed toward the industrial edge where warehouses sat empty. The kind of place where the air smelled like dust and old oil.
Kip pulled into a lot with cracked pavement and dead grass pushing through seams. He killed the headlights before we were fully in, then rolled the car forward on the last of its momentum.
I climbed out without sound.
Kip followed, his weapon low, scanning the area. Then, he gestured with two fingers. Move.
We crossed the lot on foot, keeping distance between us.
The warehouse was a slab of concrete and corrugated metal, half-collapsed in places, graffiti layered over old company logos. A chain-link fence sagged along one side.
A single door stood ajar.
Kip didn’t go through it. He circled.
My pulse stayed controlled, steady, even as the list built itself without permission.
Hamilton. The sterile voice. The clinical hands. The man who could talk about children as data points.
Images of Sloane flashed through my mind.
Nate’s breathing in her bed.
The weight of something that had been mine, stolen and packaged and turned into an evil plan.
Kip touched my shoulder, firm. Focus.
I tipped my chin.
Death was already inside. Waiting.
Kip slowed near the loading dock where the wall met a shadowed alcove. He lifted a hand, signaling me to hold.
The sound inside was almost nothing. Just a faint shift. A scrape that might have been a boot on dust.
We waited. A beat. Two.
Kip pulled his devil mask on without a word. I did the same with the crow mask.
Then the door opened wider from within. Death stepped into view for half a second, his grim reaper mask cut from shadow and moonlight. He didn’t wave us in. He simply turned and disappeared back into the dark.
Kip went first, weapon up but not waving, his movement smooth and precise. I followed, my boots silent on concrete dust.
Inside, the air was colder. The space was huge and hollow, broken up by rusted shelving and scattered pallets. Moonlight slipped through holes in the roof, striping the floor in pale slashes.
In the center of the open area, a figure knelt.
Hamilton.
His hands were secured behind him. Zip ties tight and unforgiving. His mouth wasn’t gagged, but his expression was filled with panic, hair disheveled like he’d finally run out of clean rooms to hide in.
Death stood behind him, still as a statue. His dark eyes glinted through his grim reaper mask, and a chill skated down my spine.
As I stepped into the light, Death lifted his hand and held something out toward me.
My knife.
The crow-feather blade he’d made for me. The one they’d taken when they dragged me into that room and stripped me down to nothing.
My fingers closed around the grip. The metal felt cold, real. A familiar weight settled into my palm. I ran my thumb over the feather detail without looking at it, and rage slid into place behind my ribs like a lock clicking shut.
Death didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.
Hamilton’s gaze snapped to my hand, then to my face. Recognition hit him first and then fear.
Kip moved to my side and stopped, giving me space without leaving me unguarded.
Death’s head tilted slightly, his mask catching the moonlight.
Hamilton’s mouth opened, and he didn’t look like a man in control of anything.
I took one step forward. Then another. The warehouse went very quiet.
I circled him slowly, feeding off his fear, craving his blood on my hands. I stopped in front of him and used the tip of my blade under his chin to force his head up. I wanted to look him in the eye when I asked him the next question.
“Why did you do it?”
His almost maniacal laugh filled the room. “Money. And you made me so fucking rich.”
I closed my hand around the handle of my weapon before I smashed my fist into his face. Blood gushed from his busted nose, and he spat blood on the floor.
“Nothing I do to you will ever be enough. Not for me. Not for the kids. Not for my parents.”
He sneered. The quiet and in-control man I’d met at the phony office wasn’t present today. He was unraveling. It should have made me happy to see it, but until his sin was paid for in full, I wouldn’t walk away feeling as though I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do. Stopping him for good.
Kip kept his distance and allowed me some space. Death had moved to the far wall, waiting until I needed him. They understood this was all mine. It was personal.
I crouched in front of him. “Tell me what the Pied Piper’s weakness is. How can he be stopped?”
Hamilton cackled. “It’s too late. He’s had plans set in motion for years. This is his empire. Look at the children he created just from you. Don’t you think he’s done this with other intelligent kids? Do you honestly think you’re the only one?”
Not the only one. The words carved out a hollow inside me that I didn’t have time to fill. I would carry it later. Right now, Hamilton still had breath in him. “Why?”
“He’s building an army. He’s creating his own world exactly how he wants it to be. With him in control.”
“He’s raising children to be killers!” I seethed. “Innocent children, and you helped him get every single one of them, didn’t you?”
His brow rose slightly, but he didn’t respond.
“You’re as sick as he is.” I stood and turned my blade, feeling the weight of it again.
I looked at Death. “Can we stand him up?”
Death nodded and then pushed a button on the wall.
He had already rigged the place. A large hook lowered, and he strolled over as if it was another beautiful Sunday morning, jerked Hamilton to his feet and secured the hook on the back of a holster I hadn’t noticed Hamilton wearing until now. I was too focused on making him suffer.
“This is for Nate.” I slashed his cheek, red blooming as he clenched his teeth. “This is for Sloane.” I slashed across his chest. “This is for every child you preyed upon and turned over to a monster.”
I shoved the blade through his ribs, watching his blood spray from the wound.
“This is for my children under the Pied Piper’s control.
” I plunged the knife into his gut. The low ache from my surgery flared sharp when I drove the blade in again.
He doubled over, and I raised my booted foot and kicked his chin.
He swung backward, his cries of pain filling the room.
My entire body filled with a thick rage.
I secured my grip on the hilt and allowed the pain and anger to consume me as I drove my knife into him over and over.
For the first time, I let every emotion come forward, no hiding it behind weed or workouts.
I owned it. I owned every dark, twisted, fucked-up part of me as I stabbed him again and again until the floor was slick with crimson, his intestines hanging out.
I shook from the exertion, from stabbing him so many times he was mutilated.
I stepped back and stared at what was left of him. He’d stopped breathing a while ago, but I kept going. I wouldn’t apologize for it. It felt good. Finally releasing all control felt fucking amazing, and I would never ask for forgiveness.
Death and Kip approached me, but kept some space between us, not crowding me.
“One less fucker we have to worry about.” Death tipped his chin at me before he returned to the wall, pressed the button, and we watched what was left of Hamilton be lowered to the floor.
I glared at him. “See you in hell, motherfucker.”
Hamilton was done. Nate was home. We’d bought time. But the Pied Piper was still out there, and this war was far from over.