Chapter 56
FIFTY-SIX
TRISTAN
Somewhere in the industrial wasteland of Newark, tucked between a defunct shipping company and a building that hasn't seen legitimate business since the Clinton administration, we found our little slice of heaven. No cameras. No neighbors. No random visitors.
I was here the last couple of nights. But today I decided to take Keira out on a little date.
Marco meets us at the door.
"How is he?" I ask.
"Alive. I gave him another dose of the blocking agent about an hour ago."
Our guest is in chemical paralysis, thanks to the neuromuscular blocker that ensures he stays conscious but won't be able to move. He can see, hear, and feel everything, though.
"You're a good man, Marco."
"I'm really not." He glances at Keira, standing beside me in dark jeans and a black sweater, her hair pulled back. "Are you okay being here?"
Keira smiles, nodding. "Yes, I wanted to come."
"She's taking the lead," I add.
Marco arches a brow at me, then looks to Keira with pure respect. "Good. He deserves everything you're about to give him. Don't hold back."
"Oh, I won't." She winks.
He steps aside, and we walk into the gray room. The place was abandoned when Aaron found it—nothing but exposed pipes and a single bare bulb casting everything in a sickly yellow light. In the center of the room, bolted to a metal table, lies Ewan Calder.
He looks great.
His shoulder is a mess of dried blood and exposed muscle where my bullet tore through. His face is swollen, purple bruises lining his cheekbones from the work I did last night. His fingers…well, he doesn't have all of them anymore.
His eyes track our movement as we approach.
Wide, petrified, and completely helpless.
Even if he wanted to scream or beg, he won't be able to.
Originally, I thought it would be more fun to hear him beg for forgiveness, but then I had a change of heart.
Thought it would be better for Keira if we worked in peace. Right until the end, anyway.
"Hey, sunshine." I drag a metal chair across the floor and settle into it like I'm about to watch my favorite show. "Miss me?"
His eyes bulge.
"I'll take that as a yes."
Keira moves past me, circling the table with the deliberate grace of a predator who's finally cornered her prey. She trails one finger along the edge, browsing.
When she reaches Calder's feet, she stops.
"You know what I kept thinking about last night?" Her voice is eerily calm, as if she's made peace with what she's about to do. "While I was holding Hale, trying to convince him that the monsters aren't real?"
She turns toward the table of tools behind her, studying her options.
She picks up a scalpel.
"I kept thinking about all the nights I did the same thing for myself." She tilts the blade so it catches the light. "All the nights I told myself it would get better. That you weren't really that cruel. That if I just tried harder, maybe you'd stop hurting me. That maybe you'd change."
Calder doesn't move. Won't look at her. Like if he stays perfectly still, she might forget he exists.
Fat fucking chance.
"But you were always a monster, Ewan." She circles back toward his head, the scalpel dangling loosely from her fingers. "I just didn't want to see it."
She tests the edge against her thumb. A thin line of red blooms on her skin.
"Now I see everything."
I shift in my chair.
I should probably be concerned about the fact that watching Keira embrace this side of herself is doing things to me. Things that are deeply inappropriate given the man strapped to a table who I've been torturing for a couple of days now.
Then again…
Not inappropriate at all.
"You used to say I was less than nothing." The scalpel hovers over his chest. "Just a toy to use. A hole to fill. Property to be disciplined."
She leans down, close enough that he has no choice but to see her.
"Do I still look like a toy to you, Ewan?"
She makes the first cut. It's shallower than I expected—a thin line across his sternum, precise as a surgeon's.
"That's for the first time you hit me," Keira says.
"Do you remember? The night before our so-called wedding. I wasn't feeling well. I didn't want to have dinner. And you backhanded me so hard I saw stars for two days."
Another cut. Parallel to the first. Deeper this time.
"That's for every time after."
Cut.
"Every slap."
Cut.
"Every shove."
Cut.
"Every night you climbed on top of me when I told you no."
I watch her work, and I feel…pride.
Not the normal kind. Not the kind you're supposed to feel. The dark kind. The possessive kind. The kind that makes me want to drag her off that table and worship every inch of her until she understands exactly how perfect she is.
Later. She's busy right now.
Calder is making unmistakable sounds of pain.
"You know what the worst part is?" Keira pauses, the scalpel hovering. "It's not the hits. It's not the…other things. It's that you made me believe I deserved it."
She leans close to his ear.
"I didn't deserve any of it, Ewan. But you?" She drags the scalpel slowly down his ribcage. "You deserve every second of this."
Keira works with intention, not rushing.
Each cut precise. Each one accompanied by a memory, a moment of pain she's finally releasing from where she's held it hostage inside her own body.
I watch her transform, shedding the tentative, broken version of herself that was locked in Calder's compound with every slice.
Some might call this sadistic, but this isn't just torture.
Not to anyone who can see it as clearly as I can.
Keira is reclaiming herself.
And fuck if that isn't the most attractive thing I've ever witnessed.
She glances at me over her shoulder and smiles.
"You're enjoying this," she murmurs.
"Immensely."
"That's disturbing."
"Probably." I shrug.
She turns back to Calder. "Where were we?"
Keira sets the scalpel down and picks up a small blowtorch, turning it on and adjusting it until it burns steady and blue.
"You told me no one could ever love someone like me. That my own son wasn't going to love me. I believed you when you said I was lucky to have you. When you made me feel so small and worthless that I forgot I was ever anything else."
She brings the flame close to his ruined shoulder, hovering just above the wound.
"Those things were never true, you fucking asshole." She presses the torch to his skin.
The smell of burning flesh fills the room. Calder's eyes roll back, his body straining against the drug, trying desperately to arch away from the pain. A thin whine comes out of his mouth, the closest thing to a scream his frozen vocal cords can produce.
Keira holds the flame steady for five seconds.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Then she pulls back, examining her work with pure satisfaction.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," she says, beaming.
"Fuck, you're hot."
I have to shift to hide my growing erection. Am I a little fucked up for getting turned on by the sight of her like this? Maybe. Definitely.
Fuck it.
It's the animal in me.
She blows me a kiss and then gets back to setting Calder's shoulder on fire.
I stand to get a closer look at her work.
He's covered in sweat, and I'm pretty sure he just pissed himself again.
We put pads and layers of cloth underneath him for just this type of thing.
Wouldn't want to interrupt a good session because of bodily functions.
Although, I must admit…I am a little surprised how much of a pathetic little bitch Calder turned out to be.
All talk, no game.
"What's next?" I nod toward the table of tools. "We've got options. Pliers. Hammer. That thing Marco called a 'persuader' that I'm pretty sure is illegal in most countries."
Keira considers the spread, then reaches for a simple pair of needle-nose pliers.
"He used to love grabbing my jaw. Squeezed until I was sure it would break. Force me to look at him while he told me all the ways I disappointed him." She moves beside Calder's head, positioning the pliers near his mouth.
"Let's see how he likes it," I suggest.
Keira positions the pliers, tilting her head to examine the angle. "Teeth first?"
She asks it like a dental hygienist confirming procedure with her supervisor.
I love her so goddamn much.
"Teeth first."
She nods once and gets to work.
The molar doesn't come out easy. She has to wiggle it, work it back and forth, applying steady pressure while Calder's frozen body trembles. When the roots finally tear free from the gum, the sound is so off that it would make a normal person gag.
It's a good thing we're far from normal.
Calder's eyes roll back. His body goes slack against the restraints, consciousness fleeing from a pain too big to hold.
I grab the prefilled syringe from the side table and jam it into his thigh. Pure adrenaline, straight to the bloodstream. His eyes snap open, face flooding crimson as his heart kicks into overdrive.
"Can't have you taking a nap while Keira's trying to fix your mouth." I twist the needle slowly, pushing it deeper before pulling it out. "That would be rude."
Keira extracts another tooth with a wet pop and drops it into a metal bowl on the side table. The clink of enamel on steel is strangely satisfying.
"Did Cat and Aaron get everyone on their list?" She reaches for another grip on the pliers, already onto her next target.
"All seventeen of them. Several major trafficking operations wiped out in a single evening. Record numbers, really. Cat's very pleased with herself."
"Good."
"Marchetti tried to make a deal." I examine my fingernails. "Offered to give up his whole operation in exchange for a quick death."
"How generous of him."
"Aaron thought so too. Gave him a slow, painful ending anyway. Right after Cat extracted everything she needed."
"She's efficient."
"She's a giver, that one." I watch Keira work the third tooth loose, her movements more confident now, finding her rhythm. "Mendoza went less quietly. Apparently he had a cyanide capsule hidden in a crown. Bit down on it before anyone could stop him."
Another wet pop. Another tooth in the bowl.
"Coward."
"That's what Dom said."
Keira pauses, pliers still positioned in Calder's mouth. "Where did they dump the bodies?"
"Let's just say the Hudson had a very productive night."
The smile that spreads across her face is something I haven't seen in years. It's her old, carefree smile—the one she used to wear when she'd beat me at darts and steal my whiskey in the same breath.
It's breathtaking.
She's breathtaking.
"And what about Dashkov?"
I arch a brow, letting my mouth curve into something mischievous. "Cat saved him just for me. He's already pretty useless—been deteriorating since the drink incident in Iceland—but I still want to give him a proper send-off."
I glance down at Calder, at his ruined mouth and tear-streaked face.
"This one's the main event." I gesture at the beautiful carnage we're creating together. "Dashkov gets to be dessert."
Keira's laugh is unrestrained. "You can have him all to yourself."
"Thanks, baby." I catch her wrist as she reaches for the pliers again, pulling her in for a kiss. "But this one I'm sharing with you."
"I want him to go slower," she says, turning back to Calder. "I want him to feel every second."
"Then take your time. We have all day. All week, if you want it. Marco's cleared his schedule."
From outside: "Damn right I have!"
Keira huffs out another laugh. "You have strange friends."
"The best kind."
I'm thankful for every single one of them and everything we've been through to get here.
Hard to believe Dominik, Aaron, and I all found love—the other half of our hearts—despite the chaos and everything life threw at us.
It's been a brutal journey, no question, but a memorable one.
One that brought us closer together in ways I never could have imagined.
We're not the same people we were when this started. We won't be the same five years from now, either.
But one thing will never change: we'll always be family. There for one another no matter what.
Chosen over blood. Forged in fire. Bound by something stronger than DNA.
Even if Aaron and Zoe are the only ones who share it.