Chapter 42 Thomas
Thomas
Violence was inefficient when fear could do the work for you.
Thomas sat at the long table in the back room of the villa, sleeves rolled up, calm as a man reviewing ledgers instead of lives. Around him, phones buzzed softly. Messages came in. Data flowed.
No raised voices.
No urgency.
That was the mistake amateurs made—confusing movement with progress.
“Begin,” Thomas said quietly.
A man at the far end of the table tapped his screen.
In Eagle River, the first thread was pulled.
The sheriff’s office received an anonymous tip just after nine a.m.
Not a threat.
Not a confession.
A concern.
A carefully worded message suggesting that former Army Rangers now operating a tavern had brought outside criminal attention into the quiet town. Names were included. Dates. A few facts that were publicly verifiable—enough to sound credible.
Not enough to be traced.
Thomas smiled faintly.
Truth, lightly twisted, always traveled faster than lies.
Next came the bank.
A routine audit flag. A paperwork discrepancy. Nothing illegal—just inconvenient. Accounts temporarily frozen pending review. Funds that paid for fuel, supplies, quiet logistics suddenly unavailable.
Pressure, applied gently.
Then came the whisper campaign.
A woman in town noticed a car she didn’t recognize parked too long near the school. Another mentioned unfamiliar men at the gas station weeks ago. Someone else remembered seeing Rylie arguing with a man before the wedding that never happened.
Fear didn’t need facts.
It just needed proximity.
Thomas watched the reports come in without expression.
“No direct contact?” one of his men asked.
“Not yet,” Thomas replied. “This is not punishment. This is conditioning.”
He stood and walked to the window, overlooking the courtyard below.
“They protect,” he continued. “That’s their instinct. They will shift resources. Spread themselves thinner. Worry about civilians instead of us.”
A pause.
“And the woman?” the man asked.
Thomas turned.
“She stays untouched,” he said. “For now.”
Because taking her would harden them.
Because hurting her would unite them.
And Thomas didn’t want unity.
He wanted doubt.
He wanted Trigger asking himself whether loving her had already cost too much.
He wanted Rylie watching the town change its posture around her—questions in eyes, space where warmth had been.
Isolation was far more effective than chains.
Thomas returned to the table and picked up his phone, scrolling to a contact saved without a name.
“Phase one complete,” he said into the line.
A distorted voice answered. “They’ll feel this.”
“They already are,” Thomas replied. “But they won’t know it’s me.”
He ended the call and set the phone down.
Soon, Trigger would notice the shift.
The tightened jaws.
The sideways glances.
The way protection started to look like intrusion.
And when he reacted—because men like Trigger always did—
Thomas would be ready.
Because the first move wasn’t about winning.
It was about forcing your enemy to reveal how much they had to lose.