Chapter Fifteen
Rowan
I cannot believe her.
The rage hits first, hot and choking, then the fear of it slices through me even sharper.
After everything she promised… after swearing she wouldn’t walk into hell alone again…
she did exactly that. Every vow she whispered, every soft look she gave us, feels like a slap now.
Not because she lied, but because she chose to protect us instead of herself. Again.
She left breadcrumbs. Fine. Cute little digital hints and trails tucked into the system Ronan is tearing through like a rabid wolf. But she still went alone. And that part makes something ugly and possessive snarl inside my chest.
When I get my hands on her—if she isn’t hurt, if she’s still breathing—I’m going to strangle her and kiss her, and I honestly don’t know which one will win out first. Both feel justified.
Both feel necessary. Because Berkley Monroe does not get to give herself up like she’s expendable. Not to Dean. Not to anyone.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing again because sitting still feels impossible. My heart is a hammer, my skin too tight. The war room fills with the sound of Ronan typing, Emerson’s breath hitching every so often, and the beeping of the monitor screens updating.
Ronan mutters under his breath as he works. “Come on, baby… what did you leave for us… what did you set up…”
He’s the only one of us calm enough to think clearly right now.
Well, appears calm, since he’s vibrating with the same fury I feel, but he channels it differently.
He focuses. Calculates. He sees angles before anyone else does and has always been the one who thinks sideways when everyone else looks straight ahead.
If there’s a trail, Ronan will find it.
I stand behind him, watching code and coordinates flash across the screen. He isn’t just tracing her messages; he’s dissecting every digital breadcrumb she tied into the system before walking out the door.
Bryce’s phone finishes dumping its last scraps of data while Berk’s satellite tracker feeds into the map. And he’s got what he believes is Dean’s number lighting up—pings hopping between cell towers like a goddamn lifeline.
Emerson hovers next to us, silent, fists tight enough that his knuckles have gone bone-white. His entire body trembles when Ronan announces a new ping. His fear for his sister wraps around our panic for Berk until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
Ronan doesn’t look away from the screen when he says quietly, “We’re going to find her.”
Emerson nods once, a jerk of movement. “We better.”
I swallow hard, my chest hitching. When I finally speak, my voice fractures. “We will. Damn her—she thinks she’s protecting us. Thinks she has to do this alone.” I shake my head. “She’s wrong.”
Ronan’s triangulating faster, his jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticks in his cheek. “I’ve almost got it,” he growls. “Hold on, princess. Your idiots are coming.”
He slams one last key, and the map locks onto a blinking point.
My heart stutters.
“We’ve got her location,” Ronan says, voice dark and deadly.
And at that moment, everything in me shifts.
Because now we know where she is.
And nothing on earth—not Dean, not death itself—is going to keep me from getting to her.
Emerson and I gear up immediately, adrenaline shaking through my hands, but Ronan snaps out a sharp, “Hold up.”
I round on him, already halfway to losing my mind. “Hold up? She’s out there alone, Ronan.” My voice cracks around the edges. “Get your shit figured out!”
He shoots me a look that could cut steel, but his fingers never stop flying over the keys.
He ignores my outburst the way only a twin who knows me to the bone can.
“I’m making sure we’re not chasing a decoy.
He knows how Berk thinks,” he mutters, barely audible over the pounding in my ears.
“I need to finish triangulating Dean’s phone and… ”
His sentence cuts off. He freezes. Then his entire body locks tight.
“There.” He points so hard the monitor rattles.
I lean in, heart punching into my throat. Two pulsing dots glow on the map—Berk’s and Dean’s—almost fused together. Practically touching. Practically breathing the same goddamn air. My vision blurs red for a second.
Of course, the location sits tucked near the pier, buried in that stretch of privately owned dockland where the city conveniently looks the other way. A place built for quiet transactions, for people who vanish without paperwork. Perfect for deals. Perfect for erasing bodies. Perfect for monsters.
Ronan overlays satellite footage, dragging the image into view until a large warehouse fills the screen. It’s weathered, isolated, and invisible to anyone who isn’t looking for it.
He narrows his eyes. “What the hell is that on the roof?”
Emerson leans close, squinting. “HL. Looks like lettering.”
We all go dead still.
HL.
It hits us all, a single thought slamming into the room like a detonator.
HL. Horizon Logistics.
Ronan whispers it first, voice dark and cold as a grave. “Holy shit. It’s their shell company.”
The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.
Then his expression shifts. Hardens. Every trace of the man who teases Berk, who kisses her softly, disappears. What’s left is the predator our father created but failed to control.
“This is it,” he says. His voice is lethal. Absolute. “Berk. Kimber. Dean. They’re all here. And they have no idea we know exactly where to find it.”
A slow smile spreads across my face, deadly and sharp. It mirrors his perfectly. Twin reflections molded by pain, by loss, by the promise we made over Reign’s grave.
Ronan pushes to his feet. “It’s time, boys. Get the good weapons.”
My pulse evens out. The haze in my vision clears. Rage tightens into a clean, lethal line.
“We’re getting our girl,” Ronan vows. “We’re getting our sister. And we’re ending the last monster.”
My smile cuts wide—sharp, feral, hungry for blood.
“Let’s finish this.”