Chapter 9
EVERLY
The wind is bitter tonight, a blade cutting through the ruined hush of the railway station.
It’s snowing harder than before, flakes swirling in wild, endless spirals that coat the ground and swallow every bit of color.
There’s nothing soft about it—the snow falls thick and wet, turning the world gray and strange.
It muffles my footsteps as I force one after the other across the icy distance between me and the elevated platform where I spy my father waiting.
Every inhale scrapes my lungs raw, sharp with diesel, rust, and a metallic tang that clings to the back of my throat.
I clutch the black book tighter to my chest, my gloves already stiff from the chill.
Phantom pressed it into my hands before he took off for the shadows, his gaze fierce and unyielding, the promise in his eyes enough to make me believe I wouldn’t be walking into this alone.
I trust him to have my back. Him and the entire Savage crew. I won’t make the same mistake twice.
But it’s not easy. Standing here now, in the shadow of this cursed place, I feel the weight of every secret, every mistake, and every love I ran from. The Savages are out there in the dark, but I can’t see them. Which is the point.
The cold crawls under my skin, but I don’t let it touch my spine.
The platform comes into view, washed in harsh white light from a portable flood lamp balanced on a broken crate.
My father is there. He stands in the center, king of nothing in my opinion but the arrogance pinning his shoulder back and pushing his chin high tells me he thinks he’s above God Himself.
Snow clings to the shoulders of his expensive coat. His presence fills the space, sucking the air out of it and any goodness there might be. The Vultures circle him, patch vests gleaming with ice and the false bravado of men who think they still own New Orleans.
I see the VP first, lounging just behind my father, a cruel smile twisting his mouth, his gun hanging loose in one hand. Men like him thrive on fear. Tonight, he’s not getting any from me.
I step out of the shadows and onto the ramp that leads up to the platform where my father waits.
A form lies on the cold cement. My heart tumbles out of my chest to fall weeping in the snow.
Chloe.
She’s sprawled on the cement, eyes half-open to the sky, curls sticky with blood, lips parted as if she’s still trying to whisper a warning.
My heart lodges in my throat. I feel the world tilt and nearly fall to my knees.
My brother is there too, hunched and broken, his hands as swollen as his face.
For one moment, the whole world narrows to the pain shooting through me. Tears want to fall but I just think about Kaylee and how strong I need to be for her right now.
A sob claws at my throat. I bite down on it, hard.
No fear. No weakness. Not now.
I can grieve later.
The VP’s boots scrape the icy cement as he steps forward, the spotlight turning his shadow into a monster. His eyes cut to the book in my hand.
“You have something that belongs to me,” he calls out, voice bouncing off the walls. “Be a good girl and hand it over. Or things get messy.”
The air is thick with menace. My hands tremble, but I wrap them tighter around the book, fingers pressing into cracked leather. Liquid steel, I tell myself. You survived worse than this.
I lift my chin. “If it means so much to you,” I say, steady as I can, “you shouldn’t have let it fall into Savage hands.”
The VP scowls, anger flickering in his eyes.
My father turns, his gaze icy and patient as he looks me over.
For one terrible heartbeat, I see the man he was—the one who taught me how to tie my shoes, who carried me on his shoulders at the county fair, who smelled of tobacco and aftershave when he kissed me good night.
Then that image dies.
“It’s been a while,” I say, my voice too loud in the cold. “I see you haven’t changed for the better in our time apart.”
Albert Devereaux’s lips curl, his jaw ticking with the effort of holding onto his self-control. “You always did have a smart mouth, Everly. All I ever wanted was loyalty. I gave you everything. Every advantage. The world could have been yours. Instead, you went against me.”
His words echo in the frigid air between us, bouncing off broken rails and half-loaded boxcars.
“That was never what I wanted,” I whisper, tears burning in my eyes but refusing to fall. “I wanted a dad, not a king who thought himself above God. You never understood how to love anything but power.”
He laughs, the sound hollow. “You sound just like your mother. Stubborn. Ungrateful.”
“That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The Vultures’ VP’s patience snaps. He lunges closer, voice sharp and eager. “You’re going to wish you hadn’t come tonight. Hand over the book, or your brother dies next.”
My brother looks up, blood painting his cheeks. He shakes his head at me, lips forming a single word: “Run.”
But I don’t move. I open the book, pages heavy and stained, and flip to the middle of the book where I find the words that damn all of us.
“Hmm… Here we go. Let me read what your new friends think of you and their plans, Dad.” I don’t hold back the acid from my tone.
“Surname Devereaux. Albert. Micah. Everly. All living heirs to the throne. To be eliminated. Territory absorbed.”
I glance at my father, my words act like poison to him. His expression is puckered into a deep frown.
“Your new partners want you dead. And here you are, killing the only people who ever tried to stand by you.”
My father’s hand tightens around the butt of his gun, mouth twisted in disgust. “This is about power, Everly. Always has been. I raised you to be strong, to take what you want. I thought you’d understand. Loyalty is a privilege for the strong.”
The Vulture’s VP looks between me and my father. His secret orders to off my entire family are exposed. Yet, he stands there like he’s waiting for a bullet or for one of us to start shooting.
“You never gave me the choice to love you,” I say, voice breaking.
“You only gave me orders. And you broke everyone who tried to make you human.
Mom didn't die from an overdose she chose. She died trying to escape your cruelty.” I never talk about my mother.
Not to friends, if I had any. Not to Phantom.
But deep down, losing her right before my fifteenth birthday was one of the cruelest days fate ever gave me.
She wanted to escape my father’s unforgiving wrath toward her and in her mind there was only one way out.
He steps forward, the click of his shoes sharp. The barrel of his gun glints in the white light, and for a second, everything is silent but the pounding of my heart.
“Enough of this,” the VP snarls, jerking his gun toward Micah. “Give me the book or your brother’s next.”
My father’s gaze flicks to the VP, disdain clear in his expression. For a second, I see his pride flare—he’s insulted, even now, by someone threatening his blood. Unless it’s his own bullet.
“Stay out of this,” Albert snaps.
The VP shrugs, but his finger tightens on the trigger. “What are you gonna do, old man?”
I clutch the book tighter, sweat beading at my brow even though the air is freezing.
“Fine. Take it,” I say, voice trembling but loud. I step forward, holding it out just out of his reach.
The VP smirks, stepping in. “Smart girl—”
But the shadows move.
A crack splits the air—gunfire, sudden and close.
Phantom steps from behind a stack of crates, gun aimed, eyes blazing with the wrath of the Devil himself.
The first bullet finds its mark, the VP’s chest exploding in red.
He drops, mouth frozen in surprise, gun skittering away across the ice.
The remaining Vultures explode into chaos, drawing weapons, firing wildly.
Muzzle flashes light up the night, bullets tearing through cold air and ricocheting off metal.
The Savage Reign crew erupts from every hiding place—Reaper, Storm, Venom, Ash, Beast and Haze all moving as one, cold and silent and lethal. Reaper grabs me by the arm, pulling me behind a rusted generator, his hand a vice on my jacket as bullets pepper the ground nearby.
“Stay down!” he barks.
But all I can see is Phantom, the way he moves through gunfire, a shadow and a force of nature. He drops another Vulture, then another. Blood sprays the snow, bodies dropping all around, and still my father stands in the center, untouched, unmoved, like he’s the fucking king of the carnage.
I crawl to Micah, my knees scraping ice, grabbing his arm, pulling him behind cover as bullets fly. His breath is rough, and I see now the blood staining his shirt, his eyes clouded with pain.
“Stay with me,” I plead, my hand shaking as I grip his shoulder. “Please, Micah. Stay with me.”
A scream pierces the night—one of the Vultures goes down, clutching his leg. Storm knocks another out with a brutal punch, Ash covers him with a shotgun.
Then, silence.
The Vultures are dead or gone, bodies scattered across the platform. Blood steams in the snow. The only sound is the whistle of wind and the soft, wet thud of flakes landing on bodies.
Albert Devereaux stands alone, his gun pointed at me, rage and betrayal twisting his face.
Phantom moves in, gun never wavering. “It’s over, Albert. Put it down.”
My father’s lips curl. “You always were her weakness, weren’t you? I should have killed you when I had the chance. My men told me you two were seeing each other behind my back.”
His finger tightens on the trigger, but he’s not aiming at Phantom.
He’s aiming at me.
I stare down the barrel, feeling nothing but a terrible, aching calm. This is how it ends.
But Phantom’s faster.
His shot explodes into the night, tearing through my father’s chest. Albert staggers, his gun falling from his hand, body pitching forward to the concrete. The blood stains the snow, soaking the ice in a spreading pool of red.
He doesn’t get back up.