Chapter 33
SILAS
Silas looked down at Morgan's body, his expression unchanged. The blood had stopped spreading now, pooling around her in a dark mirror that reflected the holes in the warehouse roof. Her eyes were still open, staring at nothing, that manic intensity finally extinguished.
Problem solved.
He turned to Armand, who stood frozen against the support beam, his face white with shock and something else. Understanding, maybe, of how quickly loyalty meant nothing when it became inconvenient.
“We need to move,” Silas said calmly, holstering his weapon with practiced efficiency. The metal was still warm against his side. “Bury the body. Ditch the van. Get clean vehicles and disappear.”
“You just,” Armand's voice shook, his good hand trembling where it pressed against his bleeding arm. “Silas, you just killed her. Victor's daughter. You—”
“I followed orders.” Silas pulled out his phone, already moving to the next task with the efficiency that had kept him alive this long. “Victor was clear. Morgan was a liability. Now she's been handled.”
Clean and professional. No emotion required.
“But she was,” Armand swallowed hard enough that Silas could see his throat work. “This is different than the others. The women we trafficked, they were—this was Victor's daughter—”
“Who became a problem.” Silas looked at Armand, really looked at him, letting his brother see exactly how little family meant when it conflicted with the job. “Just like anyone who becomes a problem gets handled. You understand that, right Armand?”
He watched recognition dawn in Armand's eyes. Watched his brother, his own blood, understand that the same calculation Silas had just applied to Morgan was now being applied to him.
“I—yes. Yes, I understand.”
“Good.” Silas tucked his phone away and rested his hand casually near his weapon. Not threatening, not yet. Just ready. “Because you've seen something now. Something that could be problematic if you ever decided to make a deal with law enforcement.”
Armand's eyes widened, pupils dilating with fear that Silas had seen countless times before in countless faces. “I wouldn't. Silas, you’re my brother. You know I'm loyal.”
“I know you're a liability.” Silas's hand moved to his gun again, the motion smooth and practiced. He'd done this calculation before and would do it again. Family meant nothing compared to survival. “Just like Morgan was. Just like how anyone who knows too much eventually becomes one.”
Loose ends get people killed. Better to tie them off clean.
“Silas, please—” Armand raised his hands, backing away on unsteady legs. Blood from his arm dripped onto the concrete, adding to the stains already there. “I won't talk, I swear. I'll disappear. You'll never see me again.”
“You're right about that.” Silas drew his weapon. “I won't.”
For just a moment, one brief flash, he remembered Armand as a kid. Seven years old, following Silas around like a shadow, looking up to his older brother with absolute trust. He remembered teaching him to shoot, to fight, to survive in their family's brutal world.
He remembered when family had meant something.
Then the moment passed, buried under years of cold pragmatism and survival instinct. Sentiment is a weakness. Weakness gets you killed.
The second gunshot echoed through the warehouse, louder than the first somehow. Or maybe it just felt louder because Silas actually had to think about this one for half a second before pulling the trigger.
Armand's body crumpled with a look of shock frozen on his face, betrayal mixed with the kind of hurt that came from being killed by someone you'd trusted completely.
Blood spread across the dirty concrete in rivulets that reached toward Morgan's pooling blood like they were trying to touch even in death.
Silas stood alone now, surrounded by two bodies, and felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt. Not even relief. Just cold calculation about his next moves, about what needed to be done to eliminate every trace of today's failure.
Two problems solved. Now handle the rest.
He looked at the bodies dispassionately, already mentally cataloging what needed to happen.
The van needed to be ditched, stripped and burned to eliminate any forensic evidence.
The bodies needed to be buried deep where they'd never be found.
Morgan's phone needed to be destroyed. Armand's too.
Every piece of evidence that connected them to Warren needed to be eliminated.
Then he'd disappear. New identity. New territory. New operation.
Victor's organization was compromised here, bleeding from the wound Morgan had opened with her obsession.
The FBI would be tearing apart every location in Wyoming, following every thread, turning over every rock.
Smart operators were already gone, already vanished into new lives in new places where federal warrants meant nothing.
Silas had three identities prepared and four bank accounts in different countries. Five safe houses scattered across two continents. Disappearing was easy when you'd spent your whole life preparing for the moment everything fell apart.
Because everything always fell apart eventually. Plans failed, people became liabilities, operations got compromised.
The only constant was survival.
He pulled out his phone, scrolling through contacts until he found the number he needed.
A cleanup crew, professionals who asked no questions and left no evidence.
They'd handle the bodies, the van, the warehouse.
Make it all disappear like it had never existed.
For a price, of course, but Silas had money.
He had resources and the kind of connections that came from years of doing Victor's dirty work without question or hesitation.
The phone rang twice before connecting.
“I have a situation that needs handling,” Silas said without preamble. “Two bags. One vehicle. Complete cleanup required.”
“Location?”
Silas gave the coordinates, his voice steady and professional. Like he was ordering takeout instead of arranging to dispose of his cousin’s and brother’s bodies.
“Six hours,” the voice on the other end said. “Cash only.”
“Agreed.” Silas ended the call.
Six hours to wait in a warehouse with two bodies and the smell of blood and gunpowder. Six hours to plan his next move, his next identity, his next operation.
He'd go south, he decided. Mexico first, then maybe South America. Victor had contacts there and Silas had skills that were always in demand. Trafficking, enforcement, the kind of wet work that people with money needed done but couldn't risk doing themselves.
Harper Walsh would live, for now. The smart play was to let her go, to let law enforcement think the threat was over, to let everyone believe Morgan had been the only real danger.
But someday, maybe months from now, maybe years, when the heat had died down and Harper had relaxed into thinking she was safe, Silas would come back.
Not for revenge. Revenge was emotional, sloppy, the kind of thing that had gotten Morgan killed.
But to take back what was his, something Harper had taken from him. He knew she did because she knew about the trafficking. Something only he, Armand and Morgan had known about.
And Silas always tied off his loose ends.
Not today. Not this year. But eventually. I'm patient, I can wait.
He looked at Morgan's body one last time, at the cousin who'd let obsession override survival instinct, who'd prioritized revenge over pragmatism, who'd died because she couldn't separate personal feelings from professional necessity.
That's what emotion gets you. A bullet and an unmarked grave.
Silas had learned that lesson young by watching his father trust the wrong person and pay for it with his life. He learned it today, pulling the trigger on family because family was just another liability when it threatened survival.
He settled onto an overturned crate to wait for the cleanup crew, his back to the wall, his weapon within easy reach. Six hours until this chapter closed. Six hours until he could disappear into a new life.
The bodies didn't bother him. The blood didn't bother him.
The fact that he'd just executed his own family didn't bother him.
Because Silas had stopped letting things bother him years ago, when he'd learned the most important lesson of all.
That in this business, sentiment was a luxury that got you killed.
And someday when everyone least expected it, when they all thought it was safe, he'd come back.
Not because he cared about Morgan's revenge.
But because loose ends eventually came back to bite you.
And Silas was very good at what he did.