31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Wrenley
The mansion exhales when we step inside. The kind of quiet that settles deep, not peace, not really, but close enough to pretend. Liam’s voice rolls through the entryway, calm but commanding. “Showers. Food. Then sleep.”
No one argues. We never do when he sounds like that. Gear hits the floor, weapons clatter against the table, footsteps scatter up the stairs. The house swallows it all, leaving behind only the hum of exhaustion and the faint smell of smoke still clinging to our clothes.
I make it to the bathroom and let the door click shut behind me. Steam curls against the mirror as the shower warms, fog swallowing the reflection of my face, eyes rimmed red from too many hours awake.
I brace my hands on the sink and let my breath catch up. For a second, it feels like I’m hearing the echoes of the girls we saved, the fear, the breaking, the small sounds of relief when it was finally over. The door opens quietly behind me.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Liam says, voice roughened by the drive.
“You didn’t.”
He steps inside, closing the door behind him. The air changes. Heavy, but not dangerous. Familiar.
“You okay?”
“I will be.”
He comes up behind me, our eyes meeting in the fogged mirror. His reflection looks as tired as I feel, dark circles, shirt half-unbuttoned, the faint hint of stubble against his jaw.
“That needs to be cleaned and changed,” he murmurs, nodding to the cut above my eyebrow.
“It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t look fine.”
He reaches for me before I can argue, fingers gentle and he removes the old gauze and starts to check stitches and clean up dried blood. His touch is steady, sure, the same hands that can break bone now moving like they’re afraid to bruise me.
“Liam…”
He looks me in the eyes.
“You don’t have to keep fixing me.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, breath ghosting across my cheek. “You think I can stop?”
The heat of the shower fogs the mirror completely now, turning our reflections to silhouettes. He presses a kiss just below my ear, soft and grounding.
I step into the shower, letting the sting settle into my skin. The water is almost too hot, but I don’t turn it down.
Liam steps in behind me. “Fuck, that’s hot!”
“Sorry,” I giggle, reaching for the handle, turning it down… Barely.
His hand finds the small of my back as he reaches for the soap. He lathers his palms and runs them over my shoulders, slow, careful. The scent of cedar and smoke fills the air, familiar and grounding.
When his fingers slide through my hair, working the shampoo in gentle circles, my eyes close on their own. He’s done this before, after raids, after bloodshed, after everything. His knuckles graze my scalp, and the world goes quiet except for the sound of running water and his low hum.
“You always forget to take care of yourself,” he says softly.
“That’s why I have you.”
The corners of his mouth lift in a satisfied smile. As he rinses the suds from my hair, he pauses for a brief moment, staring into my eyes, as if to make sure I’m really there.
Max joins us, moving through the steam like he belongs to it. He slides in front of me, grinning easy but eyes dark with the same exhaustion. “Hand me that,” he tells Liam. “You missed a spot.”
He takes the bar from Liam and starts working it across my arms, over the faint bruises that line my skin.
The soap leaves thin white trails before the water carries them away.
Max doesn’t speak after that; he doesn’t have to.
His touch says everything: care, relief, the quiet promise that we’re still in one piece.
Liam’s hand finds mine beneath the spray, fingers threading through. The three of us stand like that, chests and backs, pressed against one another, letting the water beat down.
For once, there’s no rush. No orders. Just the warmth of skin, the steady rhythm of breath, and the strange, fragile peace that comes from being together and alive.
When the water cools, Max reaches up and turns off the tap.
Steam rolls past us in lazy curls. Liam presses a kiss to my damp hair; Max rests his forehead against mine.
None of us speaks. We don’t need to. The silence feels like something holy.
Morning creeps in soft and gray. The mansion always sounds different after a mission, quiet but alive, like it’s catching its own breath.
Liam’s arm is draped heavy across my waist, Max sprawled half over the blanket, hair curling slightly at the edges.
For the first time in weeks, they both look peaceful.
I slide out from between them carefully, bare feet silent against the floorboards. Hugo lifts his head from the corner, tail thumping once before he stretches and pads after me.
“Come on, boy,” I whisper. “Let’s not wake the kings of chaos.”
He follows, nails clicking softly as we head downstairs.
The kitchen smells faintly of coffee grounds and gun oil, the scent of home.
I grind a new batch, letting the hum of the machine fill the silence.
The first cup is mine, black and bitter.
I take a sip, grimace, and immediately reach for the sugar.
The morning air outside is crisp, damp with a promise of rain. I sit on the front steps, mug in one hand, Hugo curling up at my feet. The trees surrounding the mansion look to be half-asleep. For once, I let myself be still.
The front door creaks open behind me. Heavy footsteps. Riot’s.
He doesn’t speak at first, just drops beside me with a sigh that sounds like a curse. “Are you ever going to learn to rest?”
“Probably not.” I smirk.
He studies me for a long moment, jaw tight. The calm I fought to hold slips a little. “What happened?”
Riot rubs a hand over his face. “Elias got a ping on the encrypted net, Sebastian’s ghost code. He used it to broadcast a new drop point.”
“That’s impossible. We locked those channels months ago.”
“Yeah. And somehow he’s still in them.”
My stomach knots. “What’s the message?”
Riot pulls a folded printout from his pocket and hands it over. The paper’s smudged, still warm from the printer. In the center, between strings of corrupted data, five words cut through clean and clear:
The vows were never yours.
I stare at the words until they blur. The coffee goes cold in my hand.
“Elias traced the signal,” Riot says quietly. “It originated from inside Northwyck. Less than ten miles from here.”
The world tilts, just a little. Hugo, sensing the shift in mood, growls low in his throat.
“He’s not reaching out,” I say, more to myself than to Riot. “He’s circling.”
Riot nods. “And he wants us to know it.”
The words burn even after I stop reading them. The vows were never yours. I fold the paper once, twice, before looking back at Riot. My fingers don’t shake, but the rest of me wants to.
“Keep it quiet for now,” I say. “Until we know what it means.”
Riot studies me, trying to read something on my face. He won’t find it. I’m too tired to show it. “Wrenley—”
“I’ll wake them. Get Elias to lock the mansion and the club down.”
He nods once. The door closes behind me with a dull thud that echoes down the hall. The air inside is heavy, the way it always gets before bad news. Hugo stays close at my heel, low growl still humming in his chest as I climb the stairs.
Liam and Max are still where I left them, tangled in sheets and morning light. The kind of sight that should’ve felt safe. It doesn’t anymore. I stand at the edge of the bed, watching them breathe. It’s a dangerous thing, loving people who don’t get to keep peace.
“Little warrior?” Liam’s voice is rough from sleep. He blinks up at me, eyes narrowing the moment he sees my expression. “What happened?”
“Riot and Elias caught something on the net.” My voice is steady, but only because it has to be. “Sebastian’s back in the system.”
Max sits up instantly, rubbing a hand over his face. “How bad?”
“He sent a message.” I pause. “He said… the vows were never ours.”
For a beat, neither of them moves. Then Liam’s jaw tightens, the kind of still fury that feels colder than rage. “Of course he’d choose that word,” he mutters.
“Yeah,” Max says darkly. “He likes twisting the knife.”
I hand Liam the folded paper. He doesn’t open it, just stares at it like it might bleed if he does.
“We thought he was locked out,” I say. “That the firewall Elias built was enough.”
“It was,” Liam replies, standing and reaching for his jeans. “Which means someone let him back in.”
That lands harder than I expect.
Max lets out a long breath. “You think it’s internal?”
Liam doesn’t answer right away. He just slips his shirt over his head and looks toward the window, where the fog still clings to the skyline of trees outside.
“We can’t assume anything,” he finally says. “We trace every connection, every relay. We tear it down until we find the crack.”
I nod. “And when we do?”
Liam looks back at me. “Then we make sure he can’t send another message.”
Max swings his legs off the bed, grin sharp despite the tension. “Guess the honeymoon’s over, huh?”
“Wasn’t much of one to begin with,” I say, grabbing my jacket.
He smirks faintly, looking between me and Liam. “True. But at least the company’s good.”
That earns him a half-smile from me and a small, but real laugh from Liam.
Liam grabs his gun from the nightstand, checks the clip, then looks at both of us. “Let’s move. If he’s back in the system and in Northwyck, we’re already late.”
The easy, quiet morning dies in the doorway. Hugo growls low again, and I swear it feels like the whole house is holding its breath.
The war room feels smaller than usual. Too many bodies, not enough air.
The long table glows under the harsh overhead lights, laptops open, cords tangled like veins.
Elias sits hunched over the main terminal, fingers moving so fast the keys barely register.
Margot’s beside him, hair tied back, eyes sharp and rimmed red from lack of sleep.
The wall of monitors flash with strings of code and maps of Northwyck lit in red pinpoints.
No one speaks. The only sounds are the hum of the machines and the click of Elias’ keyboard.
I stand behind Liam, arms crossed, trying to ignore the knot forming low in my stomach. The paper with Sebastian’s message sits in the center of the table, its five words glaring up like a curse. The vows were never yours.
Riot leans against the far wall, with a joint he hasn’t actually lit between his lips. “So what are we saying here? He’s got someone feeding him intel again?”
“Not just intel,” Elias says, voice flat. “Access.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Heads turn so fast, I hear someone’s neck crack. Margot exhales, tapping a line of code on her screen. “It’s not a breach from outside the network. He tunneled in through an active node, one of ours.”
Silence.
Liam’s jaw flexes. “So it is internal.”
“Right,” Elias corrects. "Whoever's doing it has clearance.”
My gut twists, but it’s not suspicion, it’s something colder. I look around the room. Riot. Margot. Elias. Wrecker. Torque. Max. Liam. These people bled beside me. None of them would sell us out. Whatever this is, it isn’t coming from here.
Liam finally breaks the quiet. “Then we re-vet everyone.”
Elias looks up. “Everyone?”
“Every Serpent we’ve brought in over the last year. I don’t care how clean they looked then, we start from scratch.”
Wrecker straightens. “That’s going to take time.”
“Then start now.” Liam snaps.
The edge in his voice stills the room. Everyone nods, no argument. Elias turns back to the monitor, muttering under his breath as he runs another trace. Margot types something beside him, her expression tightening.
“Wait,” she says softly. “There’s another ping, a relay hub just went live in the west quarter.”
Elias frowns. “That sector’s mostly civilian. What’s there that—” He stops. His eyes meet mine, then land on Max. “The Black Crown.”
The name hangs heavy in the air. Max goes still. Every trace of color drains from his face.
Liam notices it too. “Max?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at the screen like it’s already confirmed what he's afraid of. He stands, the chair scraping hard against the floor.
“We vet all of them,” he says, voice low but steady. “Every bartender, every runner, every contact tied to the club. If this leak came from The Black Crown, it needs to be handled today.”
Elias nods, finger already flying over the keyboard again. “I’ll start pulling names.”
Max pushes his hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath that I can’t catch.
Liam turns to me. “Do you trust the staff?”
“I did,” I say quietly. “Until five minutes ago.”
Hugo is now pacing the room, sensing the shift in tension; he doesn’t like it any more than the rest of us.
The war room hums with renewed energy, not relief, not direction, just the first tremor of the next storm.
Sebastian had reached them once. He’d find a way to do it again.
This time he’s doing it from inside our walls.