I place my hand on the blanket over his foot. “It’s okay, Dad.”
His chin quivers, and his chest shakes with his inhales.
“Come here.” He raises an arm.
Slowly, I move to the side of the bed, then bend down and gently hug his shoulders.
A hand rests against my back.
This is it, then.
When I pull back, his eyes slide over to his nightstand.
I follow his gaze.
Sitting next to the framed photo of him and Mom on their wedding day is an ornately carved wooden box.
I recognize it. It was my grandfather’s, given to my father. And now to me.
I stand before it.
The latch doesn’t lock, and the hinge has been kept oiled, so it opens smoothly.
The overhead light is dimmed, but it still glints off the blades inside the box.
Dueling knives.
Antiques.
But sharp as hell.
I close the lid and reset the latch.
Lifting the box into my arms, I turn back to face my dad.
He holds my gaze, his eyes showing more life than I’ve seen since the morning everything changed.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
Then he gets out the final words I’ll ever hear him say.
“Make them pay, Hans.” His inhale is scratchy. “Make them suffer.”
I don’t have a funeral for my father, but I bury him next to his wife.
And when the paperwork is done and my bags are packed and in the trunk of my car, I walk back through the house one more time.
There’s nothing left here but misery and grief.
I stop in front of my sister’s bedroom, turning the handle and opening the door.
I don’t step into the room.
I don’t take any of her things.
That’s not who I am anymore.
But I do give her a silent promise.
I swear to her that I won’t stop until every one of the men responsible is dead.
Then I turn and head back down the hall. Back downstairs. Into the kitchen. I pull the stove out from the wall and finish loosening the gas line. With a final twist, I sever the line.
I don’t need the insurance money. As the sole survivor of the Eklund mining fortune, I don’t need another penny so long as I live. But I don’t need anyone coming after me for arson either. So I’m making it look as close to a faulty gas line as possible. People will be suspicious, but I’ll be long gone.
And if my sister isn’t coming home to her room, then no one will.
Next to the front door is the three-wick candle Freya picked out for our mom last Mother’s Day. Mom never lit it, claiming it was her favorite scent and wanting to have it forever.
I pull the book of matches I took from Comet out of my pocket.
As the flame crackles to life, I carefully light each wick.
The warm vanilla scent, Mom’s favorite, starts to fill the living room as I close the front door behind me.
That night, long after the flames are doused and the house is ruined, I kill a man for the first time.
Nineteen, with blood on my hands and my entire family gone, all I have left to live for is vengeance.
I flex my fingers around the hilt of the antique knife.
I’ve always heard the saying what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger. But what if both things are true?
The real me died with my sister. But I’m still here. Still alive. Still breathing.
I’m just someone else now.
Someone who has the means to wage a war.
CHAPTER 54
Hans
My eyes open on an inhale.
That was just the start of it.
The first killing of hundreds.
The first day of the past twenty years.
The seat belt light turns on, and the flight crew tells us to prepare for landing.
It’s been two decades since I’ve allowed myself to feel.
My right hand reaches across my body to brush over the spot where a faint scar remains from that very first fight. The man who got in a swipe while I was choking him.
It was the first scar of many, but it’s barely even visible anymore.
But him? I went back for him.
He was the first man I killed.
The first of many in Phoenix.
Then more in Vegas.
Then more in LA.
I trained.
I found teachers who would show me the quickest way to kill.
Found others who would sell me what I needed.
I went overseas. Went to France. Killed more men. Ones who pulled the strings.
Killed so many I have bounties on my head from half a dozen countries.
I never found Marcoux.
He had come and gone before I got to the top of the organization. He was the money man. An investor. A businessman who profited from the sale of human beings.
I didn’t find him. But I found his first name. Gabriel.
I can’t rest until he’s dead.
But—a small smile pulls at my lips—neither can he.
CHAPTER 55
Cassie
My hands tremble a little as I hand my passport to the customs agent.
I wish I wasn’t still feeling so nervous. I landed. I got my luggage. I’m on time. I’ll find my coworkers in just a few minutes.
But my body doesn’t seem to accept that. And with the amount of sweat trickling down my back, I won’t be surprised if I get detained for suspicious activity.
“What brings you to Mexico?” the man behind the desk asks.
“Work,” I croak.
He lifts a brow, holding my passport up so he can look at the photo and then back at me.
He does this for several seconds.
The pressure is too much.
I lift my hands and fan my face, the summer heat permeating the indoors. “Sorry.” I keep fanning myself. “I don’t like flying alone, and I’m stressed out and hot, but I promise I’m just here for work.”
The man stares at me for another beat before he smirks and hands the passport back to me. “You’re good, Ms. Cantrell. Welcome to Mexico.”
My entire body sags in relief, and the man’s smile grows into a grin.
If I wasn’t so obsessed with my growly big-dicked neighbor, I might ask this guy for his number.
“Thank you.” I slip the passport into an interior pocket in my backpack, then zip it up, making sure there’s no way for it to fall out or for someone with skilled fingers to lift it. “Thank you,” I say again, then drag my suitcase—with my backpack attached to the handle—away.
It doesn’t take long before I spot a group of people I recognize standing next to the sign for transportation. It makes me feel a little better, but there’s a part of me that wishes Hans could’ve come with me. I still barely know him, but his don’t fuck with me attitude just makes me feel safe.
I square my shoulders and plaster a smile on my face.
I’ll see him soon enough. Time to face reality.
CHAPTER 56
Hans
I don’t even bother sighing when I see the hotel Cassandra’s company has her staying in.
The bus pulls through the open gate leading onto the property, and I follow.
I saw my Butterfly through one of the side windows of the bus, so I know she’s in the middle and not in the rear seat, which would be the only place she could realistically see me from.