Killian took a step back from me, then he spoke. “The job requires you to back off and trust me. I don’t expect any of you to trust me immediately. But I do expect professionalism because it’s my team that’s going to be exposed if one of you goes off burning shit down.” He was judgingme.
“I don’t burn without reason.”
“Your reason being what, exactly?”
“You’ve got my notes, you tell me.”
He huffed. “Is it that little voice in your head that says ‘this looks flammable’?” Killian’s words were sharp, but his tone remained infuriatingly even.
Iwillkill him.
Rio stepped between us. “Both of you, enough.”
I crossed my arms, my lighter still warm in my palm. “You don’t get this done quick, or you fuck usover, and I promise you’ll be the first thing to burn.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Noted.”
“Lassiter dies screaming, Killian. Don’t stand in the way.”
He shrugged then. “Believe me, I won’t.”
And God help me, I hated how much I was drawn to how he didn’t back down. I recognized a control that mirrored my own, a survival instinct honed razor-sharp. And maybe it should have pissed me off, seeing it reflected in him like that. But instead, it unsettled me.
What would happen if his mask cracked?
I wanted to show him the absolute chaos in me, terrify him, put him in his place. But somewhere beneath the need to kill the fucker, was a darker thought I hadn’t let myself examine too closely: what if I didn’t kill him? What if he saw all of me—the sharp edges, the heat, the mess—and didn’t flinch?
I caught myself staring too long, too intently. Tracking the line of his jaw, the shift in his shoulders, the glint in his pale silver eyes that never quite matched the smile on his lips. I was disgusted at the twist low in my gut. I didn’t want to feel lust. Didn’t want to feel anything. But there it was, curling hot and wrong under my skin. And hell, I didn’t want tobe the kind of fool who got caught watching the flames and wondering how it might feel to step into it.
But I was. And I hated that, too. And if he thought he could lie to our faces with that half-smile and silk voice? Then he didn’t know me at all.
“Later, Pretty,” Killian said, and glanced back once before disappearing through the door. I took a step to follow him, almost called out, but instead, I watched the arrogant, unreadable bastard go and loathed how much space he took up in my head.
And I hated that he hadn’t told me I couldn’t burn down Lassiter and Kessler’s lives. It was as if he didn’t care what I did—or worse, that he approved. That kind of tacit permission? It messed with my head in ways I wasn’t ready to unpack.
The second Killian had gone, and Enzo had taken Robbie upstairs, Rio turned on me as if a switch had flipped.
“You need to let Killian figure things out,” he said, tone low but sharp.
“Sure,” I said, a lie so smooth it didn’t catch in my throat. Because those files I’d pulled from Mitchell’s place? I’d already started running encryption and plotting networks. Killian’steamwould receive the files, and I’d already decided tosend them some of the files that were already open—I had no idea if Killian’s tech guy was any good.
Lassiter was my focus—it was he who had the most intel I could collate—and I wouldn’t take a direct shot at him, but I could still apply pressure. Let him feel hunted. Let paranoia creep in. It’d be a start if I could make him even a fraction as terrified as Robbie had been. Then, Kessler next.
Rio stepped closer, more serious than I’d seen him since what had happened in Stockton. “I mean it, Jamie. Tell me if youneedto burn, and I’ll stand with you. But not with these guys. Not now.”
I didn’t answer at first. The fire was coiled tight under my skin, humming as if it were alive. Triggers were everywhere—stress, memory, shame, injustice. The heat in my chest right now? Prime kindling.
I clasped his hand and pressed it over my heart. He was my brother in all but name. “I promise I won’t touch Kessler and Lassiter until you tell me it’s okay.”
It wasn’t much. But it was all the truth I had to give.
SIX
Killian
The engine purred—toosmooth, too quiet for how loud my head was screaming. I gripped the leather-bound steering wheel of the Audi as though it was the only thing anchoring me to the here and now. Everything about the car was a study in precision. Heated seats, perfect stitching on cream leather, digital console glowing like a goddamn cockpit. It was sleek, powerful, and expensive.
It was proof. Of who I’d become and what I’d survived.
