My brain clicks into gear, the fog of adrenaline clearing just enough to catch up. Holy shit. This wasn't random. Brian pick me because I'm with Dane.
Brian makes another gurgling sound on the floor, his expensive shirt now a Rorschach test of crimson. Part of me—the part that still has nightmares about Mr. Colton—wants to kick him while he's down. The journalism student in me wants answers before he checks out.
Claire's face remains impassive as she answers, "You're right," she finally says, glancing at me with the casual interest of someone examining a mildly interesting bug. "Nothing is coincidental."
Fuck. Was I bait?
35
DANE
"You used Lila as bait," I say, the words falling like stones in the silent room. My gun remains trained on Claire, though Brian's final dying gurgles pull at my attention. He's almost gone, another minute, maybe two.
Claire's lips curl into something approximating a smile. "Because you killed my brother."
The accusation hangs in the air. I search her face, hunting for familiarity, finding none. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Rhys Chambers," she says, the name delivered like a bullet.
Something cold swims through my veins. Rhys Chambers, her brother?
"That's impossible," I say, a dry laugh escaping my throat. "I ran your background before taking your case. Standard procedure."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I realize the truth.
"You doctored your background," I mutter, pieces clicking into place as I understand how badly I've been played.
Claire's eyes gleam with cold satisfaction. "Money buys excellent hackers. Far better than your little friend Milo."
Rhys Chambers. The name echoes in my head, dredging up memories I'd locked away, a predator who hunted young models. Two girls disappeared. One body found, but no evidence. I tracked him, caught him in the act and confronted him, and when he pulled a knife...
I took down a monster only to find myself trapped in his sister's revenge scheme. No good deed goes unpunished.
My stomach churns as I stare at Claire, her face a marble mask while her husband exhales his last breath. The family resemblance hits me now. Those same dead eyes Rhys had when I confronted him. That same emptiness.
"You're all the same," I mutter, disgust coating my words. "A whole fucking family of predators."
Claire tilts her head. "Brian was the artist. Rhys preferred the chase. I... appreciate the logistics."
Jesus Christ.
"So what? You were just the cleanup crew? The one who made the bodies disappear?" I tighten my grip on the gun as bile rises in my throat. "Or did you watch?"
Something flickers in her eyes—excitement, arousal?—that answers my question more clearly than words could. Apparently, this fucking twisted world doesn't just create monsters, it breeds them in matching sets.
"You're worse than they were," I say, my voice deadly quiet. "They were broken, but you... you enabled them. Made their hunting grounds safe."
Lila stands to the side, her face pale but her eyes burning with understanding. She's seeing the truth I've always known… evil doesn't always wear a tie. Sometimes it wears jewelry and heels and calls itself a dutiful wife.
Claire's eyes lock onto Lila, narrowing with contempt. She laughs, a hollow, broken sound that scrapes against the walls.
"You fell for this pathetic creature, didn't you?" Her voice drips with disdain as she gestures toward Lila with a manicured hand. "What a disappointment."
Something shifts in Claire's face—the mask of control fracturing, revealing the rage beneath. Her features contort, twisting into something primal and unhinged.
"You were supposed to feel the pain I felt when you took Rhys from me," she spits, her face going red with rage.
I keep my gun steady, a bitter smile forming on my lips. The universe's cosmic joke gets better by the minute. Claire orchestrated this whole thing not just for revenge, but to make me suffer a specific kind of loss. To watch someone I care about die. Poetic justice from a twisted mind.
