If I survive this—whenI survive this—I'm going to give them a real chance. The pack. The life Juniper wants so desperately and remains convinced we can have, in spite of all the darkness the past holds. The future I've been too afraid to even imagine. The thought crystallizes into a vow as I watch Evan's smile widen, mistaking my moment of reflection for weakness.
"How touching," Evan says, rolling his shoulders like he's warming up for a workout instead of a fight to the death. "You've trained them well. Or maybe they just know their place better than you ever did."
"The only one who doesn't know his place is you," I tell him, shrugging out of my jacket. It hits the floor with a soft thud, the hidden knives sewn into the lining clanking against concrete. "You're a parasite who built an empire on suffering. A coward who beats down anyone weaker than him because deep down, you know you're nothing."
His face darkens, that polished veneer of control cracking just enough to show the monster underneath. Good. I want him angry. Want him sloppy with rage the way he used to get when I was younger and refused to break the way he wanted.
"I made you," he snarls, stalking forward with the confidence of someone who's never lost a fight that mattered. "Everything you are, every skill you have, you learned at my feet."
"You taught me how to survive monsters," I correct, settling into a fighting stance that's pure instinct now. "Turns out that's pretty useful when you are one."
He lunges faster than someone his size should be able to move, but I've been expecting it. Evan always led with brute force, counting on his size advantage to overwhelm opponents before they could think. I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him past me, and drive my elbow into his kidney as he passes.
He grunts, spinning with a backhand that would have taken my head off if I hadn't already dropped low. My foot sweeps his ankle, but he's too heavy, too well-balanced. He barely stumbles.
"Still so weak," he taunts, circling me like the predator he thinks he is. "Still that pathetic omega trying to play alpha. You could never fool me, little brother. I could smell the weakness on you from the day you were born."
I don't rise to the bait. Words are just noise. I learned that from him too—the beatings that came whether I begged or stayed silent, the punishments that had nothing to do with what I'd done and everything to do with what I was. An omega. His omega brother who should have been another profit source instead of an embarrassment, in his eyes.
He comes at me again, this time with more calculation. A feint left, then a crushing right hook that I barely avoid. His fist clips my shoulder, spinning me, and he follows up with a knee aimed at my ribs. I twist, taking it on my hip instead, using the impact to roll away and create distance.
"You're out of practice," I observe, noting the slight hitch in his breathing. "Too much time sitting behind a desk, counting money while others do your dirty work?"
"I don't need practice to deal with you." But there's something in his eyes now, not concern exactly but at awareness that this isn't going the way he expected. I'm not that terrified kid anymore, the one who took his beatings because fighting back meant worse for Juniper.
Juniper. The thought of her somewhere in this building, probably fighting her own way free because she's never been one to sit idle and wait for rescue, gives me strength. She believes I can do this. Has always believed I was more than what Evan tried to make me.
We clash again, trading blows that would drop normal people. His reach is longer, his fists like hammers, but I'mfaster. For every hit that lands on me, I land three on him. Targeted strikes to pressure points, joints, the soft spots that even muscle can't protect. The techniques Carlisle showed me without knowing it, watching him work. The medical knowledge Elias shared that tells me exactly where to hit to cause maximum damage.
Blood runs from Evan's nose, his lip split, one eye already swelling shut. But he's still standing, still coming at me with the relentlessness of someone who's never learned to quit. Because he's never had to.
"You think you've won something?" he gasps, spitting blood. "You think killing me changes anything? There will always be another Serpents' Den. Another me. You can't save them all, and you know it."
"I don't have to save them all," I tell him, dodging another wild swing. "I just have to save the ones I love. And kill the ones who hurt them."
I see the opening—he's favoring his left side where I've been systematically brutalizing his ribs. When he shifts his weight to compensate, I strike. A palm thrust to his solar plexus that doubles him over, then my knee to his face with enough force to feel cartilage crunch. He staggers back, blood pouring from his ruined nose, and I follow up with a spinning kick that sends him to his knees.
This is it. The moment I've dreamed about for seven years. My brother on his knees, beaten, bloodied, about to pay for every scream I heard through these walls. Every omega he broke. Every night Juniper cried in her sleep, fighting nightmares he put there.
I pull the knife from my boot. Not one of the fancy ones Carlisle would appreciate, just simple steel that will do the job. Evan looks up at me through the blood, and for the first time in my life, I see fear in his eyes.
"Do it," he wheezes, and there's something wrong about the way he says it. Too eager. "Show them what you really are. What we both are."
I should have seen it coming. Should have known Evan would never face death without an insurance policy. His hand moves to his watch, tacky and exactly his style, and presses something that click.
"Watch out!" Elias cries, lunging to intervene, but not in time.
The hiss starts immediately. Gas pouring from vents I helped install years ago, under gunpoint. The smell hits me first. Chemical, caustic, already burning my throat.
"No!" I lunge for him, but he's already pulling something from his pocket. A small mask that covers his mouth and nose, the kind of thing you'd miss if you weren't looking for it. The coward's way out, as always.
My lungs are already burning. Behind me, I hear Elias choking, the sound cutting through me worse than any of Evan's punches. I spin, seeing him drop to one knee, medical bag falling from his hands as he clutches his throat.
"Let's see how noble these alphas of yours turn out to be when you're all stripped bare of pretense," Evan says cryptically, his voice muffled by the mask but clear enough.
I ignore him and try to go back for Elias, but my legs won't cooperate. The gas is doing something to my nervous system, making everything heavy and slow. I can hear shouting from somewhere above. Bane's voice, Carlisle's, getting closer but not close enough.
"Felix—" Elias gasps, and he's crawling toward me even as his body fails, even as the gas fills his lungs. Still trying to save me. Still treating me like I matter. He finally gets close enough to grasp my arm, and pulls something out of his jacket. A cloth he tries to use to cover my face.
