Fuck.
I flex my shattered knuckles, welcoming the pain that shoots up my arm. I deserve worse. Vincent's corpse stares at nothing, head lolled to one side, blood congealing beneath the chairin patterns I'll see in my nightmares. Our one solid lead to Terrance. The one man who could have led us straight to that sadistic bastard.
And I killed him.
“That went well,” V mutters, crouching to examine what's left of Vincent. “Remind me never to piss you off when you're in love. You might actually be worse than this one,” he nods towards Ratchet.
“Shut the fuck up,” I growl, pacing like a caged animal. The basement suddenly feels too small, the walls closing in, reeking of failure.
Ratchet shakes his head. “We needed him alive, Thor.”
“You think I don't fucking know that?” I slam my fist against the wall again. Fresh blood spatters concrete. “The things he said about her—what Terrance was planning?—”
“Yeah, we heard,” V says, standing up with a grunt. “Every sick fucking detail, but you just made this worse, big guy. Not only for us tracking down that son of a bitch, but for her.”
V's right, and I hate him for it. I've made this worse for Charlotte. Made everything worse.
“We still have options. The laptop, the phone records, the surveillance photos. V's good at this digital shit.”
“I'm fucking amazing at this digital shit,” V corrects, wiping Vincent's blood off his hands. “But I don’t have my full setup here. It’s going to take time. Time we may not have.”
“We should go back to Upland,” Ratchet declares. “We have numbers there. She will be protected until we figure all of this shit out.”
Fuck. Maybe he’s right. The three of us can’t take on an entire club. Not with Charlotte.
“What if she doesn't want to go to Upland?” I ask, the thought twisting my gut. Charlotte didn't sign up for this shit—for my world, my war.
“She doesn't have a choice.” V steps closer, “Look at me, Thor. You know I'm right. Charlotte is leverage now. Terrance wants her. Ace probably knows about her. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and now we've got a fucking corpse on our hands.”
I rub my face, smearing blood across my beard. “This is my mess. I'll clean it up.”
“No,” V says firmly, grabbing my shoulder. “Your mess is upstairs, probably packing her bags to run again. Our mess is this dead asshole. Let us handle it.”
Ratchet nods. “We'll clean this up. You talk to Charlotte, make her understand what's at stake. We’ll dump the body and then get the fuck out of here.”
They're right. We need to regroup, pull back to friendly territory. Upland is defensible. We have brothers there, resources. Even if it feels like we’re running with our tails tucked between our legs.
“Fine,” I concede, hating the taste of retreat. “We leave tonight. Get Vincent wrapped up and in the van. I'll convince Charlotte.”
“You better do more than convince her. Make her understand that Upland is her only shot at survival.”
I storm up the stairs, each step fueled by a cocktail of rage and fear that burns through my veins like battery acid. My hand throbs, blood still seeping from split knuckles, but the pain is nothing compared to the storm brewing inside my chest.
Charlotte's door is closed. Of course it is. I stand before it, suddenly hesitant. What the fuck am I supposed to say? Sorry I just beat a man to death in front of you? Sorry my club's corruption dragged you deeper into this nightmare? Sorry I'm your best chance at survival when I can't even keep my shit together?
I knock anyway. Silence stretches between us, thick as smoke.
“Charlotte.” Her name feels heavy on my tongue. “We need to talk.”
More silence, then a soft rustle of movement. The door opens just enough for me to see her face—pale, composed, eyes red-rimmed but dry. She's already pulled herself together while I'm still bleeding all over the hallway.
“Did it make you feel better? Killing him?”
The question hits like a gut punch. “No.”
“Me neither.” She finally turns, and the emptiness in her stare scares me more than any fury could. “All those years with Terrance, I used to fantasize about him dying. I thought it would set me free.” A hollow laugh escapes her. “Now I realize it doesn't matter. He's turned me into something I don't recognize. Something that can watch a man die and feel nothing but disappointment that he didn't suffer more.”
I step into the room, closing the door behind me. Charlotte sits on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap like she's praying. But there's nothing sacred about this moment—just two broken people trying to figure out how to survive.
