Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
I let the blind fall and turn to the desk.
Delaney’s notes are spread there. Receipts. Names. Times. A sketch in the corner of one page. Measurements. Arrows. The marina. Access points. Service entries. Lock positions.
The marina records room. The sublevel restricted area. Has she figured out that it was restricted? Who it belonged to?
And the lock replacement.
I stare at the page, and something in me tightens.
She isn’t chasing a man anymore.
She’s chasing a door.
The thought hits like a fist, and in a flash I’m twenty-three again…
Rain slams down so hard it turns the marina black.
Water is slick under my boots. The old wood dock shines wet under the lights. My coat is heavy across my shoulders. I’m already flexing because this is what I was sent for. This is what I do. I step into messes and make them simple.
Nate is a few feet away, my backup. And Cain… Cain is farther away, always watching with that unreadable expression on his face.
He shouldn’t be here. He’s only sixteen.
But he insisted, and our father agreed. It was time. I could have fought harder, but I was way deeper into all of this shit when I was Cain’s age, so fuck it.
Then I see him.
Halstead.
He’s the problem. That is all that matters.
I move toward him.
Time to end it.
That’s always the lesson. Don’t drag it out. Don’t invite complication. Don’t wait for a second blow if the first can finish it.
I ready myself for what I came for.
But something is off.
Halstead slips on the damp wood, his shoe scraping.
He freezes.
It’s time.
I move forward, clamp my hand on his arm, and yank him backward.
He stumbles. “What the hell—”
“That’s far enough,” I say.
Halstead swallows. “You’re making a mistake.”
I tighten my grip.
Nate emerges from the shadows. “I don’t think so.”
Halstead lets out a breath. “You don’t understand. What I have—”
“We understand exactly what you have.” I grip him harder.
“Then you understand what happens next,” he says, his voice cracking. “This doesn’t stay here. It doesn’t disappear. I made sure of that.”
Rain hammers harder against the dock. Water splashes up against the wood.
I keep hold of him. One slight move from me, and he’s history. I know it. He knows it.
“Did something change?” he asks. “I was told that—”
“Shut up!” I squeeze his throat.
“I think,” Nate says quietly, “you’ve misunderstood your position.”
Halstead shakes his head. “No. I know exactly where I stand.”
Nate moves. And everything that happens next goes too quickly to stop.
I’m on him.
Impact.
A sick collision of force and bone and wet wood underfoot.
He goes down hard.
Too hard.
His body hits with a sound I still hear some nights when the house is too quiet.
And then…
Nothing.
No shouts.
No rush of men.
No chaos.
Just rain pouring over all of it.
Just the shape of him on the dock.
Just me standing above the wrong ending to something I still don’t fully understand.
The room snaps back into place around me. My hand is braced on the desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles.
I straighten slowly.
Last night in bed, Delaney asked me nothing that mattered aloud. Her body asked everything. Her mouth. Her hands. The way she opened for me.
A floorboard creaks outside.
I move before the sound finishes. I unlock the door again and walk quietly down the hall.
At the far end of the hall, the stairwell door swings softly on its hinge.
Someone was just here.
I take the stairs two at a time. Push through the lobby. Cold air slams into me as I hit the street.
A figure cuts across the far end of the block. A male in a dark hoodie, running.
I go after him.
He glances back once, sees me gaining, and bolts harder. He knows these streets or he’s been told where to go. He hooks left into a narrow alley between two brick buildings.
I follow.
The alley reeks of damp concrete and old trash. I slow just enough to listen.
A scrape.
Then silence.
I keep moving, but I find nothing. Just a chain-link gate at the far end, rattling faintly on its latch.
He’s gone.
Or he was never alone.
Fuck. I left Delaney alone with an unlocked door.
I race back.
By the time I reenter Delaney’s apartment, my pulse has settled. My body has not.
She’s still asleep.
Still on her side.
Thank God.
I go back and lock the door, scoffing at the deadbolt and chain. It’s useless. A child’s toy against wolves.
Then I go back to the bed and stand over her.
The beast in the tower.
The woman foolish enough to stay.
Except in this story, she doesn’t yet know the worst room in the castle. She has only pressed her hand to the door.
And I’m standing here with the key in my hand, knowing exactly what opens when I let her too close.
I look at my ring again. The key pressed into black platinum that looks like iron and worn like a birthright.
Samson.
The name has always felt less like a gift than a command. Strength. Violence. A man chosen for force and ruined by what he lets too near his heart.