Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“What?” He stares at me like I just tripped from borderline to completely off-the-rails.
“Shit.” I pat my nonexistent pockets, frown, and sigh dramatically. “I don’t have my phone. Typical. Every time something epic happens.”
He watches me as if trying to determine if my insanity is real or strategic. Unease leaks through the polish. Not panic, but his calculating demeanor is definitely going fuzzy at the edges. He’s used to owning rooms. And now? He knows the room no longer belongs to him.
“You made your point.” His voice is smooth, honed to sell retreats and nonconsent in the same breath. “Let’s lower the theatrics.”
“You first.”
For a half second, the smile he’s famous for wobbles.
Good. Now he’s listening.
I lean in, letting the manic edge drain away. I’m done performing.
“Let’s chat about Jag Rath.” I drop the temperature in my tone, cold as a polar night. “You have him in a room under us. Concrete. No windows.”
Crowe’s eyes flick down, then back to me. Tiny tell. Not enough to give him away in court. But plenty for me.
“I’m not here to negotiate philosophy.” I drum my ringed fingers on the table. “You’re going to take me to him. I’m going to collect what I came for. Then I’ll walk out the same door I came in. No sirens. No big boom.”
I don’t say her name. I won’t.
Mikhail couldn’t confirm she’s in this building, and I’m not about to drag her into a room she might not be near. If Dove is here, Jag will tell me the second he sees my face. If she isn’t, if she’s somewhere else entirely, I’ll probably make a bloody mess out of some throats.
Future-Wolf problems.
“You’re making assumptions.” Crowe studies me, the practiced calm back in place, but thinner now.
“I’m making a schedule.” I smile again, this one meaner. “You can walk me down there, or I can start improvising with explosives. I’m leaving with Jag Rath, or we’re all leaving in pieces. Your choice.”
“Do you know why I let you into my club?”
“Because you thought I was an underage girl?”
He ignores the jab. “Because I know your family. The moment Jag Rath entangled himself with you, I had you investigated. Curiously, your name doesn’t exist the way it should. No trail. No childhood or schooling. Nothing that explains you.”
“I lived off-grid with a psychopath for twenty-four years.”
If that surprises him, he doesn’t show it. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-four. Too legal for you, honeybun.”
He blinks once, the math catching up.
“If you did your homework, you’d know I lean hard into suicidal solutions.” I recline in the chair, the bomb on full display. “Go ahead. Call my bluff.”
I know how deranged I must look to him with my sequins, eyeliner, painted smile, and plan that ends in dismemberment.
“What do you want with Rath?” His gaze dips to the exposed scars on my chest.
“I was raised by a monster who preyed on kids and told us we were special.”
His face empties.
“I recognize the type.” I look him up and down. “You collect children, abuse them until you’re bored, pass them on to your friends, and make a profit on their suffering.” I fold my hands on the table, metal rings clinking together. “You took Jag because he’s useful. A skill set like his will clean up your messes, erase your filthy tracks, and keep you out of prison.”
Crowe opens his mouth.
“I’ll kill him before I let you keep a weapon like that.” I tip my head, inked smile holding. “If the only way to stop you is to turn this place into rubble, I’ll pay that price. So choose. Give me the hacker and keep breathing. Or play your games and find out how serious I am.”
My heart pounds in my throat, and I wonder if he notices. His terrible silence lasts too long, tightening my skin and sandblasting my lungs.
Then I see it, the moment it lands, the exact second his options finish rearranging themselves. The mask evaporates. The choices narrow, and he realizes there’s no angle left where he keeps both his control and his survival.
“Follow me.” He pushes his chair back.
Survival, it is.
The guards close in immediately, a tight ring of suits and steel. Crowe doesn’t look at them. He turns stiffly and walks.
I rise and go with him.
We slip through a private exit behind velvet curtains, turn into a corridor, and open a door to the rear stairwell.
“Yay.” I clap my hands. “Basement time.”
Crowe leads. I follow. Guns move with us, never more than a breath away.
And that is how I get a free guided tour of Adrian Crowe’s dungeon.
“Wolf.” Oliver’s voice cuts into my earpiece. “This could be a trap.”
I almost laugh as the door closes behind us, sealing off the easy exit and any change of heart.
It all makes sense now. Crowe didn’t let me into his club because he was curious. The instant I said Jag’s name at the door, that made me a loose end he needed to erase.