Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
I tilt my head. “Meaning?”
Dean smiles without humor. “Meaning we’re about to make her beg.”
By the time we’re back home, the adrenaline is fading.
Knight looks worse in softer light. So do I. We’re bruised.
Dirty.
Alive.
He cups my face again, like he can’t stop checking that I’m here.
“I’m furious at you,” I say.
“I know.”
“I’m also wildly proud of you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m going to kiss you again because I’m still mad.”
His smile is small and wrecked and so damn him. “Okay.”
We kiss. Because we survived. Because we choose each other. Because this was never going to be a story where I sit quietly on the sidelines while the man I love bleeds for me.
This is a story where we walk into the fire together— and walk out holding hands. And somewhere deep in Halo City, in a club that thought it could swallow us whole— the monsters just learned the hard way:
I’m not prey.
I’m not a prize.
I’m the girl with the bat.
And I don’t lose what’s mine.
EPILOGUE — A NEW HUNT
LARK
The first thing I learn about working for Maddox Security (because yes, they recruited us) is this:
They don’t half-commit.
They don’t half-protect.
They don’t half-hunt.
And after everything Knight and I survived, I’m not sure either of us could live halfway again even if we tried.
We’re in the Aquarium—because of course Dean Maddox has to name his glass conference room like it’s a warning and a flex—sitting around a long table that smells like coffee, gun oil, and the kind of seriousness that makes me sit up straighter even when I’m determined to be a problem.
Knight is at my side.
Not hovering.
Not controlling.
Just there.
Like he finally learned the difference between protecting me and loving me.
His hand rests on my knee under the table—steady, warm, familiar—like a quiet anchor while Rae’s voice floats through the comms display at the front.
“We confirmed Serafina’s footprint in Halo City again,” Rae says. “Same network nodes. Same shell routes. Different faces.”
Arrow leans back in his chair, jaw locked. He looks like a guy who keeps his rage in a safe with two locks and a prayer. Juno sits beside him, fingers laced with his under the table in a way that screams touch him and die.
Across from me, River’s posture is calm but her eyes are sharp. This version of River—the one who survived Cathedral and turned her fear into teeth—is one of my favorite things in the world. Gage is next to her, looking like he’s trying to be professional and also trying not to combust into violence if anyone breathes wrong around his people.
Which includes me.
Unfortunately for him.
Ozzy is sprawled in his chair like the meeting is optional, but his gaze is focused in that unsettling way that tells me he’s cataloging every detail, every risk, every potential objective path.
Render has a tablet open, already pulling satellite overlays.
Poe is quiet near the corner, the kind of quiet that makes the room feel more secure just because he’s in it.
Sawyer and Riggs stand like they were born in command lighting.
Dean sits at the head of the table, calm in the way that makes you remember calm can be lethal. This is not a ragtag vigilante crew anymore. This is a machine. A good one.
Rae changes the display.
A photo appears.
A girl.
Maybe mid-twenties.
Dark hair, pale skin, eyes wide with a stubbornness that feels familiar even through a still image.
A name appears under her file.
SALEM BLOOM.
I can feel the emotional temperature drop the moment the word trafficking becomes real instead of theoretical.
Rae’s voice goes quieter.
“Salem was taken three weeks ago. We believe she’s being moved through a private auction pipeline. High bidder purchase is scheduled within forty-eight hours.”
“Forty-eight?” River repeats, disbelief sharpened into anger.
Rae nods. “Location is not confirmed, but we have a lead on a staging property outside Halo City. The same handler chain ties back to Serafina’s financial architecture.”
Gage’s fingers tap once against the table.
A tell.
He’s pissed.
I don’t blame him.
Knight’s hand tightens on my knee, just slightly.
“Who’s close to extraction?” Dean asks.
Ozzy’s head lifts. “I am.” He says it like a fact.
I glance at him.
Ozzy Oliver is chaos in a designer jacket—sharp smile, quicker brain, and a moral compass that only points true when someone weaker is in danger. He’s the guy who jokes his way through stress. The guy who will flirt with a loaded gun if it looks lonely.
But right now? There’s no humor on him. Just intent.
Arrow leans forward. “We’ll stage a quiet pull. No fireworks. Not yet.”
“I’m not sure. I think I’d feel better using trained men,” Dean says.
“I don’t,” Ozzy says. “I think I can blend better. Maybe go in as an interested buyer. Your BRAVO team screams military. I don’t.”
Dean weighs his options. “This little misfit crew has proved helpful,” he says more to Arrow than anyone else.
Rae flips to a schematic.
“Primary objective: Salem alive and untracked. Secondary objective: identify transport chain. Tertiary: smoke out Serafina’s local coordinator.”