Page 74 of The Sentinel

Ryker’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t interrupt.

I took a breath, forcing the next words out. “I’ve spent my entire career investigating crime. Murders. People who go missing and never come back. I’ve talked to victims’ families, I’ve followed leads that ran cold, I’ve uncovered things the police were too slow—or too corrupt—to chase down.” I shook my head, crossing my arms tightly over my chest. “And I’ve seen what revenge does to people. It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t bring the dead back. And half the time?” I swallowed. “It makes things worse.”

Ryker didn’t move, but something shifted behind his eyes.

I pressed on. “I get it. I do. Marcus is furious. So amI. Diego is dead, and we don’t know why. We don’t know who really pulled the strings. But hurting this guy?” I shook my head. “This isn’t justice. It’s just pain looking for somewhere to land.”

Ryker exhaled slowly, but the muscle in his jaw kept ticking. “Marcus doesn’t see it that way.”

“Then maybe someone needs to make him.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Then Ryker pulled out his keys, cursing under his breath..

“Get in the damn car,” he muttered.

Relief crashed over me so fast my knees nearly buckled.

But I couldn’t fall apart now.

I turned and strode out of the armory, my steps echoing against the polished floors of Dominion Hall. The weight of what I was about to do pressed down on me, but I forced my legs to keep moving.

Halfway down the hall, I veered toward Marcus’s room. “Give me two minutes,” I called over my shoulder.

Ryker didn’t argue.

I shoved the door open and grabbed my leather satchel from where I’d left it by the bed, slinging it over my shoulder with shaky fingers. My heart was still pounding, adrenaline making my limbs feel too light, too unsteady. I stepped into the bathroom, twisting the faucet on, and splashed cold water over my face, letting the shock of it ground me.

Breathe. Focus.

I ran a brush through my hair, pulling it into a quick ponytail, then grabbed a fresh shirt from my bag and yanked it on. I didn’t have time for more than that.

I caught my reflection in the mirror as I turned toleave. My cheeks were still flushed, my eyes bright with something sharp and determined.

Good.

I slung my satchel higher onto my shoulder, squared my jaw, and headed for the door.

Ryker was waiting by the front entrance, keys in hand, expression unreadable.

I nodded once. “Let’s go.”

28

MARCUS

I’d always had my little hiding spots scattered around Charleston—dark corners and quiet haunts where me and my brothers could have what I liked to callintimate conversationswith our guests. Places like the rusted-out shed behind the old textile mill on the edge of town, the basement of that abandoned bar off King Street with walls thick enough to muffle screams, or the concrete box near Joint Base Charleston we were in now, a familiar haunt from the early days when we’d first started building Dominion into what it was.

They weren’t pretty, weren’t comfortable, but they did the job. Sound didn’t carry, neighbors didn’t snoop, and the shadows kept our secrets. Perfect for getting answers out of people who didn’t want to give them.

Earlier, I’d gone looking for Evelyn Hart. Started at her house—a sleek, modern place on the Battery, all glass and white brick, the kind of home that screamed money and power. I’d slipped in through a side window, silent as a ghost, expecting to find her sipping tea or plotting her next move. But the place was ashell. No clothes in the closets, no papers on the desk, no dishes in the sink—just furniture, cold and untouched, like she’d packed up her life and vanished. Poof.

Same story at her office in the city complex. Desk cleared, files gone, nothing but the faint scent of her perfume lingering like a taunt. She’d rabbited, and I hadn’t seen it coming.

I’d been pacing my room at Dominion, stewing on it, Claire still asleep in my bed, her naked curves a distraction I couldn’t afford, when my phone buzzed. One of my guys—Tommy, ex-Ranger with eyes like a hawk—called in.

“Spotted that kid from the mayor’s office. The twitchy one. Walking home from some Mexican joint on East Bay, bag of takeout in his hand.”

---