Page 159 of Ashes of Honor

I caught her before she hit the ground and pulled her gently into the storage closet. “You’ll have a place in Monterey,” I murmured, brushing her hair out of her face as I lowered her to the stone floor. “Find Reina.”

It was a gamble. The device, clunky and slightly heavier than it appeared, had found its place in my hand. I slid it over Miranda’s wrist, positioning it the way Finley had instructed. Leave it to her to give me one lastFuck you, even in death. She’d brought it to me a few days before she died, yet another one of her prototypes—except this one she was interested in offering for a tradeafterthe war. The button in the middle felt too small against my trembling fingers. When she woke up, she’d need to press it, trust that it would work. Just like I was trusting it now, even as the weight of the choice sat on my chest.

I turned back to the passage, releasing a long, controlled exhale. The doors with the lights on dared me with a devilish glow, to find out what was on the other side. A dare in whichI’d have no joy in taking because I knew, without a doubt, that Ronan Moore awaited me on the other side.

I chose the middle door.No particular reason. The path that lay in between seemed as good an option as the other two. I rolled my shoulders, flexing my fingers again as my magic coiled tighter and pushed it open.

The room was too clean, too bright. Screens covered the wall, lit up with cameras on one side, photos of my family and I on the other. Prescott and Jax had one simple phrase noted in red ink over theirs—TERMINATED. Strange. How in such a moment, I knew I should have been filled with rage. My eyes wandered to the picture at the very end of the line-up … Seth’s. And the same message was displayed over his. Ronan’s own son, who had lost his head trying to make his father proud, had still been deemed an enemy in the end.

“So you’ve met my son,” Ronan smiled, leaning back in his chair, his desk at the center of the room.

I refused to look at him. Willed myself not to respond immediately. It shouldn’t have been painful—seeing Seth on the wall like …that. The pain should have come from seeing Prescott’s stern military photo from his time in the Marines, pulled from God knows where or Jax’s grinning face, a picture that had once been displayed in Compound Hall. But that wasn’t where the ache came from. They had family and loved ones to mourn them.

Seth in the end, had no one, only people who’d deemed him a traitor. I hated him, but the complexity of his betrayal had become clear in the passing months. He was nothing more thana boy who had been driven mad by the fact that he knew in his gut that his brother was alive. Yet, he had no resources to find him. Instead, he resorted to the closest source, a man who happened to be a spitting fucking image of him.

“Hunter’s more pleasant than the last. I’ll give you that,” I said finally, glancing around the rest of the room, keeping my voice strong. “Bietoletti, Malachai, as ugly as ever, how are you two doing? Riley says,Go fuck yourself.”

I waved to Malachai, decided to hold his grotesque stare instead of his master’s. He said nothing, his beady eyes only stared through me, like he couldn’t be bothered to see me as a clear, evenly matched opponent.Fine. Let him think that.

The door groaned shut behind me, sealing me in. The sound of it latched deep into my chest in a steel trap. The scrape of my boots against the cold floor echoed in the silence, the rhythm of breathing around me adding weight to the air. The room itself seemed to amplify the truth—you’re not getting out of here. Every step I took sealed my fate.

“He takes after his mother,” Ronan said, his voice dripping with casual malice. “You know how genetics are.”

“Oh, I’d say you’re one to two on theapple doesn’t fall far from the tree, thing.”

He leaned forward in the blurred lines of my vision. “You’re outnumbered, why don’t you take a seat.”

“Please don’t insult me, Ronan.” I scoffed, eyes glaring daggers into his soul. “I’ll get mad. You don’t like me when I’m mad.”

Ronan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. The silence between us stretched on, suffocating, unbearable. His eyes were locked on mine, watching for any sign of weakness. I held my ground, refusing to be the one to turn away first. His lips twisted like he wanted to smile, the freckles speckling his face making the harshwrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead more pronounced. The faint tension rippling through his jaw betrayed him.

It was a small tell, hardly decipherable to the eye of a person unwilling to take risks, but it was enough for me to stay on my feet. That small hesitation to engage, a sliver of uncertainty on which of us would leave the room … It gave me all the confidence in the world to keep going.

Iwasoutnumbered, and though I was armed, I should be the scared one. But I wasn’t, I was numb. Ronan—the man who had built his empire on corpses and greed—was the scared one. And that made it so much worse. After the glimmer of hope settled, it disappeared. Fear made my situation fatal. A scared dog would always bite.

Malachai moved behind him with methodical ease, dragging a black tripod from the corner. His olive-hued hands adjusted it methodically, as if this was all rehearsed. Bietoletti moved from the door and stepped aside for the camera’s line of sight, his frame tilting toward me with renewed interest.

The setup wasn’t for show. I knew what this was. He wanted to make an example of me but he had yet to realize this was my stage, not his.

Ronan stood slowly, his steps deliberate on the polished floor. His hands remained behind. He didn’t need a weapon. His sheer size as aSuprawas a threat, every move designed to remind me how much smaller I was. Ronan Moore came to a stop directly in front of me then leaned down, hoping to make me cower in fear. I did no such thing.

I stayed focused, holding a quiet, deliberate calm as I watched him. Where he moved, my eyes followed. Submission wasn’t an option. The only thing I had to offer him was the sour taste of absolute disgust of knowing I had to exist and breathe the same air as a murderous sack of shit. One who had zero regard for human life that was unable to serve his benefit.

“Tell me, General Bennett,” he said, his venomous breath warm against my skin. Peppermint was now on myno smelllist. “What’s the end goal here?”

His laugh was low and maniacal as he reached out, brushing a curl from my temple, the outside of his hand tracing down the side of my face. I did not back down. The glare aimed at him was meant to mark.

“Funny.” I shrugged. “I was just about to ask you the same thing before I realized, I don’t really care.”

“Tsk.” He was amused. Enjoying this. “Now, I don’t believe that for a second.”

His fingers tangled into the mess of my bun. The sharp pull yanked me off balance and forced me to my knees. The cold stone bit into my skin, but I didn’t flinch, didn’t cry out.

I glared up at him, the heat of defiance searing through the numbness. He wanted to make me cower. I’d make sure he’d regret it.

Today, he would dance with death—we both would.

Riley

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