Page 155 of Sins of the Hidden

Chet wiped blood from his chin with the back of his hand, smearing red across his stubble. "Always a pleasure, Sarge. Tell the missus I said hi."

Law's fingers dug into Chet's arm, dragging him out before Sarge's restraint shattered completely. I followed, noting the fresh bloodstains on Sarge's knuckles—drying brown at the edges. Hadn't been a pleasant night for Chet, despite the swagger.

"You have a fucking death wish?" Law hissed once we were outside, shoving Chet against the building's wall. Brick dust scattered from the impact, settling on Chet's shoulders like snow. "Is it your life's mission to piss everyone off?"

"I gotta do something to contribute to the club," Chet said, straightening his jacket with practiced nonchalance. His eyes landed on my face, narrowing as they registered the pink adhesive still stuck to my cheek. "What the fuck is that?" He leaned closer, squinting through the dim parking lot lights. "Are those... fucking unicorns?"

My hand rose to my cheek, fingertips grazing the ridiculous paper and glue stuck there. My muscles tensed, fingers already calculating the distance to my bat. Last time someone laughed at me, I counted their teeth as they hit the floor.

Law snorted, earlier tension dissolving into dark amusement. "My wife takes care of our girl," he said, then added with a smirk that dug under my skin, "and occasionally her strays."

I better be Oakley's only fucking stray.

Chet's mouth twitched, a laugh building that he barely contained behind bloodied lips. "Cute bonding moment," he drawled, examining a fresh cut on his knuckles. "Though, gotta wonder—how many more of your girls will V poach? Daughter first, wife next? Or maybe you've got a grandmother stashed away somewhere? V's got a collection to complete."

The air stilled between us, temperature dropping ten degrees. Law's face darkened, hand twitching toward where a gun should be. If we're counting family, I'd already got the only one worth keeping. The rest would just clutter the basement. Too many voices, too much noise.

"Let's get this shit done." Law's voice hardened, each word sharp enough to cut. If he made a move against Chet, I'd let it play out. Might be entertaining to watch someone else's blood paint the asphalt. I hadn't seen a skull cave since Tuesday. The sound was always different—sometimes a wet crack, sometimes more like an eggshell breaking.

"Pissed princess off already," Chet whistled, making his way to the back seat of Law's car. "Good thing V can't feel pain. The emotional kind, I mean. Though I guess that whole CIPA thing means you can't feel the physical kind either, huh? Must make jerking off a real challenge—like fucking a corpse with your own dick."

I stared at him, unblinking. The unicorns on my bandaid probably showed more emotion than my face.

"What?" Chet grinned, blood still staining his teeth. "Too far? You literally collect body parts in that basement, but a masturbation joke crosses the line?"

It'd be a fucking miracle if we didn't kill each other tonight.

Moxley's house squatted in the darkness, sprawling two-story at the end of a cul-de-sac. Too many windows. Too many entry points. Too much security. Yet somehow not enough.

"Doesn't look like much," Law muttered, peering through binoculars from our position across the street. His breath fogged the night air, betraying our position with every exhale.

Chet snorted, unpacking equipment from a black duffle bag that reeked of gun oil and chemicals. Metal clinked against metal as his fingers worked with practiced efficiency. "That's the point. Don't let the suburban dad vibe fool you. House is a fucking fortress." He handed Law what looked like night vision goggles. Law fumbled them, nearly dropping the expensive equipment onto wet grass.

I gripped my bat tighter, the worn wood pressing familiar grooves into my palm. Blood from yesterday's work had dried into the grain, turning the surface rough in places. "I'll go through the front."

"Jesus Christ," Chet hissed, yanking me back down behind the bushes. His grip left immediately when he caught my stare,fingers retreating like he'd touched hot metal. Smart man. "No, you fucking won't. Place is rigged to hell and back."

"How bad?" Law asked, trying to focus the goggles and failing. His pupils dilated in the dark, the scent of fear rolling off him in waves that crashed against my senses.

Chet's face went grim, mouth flattening into a hard line. "Motion sensors, pressure plates, trip wires—probably enough C-4 to level the block. We need to?—"

I was already moving before he finished. The night air felt clean in my lungs, washing away the stench of Law's fear. My bat swung gently at my side, balanced and ready.

"V!" Chet's harsh whisper chased after me as I cut across the neighbor's yard, keeping low beneath decorative shrubs and garden lights.

The side of the house had a small window—probably a bathroom. Perfect. Small space to contain an explosion if things went wrong. I'd barely reached it when Chet appeared beside me, equipment jangling softly at his belt like warning bells.

"You dumbass," he panted, pulling out what looked like a scanner. Red lights blinked across its surface, illuminating his face from below in bloody hues. "At least let me check for?—"

My hand moved toward the glass, but Chet grabbed my wrist. A mistake. My muscles coiled instinctively, ready to break every finger that dared touch me. Only Oakley was allowed that privilege. Only her hands could claim my skin without consequences.

"Wait." He released me quickly, pulling out a small canister from his belt. He sprayed something at the window, and instantly, a grid of red laser beams appeared, crisscrossing the glass like veins. "Motion triggers," he explained, pointing to small black boxes mounted on the interior frame. "Break the window wrong, and boom—you're painting the walls with whatever's left of your internal organs."

Death didn't scare me. Never had. Losing her did. Not seeing her face again, not hearing her voice, not watching her smile slowly return. "How do we get through?"

A slow grin spread across Chet's face, blood from his split lip making it look more feral than friendly. "Very, very carefully."

Chet pulled out a thin metal tool, carefully working at the window's edge. "I can disable the sensors, but it'll take a few minutes. One wrong move and we're all dead."

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