Page 194 of Sins of the Hidden

The flames took what remained of him screaming. The whistle around his throat was the last thing I saw before the crematorium door closed—a small metallic glint disappearing into orange light.

The heat was becoming unbearable. Law's face was flushed, sweat streaming down his cheeks. Chet leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The concrete itself felt hot beneath our feet.

Inside my head, the walls began to whisper. Oakley's voice mixed with Mother's. The heat made everything shimmer, reality bending at the edges. I could taste copper in my mouth—not blood, something older.

Karson watched it all, his body convulsing in the chair. His eyes had gone wide and empty, shock setting in. When I approached him, he didn't fight anymore.

I knelt in front of him, catching his gaze. He was beyond words now, his mind already broken by what he'd witnessed.

Something shifted inside me again. A fracture spreading wider. Behind my eyes, images flickered—Oakley pinned down, Oakley crying, Oakley broken. I hadn't been there, but her words painted it vividly enough. My mind filled in what she couldn't say.

"Do you remember her face?" My voice lowered as I leaned closer to him. "When you held her down?"

"Every day." He nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I see them every day."

Each tear that slipped from her eyes played behind my eyelids. The tremors in her hands. The way she couldn't meet my stare. Her whispered apologies—like the scars on her soul were her fault.

"She begged you to stop." My hand found his throat, squeezing just enough to feel his pulse. "She cried until she couldn't breathe."

Law stepped forward, his calm lawyer facade completely gone. Blood had dried on his split lip. "They trusted you."

"We were just kids—" Law silenced him with a boot to the face. Blood sprayed across concrete.

"Oakley is my kid." His hand went to his waistband, pulling out a gun I hadn't seen before. It wavered in his grip, barrel inches from Karson's forehead. His finger unsteady on the trigger. I thought he might do it—pull the trigger, claim vengeance himself. Instead, he lowered the gun and stepped back.

"She was sixteen," Law said, voice barely above a whisper, fists shaking at his sides. "You broke my fucking little girl."

Law crumpled to his knees, his knuckles split and bleeding. He didn't cry. Just stared at the floor like he was waiting for his daughter's voice to fill the silence. It didn't.

I cut Karson's restraints, walked him to my inferno and fed what remained of him to the flames.

The crematorium sealed shut for the final time. Six hours of burning. Four men reduced to charred bone and blackened flesh. The basement reeked of death and heat.

Law worked silently beside me, both of us drenched in sweat, breathing the poisoned air. When it was done, nothing remained but smoldering remnants and the smell of charred flesh.

Something snapped within me, a cable severed under too much tension. Not grief. Not rage. Just certainty. The walls of the basement began to breathe. In and out. Slow and wet like lung tissue.

Charred bone fragments scattered across the floor like broken prayers. For a second, I thought I saw her outline in the smoke—Oakley, made of embers. Fragile. Burning. Beautiful. I reached for her, but the heat turned her to soot between my fingers.

Law exhaled sharply, hands shaking, eyes fixed on the cooling crematorium.

Chet leaned against the wall, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. Blood speckled across his face and neck. His usual manic energy seemed subdued, replaced by something contemplative.

"You know," Chet said, breaking the silence, "Grim asked me to join the MC." His voice carried an unfamiliar weight. "Officially."

Law glanced up, not surprised. "You've been hanging around enough."

Chet's mouth lifted in that familiar half-grin, but his eyes remained serious. "Yeah, well. Some men take longer to savethan others." He turned to me, something vulnerable shifting across his features. "What do you think, V? Think I'm worth saving?"

I kept my focus on the cooling crematorium. The question wasn't worth answering. No one was worth saving. Not him. Not me. Not anyone except Oakley.

Law shifted, recognizing the moment for what it was—Chet searching for approval where there would be none.

"Maybe after tonight, we'll be brothers soon enough." Chet's voice rose with conviction, echoing against the concrete walls. "Then I'll get to say 'Hey, brother' to you too."

He studied me for a reaction I wouldn't give. I stared back, unmoved. After seventeen seconds, his shoulders dropped slightly.

"Let’s get outta here," Law shook the collar of his shirt. “It’s fucking hot.”

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