Page 144 of Ugly Beautiful Scars

"Get him arrested for something minor. I'll plant evidence in his home. Heroine. An amount that will be enough for possession charges but not enough to trigger a major investigation. Once he's arrested, I'm sure you can make sure he goes to jail for eight months. The media will be vultures. It'll tarnish his reputation enough to keep him in line, because you'll threaten to get him arrested again for something worse unless he behaves. Something that would completely destroy his career, like rape charges." I pause, giving space for my offer to sink in. "I know you could do this yourself; you don't need me. But I also think you're tired of using your own men to deal with Miller. His behavior forced you to come here personally, to this apartment, when I'm sure you have better things to do. Let me deal with him."

The density of the air thickens as Victor considers what I've said. His eyes never leave mine and I can tell he's doing exactly what my brain does: calculating risks. Running pros and cons.

With a small hand flick, he motions for his men to lower their weapons. Londyn sways into me, almost collapsing, so I turn and wrap an arm around her shoulder. The relief almost collapses me too, but I force myself to remain steady and expressionless.

"One chance," Victor says. "I'll allow your little operation. But I keep the woman as collateral."

My stomach drops but I don't flinch. I shake my head, keeping my movement slow and non-threatening. "If you do that, Miller could find out. He's part of your world, right? He has buddies who might leak intel. If he knows you have Londyn, he'd be suspicious. She has to come with me."

Victor's gaze shifts between us, calculating something behind those empty eyes. "And what guarantee do I have that you won't simply disappear?"

"I'm not an idiot. I know you'd find us if we tried to run."

"That's not good enough." He glances down at my boots and clicks his tongue. "Your colleague across the hallway has a family." My stomach bottoms out as Victor flicks his gaze at one of his men. "Is he alive?"

"Yes, boss."

Alive.

Mike is alive.

Thank God.

Victor nods at the man. "Take him to the car. He'll be collateral. Along with his family." His dark gaze slides back to me. "Mateo. Noah. That pregnant wife. Understood?"

The casual way he drops those names, like he's reciting a fucking grocery list, makes a dread snake up my spine. I struggle to process how Victor already knows so much about Mike's family—probably has files on me too. It only takes an instant to calculate how thoroughly fucked we all are.

Before I can organize my thoughts, Londyn steps forward. "Wait. I'll go," she says. "Take me as collateral. Please, I'll go."

Victor doesn't even acknowledge her existence. Just keeps those dead eyes fixed on me, waiting for my response like she's not even in the room. Like she's not even worth dismissing.

My hands curl into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms hard enough to draw blood. Every muscle in my body screams to lunge at him, to tear that impassive look from his face with my bare hands.

But I know the aftermath. I'd get three steps before his men put a bullet in my skull. Then Londyn. Then Mike and his family shortly after.

Instead, I swallow down the rage burning in my throat and force out through gritted teeth: "Understood." I take Londyn's arm, gently pulling her closer to me, needing her warmth against the cold spreading through my chest. "When I'm done, you forget Londyn exists. You forget all of us exist."

"Complete your task, and then you'll be in a position to bargain." He nods at his men and they lift their fallen comrade. They all move toward the bedroom door.

"You have two weeks," Victor adds. "Don't disappoint me."

He walks out without another word, his men following like shadows pulled by gravity. I hear their heavy boots cross the apartment, then the front door slams.

Silence.

Londyn collapses into my arms like her strings have been cut. Her body shakes violently against mine as I hold her, both of us clinging to each other like we might dissolve if we let go.

"Mike?" she chokes out, her voice muffled against my chest. "What—"

"He was shot, but he's alive. He's alive."

The image of him sprawled on the floor, surrounded by blood, burns behind my eyes. Now he's in the hands of pure darkness. Another friend I couldn't protect. Another person paying the price for my failure to see what was right in front of me.

Still alive.

Not gone. Not yet.

We sink to the floor together, holding each other as the tears come. Relief and grief and terror all mix into something that feels like drowning while also gasping for air.

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