Page 205 of Buried in Blood

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I’m choosing.

The Golden Hollows is rubble.

The Orchard is ashes.

The network is severed.

I even tracked down the off-site accounts—shell companies in Brazil, the Cayman Islands, and Russia. I shut them all down. Transferred every remaining cent to foundations for trafficking survivors. Anonymous deposits. Clean.

No blood money.

Not anymore.

I kept one thing.

His ring.

The one he wore on his left hand. Gold. Heavy. Engraved with our crest.

I had it melted down.

Turned into something else.

A bullet.

One.

Just in case.

I keep it in a box under my bed. Not because I plan to use it.

But because reminders matter.

He lived. He ruled. He burned.

Now he’s nothing but metal shaped by my will.

That’s what I took back.

Control.

I drive past the Orchard’s empty lot sometimes.

It’s just grass now. No trace of what it was.

But I remember.

I always will.

I don’t want to forget.

Because if I forget, I’ll stop fighting.

And I owe it to every girl who never made it out—not just to fight, but to win.

Sometimes I dream about him.

Not in fear.

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