We head down and park next to Cruz’s Formula One turbo. One of the problems of illegally obtaining more money than you know what to do with while living entirely off the radar is that you can’t drive around in the fan-fucking-tastic cars you get to buy. Too flashy, too obvious. But you can still collect them. Making up for the toys we never got as kids, I guess you could say.
We head up the stairs through the trashed, abandoned lobby. Knox kicks aside a rotting crate.
We left this part of the ruined hotel ruined for the benefit of curious bums and thrill seekers. To make everyone believe this is just an abandoned hotel instead of the headquarters of our operation. To make people think we’re broke and not hoarding a few mil in a bunker underneath the building in addition to our offshore accounts.
We head through and on up into the place where we actually live. The only home our tribe has known since we broke out of that basement. I was fifteen, the oldest of them, when we killed them all and got away.
We enter a huge, airy room full of couches and computers. Ryland is kicked back on the sofa in the corner with his phone, earphones in, playing at something. Calder—the saint, we call him—is in the corner, eyes closed. Not asleep—meditating. And I can tell you, he’s not meditating for world peace or anything. He just sits there, cold as ice, blond hair falling around his shoulders. He’ll stay that way until he’s good and fucking ready to talk.
Even Nate is here, his dark brow furrowed, his brown eyes concerned. He always looks concerned, because he knows that what we do here is fucked up. Today is no exception.
There’s a glass on the center table, full of water. Someone’s drink.
I go over and drop the ring into the glass. It lands on the bottom with a soft clink. Blood spreads through the liquid in a slow crawl. A spider web of pain and vengeance.
Ryland yanks out his earbuds. “What the fuck?”
“It’s pizza day,” I say by way of explanation. Pizza day was a special day. A reward for good behavior. It made us sick to be rewarded for shit like that, but we couldn’t help looking forward to it. That’s what this is—a sick reward.
“Don’t think I’ll be drinking water anytime soon,” Knox says mildly. He still doesn’t approve. He’s more into the tech side of things. No one’s better than Knox. Even without the education we all missed, he’s a genius.
“It’s like a goddamn head on the mantel,” I say. A trophy.
Ryland makes a face. “Is that…?”
He remembers the ring. Ry likes to stay on the fringes of the group, taking off for days or even weeks on his bike, but he remembers the fucking ring. We all do, but it’s Cruz who saw it the most.
“Go get Cruz,” I tell him, ignoring his weak stomach. It’s okay. I have a strong enough stomach for all of us.
I hear footsteps, and I know Ryland is coming back with Cruz.
Cruz is a huge motherfucker, muscles like molten steel, black hair shaved close to his massive head. Our toughest fighter. Our smartest planner—he can look at a building and see exactly how to get in. Look at a group and know exactly how to take them down.
There are tats climbing up both his arms. Script that goes up around his neck. Any sane person would cross the street if they saw him coming, but I still see the kid from the basement.
That’s who this gift is for.
His curious look means Ryland hasn’t told him yet. That’s good. I’ve got a flair for the dramatic sometimes. At least that’s what Knox says, which is rich coming from him.
It’s important, what happened down in that basement. If we tried to go about our lives, to pretend we’re normal, it would be like it wasn’t important.
Like what happened down there didn’t matter.
“I made you a promise one night,” I say. “A promise about Madsen. What I’d do to him. What you’d get to have. You remember?”
He turns his gaze down to the glass. Tendrils of blood reach up from the ring. “Fuck,” he breathes. That’s Cruz, always cool, always tough. Even in this moment of goddamn closure, he’s the tough guy.
What happened down there matters.
Cruz steps closer to the table. A mix of emotions plays across his face—fascination and fear, hope and regret. “The ring. The fucking ring.”
“It’s so you know,” I say softly. So when you see him in your dreams, you can be sure it’s a dream—because he’s dead. He’s gone from this world, in hell where he belongs.
A choking sound comes from Cruz, the only sign of weakness I’ve ever heard from him since we grew up, since he got built. Since he put ink on his skin, a skeleton screaming in agony for every single man who ever touched him.
Knox goes to him, stands there next to him, a silent witness by his side. My throat is tight watching them. They’re so different, the way they look, one of them all starched and sleek, the other one rough and wild, but they fit together. I’m glad they have each other, that Cruz has this moment and that Knox is there with him. “It’s done,” Knox says, soft, his voice unsteady. “He can’t ever hurt anyone again.”
But what he means is, he can’t ever hurt you again.
Ryland comes up, too. He stands there with them, just off to the side. Always off to the side, that’s what he is. But he’s here, and that’s what matters. Nate comes over, too.
Even Calder is watching, no longer meditating. No longer apart from us.
I’m the leader. I’m supposed to be detached. Supposed to be strong. It’s an emotional scene, but I don’t feel like crying—and that’s a good thing. I tell myself that it’s good, anyway.
Cruz turns to me, his eyes burning. “Stone.”
There’s something in my chest. It’s not an emotion exactly. It’s more like something hard and impenetrable and heavy. He doesn’t look pleased.
Was Knox right? Maybe he would have preferred to forget. “If you don’t want the ring, I’ll throw it out the fucking window,” I say.
“I like the ring. I just never thought—”
It takes a minute for his words to penetrate, for the intensity of his voice to pierce the haze of doubt. “You never thought what?”
“All those nights in the basement, you swore we’d get out. That we’d hunt the fuckers down. You told me you’d bring me his ring, and I never believed it.” Cruz swallows hard. “I never let myself believe in it, even when we got out. It didn’t seem real.”
It feels like my body’s running an electrical current, sharp and hot. “Believe it, brother.”
We’re out, and we’ve been out. We’re not ever going back. Which is why the fact that Grayson might go to prison is such a blow. I’ve failed him, failed all of them in a way. But I’m going to fix it. And then I’ll make sure no one ever fucking finds us again.
Cruz comes at me—I don’t expect it, and because I’m not expecting the hug, it hurts. Cruz doesn’t know his own strength sometimes. I don’t flinch away. I clap him on the shoulder. “Fucking believe it.”
“Thank you,” he says after he pulls away, voice raw.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I tell him.
He gives me a small smile before looking at the ring one more time. The whole room pauses, giving him a moment while he studies the trophy of the man who hurt him.