I keep my expression neutral, nodding slightly, like I'm actually considering his words. Like I’m not thinking about ripping his throat out with my bare hands.

"So what happened?" I press.

Evan exhales, rubbing at his bruised face, shifting slightly where he sits on the cold concrete. The smell of his sweat cuts through the stale air. "She started getting stronger. I don't know what changed, but she started... fighting back. She got distant. Started pulling away. That wasn't supposed to happen."

My fingers twitch inside my pockets. The amount of restraint it takes not to reach for the knife tucked at my hip is monumental.

"And then?"

Evan scowls. "Then she fucking dumped me." His voice is bitter, full of venom. "And I had to act fast. I tried to get her back on my side, but she wouldn't fucking budge."

I hum. "Tough break."

He shakes his head, wincing slightly at the movement. "She would have been perfect. A manager at Monarch? She'd have access to all the inventory listings, the weekly shipment schedules, the security access codes—the entire operation. They’re corporate team doesn’t watch things close enough. She complained about that all the time. The amount of inventory we could have moved..." He scowls again. "But no, she had to go and develop a fucking backbone."

My vision flares red.

But I don't move.

Not yet.

I let him keep talking, because the more he talks, the more he buries himself.

Evan lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Whatever. Doesn't matter now. She'll do what I tell her to do, one way or another."

I tilt my head. "And if she doesn't?"

He grins, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. "Then I'll make her watch while I kill her family one by one."

That's it.

That's the moment I lose all reason.

I smile, letting the silence stretch, thick and dangerous.

Evan's face twitches. "What?"

I shake my head, chuckling softly. "You're such a goddamn idiot."

His expression shifts.

He starts to realize.

And then I pull out my phone and turn the screen toward him.

The recording plays back loud and clear.

His own voice damning him.

Evan's entire body locks up. His eyes dart to the phone, then to me, then back to the phone. The color drains from his already pale face.

"No." He shakes his head. "No, you⁠—"

"Oh, I did." I slip my phone back into my pocket, cracking my knuckles as I step forward, the sound echoing in the confined space.

And now?

Now, I get to hurt him.

Every insult. Every moment of emotional torture he inflicted on Izzy⁠—

I'm about to give it back to him tenfold.

Evan spits on the floor, straightening up despite the obvious pain in his ribs. "Aren't you gonna tie me back up or restrain me?"

"Oh no," I murmur. "I want this to be a fair fight."

He stiffens.

"I want to feel you struggle against me. I want you to know that you lost. That you can't beat me."

The second the words leave my mouth, he lunges.

I let him.

Because I want this.

I want him to throw that first punch.

I want him to think, for one stupid fucking second, that he has a chance.

And then?

Then, I will end him.

I don't hold back.

The first punch snaps his head to the side, a brutal crack of knuckles against bone, sending spit and blood flying across the concrete floor. The impact reverberates up my arm, a satisfying ache in my knuckles.

"That's for when you told her she wasn't good enough."

He grunts, stumbling, but I don't let him fall. I grab the front of his shirt, the material bunching in my fist, yanking him forward, just so I can slam my knee into his ribs.

Once.

Twice.

There’s a crack—sharp, final—and he coughs, folding in on himself. The noise rebounds off the metal shelves, cold and relentless, refusing to let me forget it.

"That's for every time you made her doubt herself."

He tries to swing. A desperate, wild punch that barely clips my jaw.

Pathetic.

I let him get that one hit. Let him think he has a chance.

And then I take it away.

I shift, my muscles tight, then throw my next punch straight into his gut, knocking the fucking air out of him. The impact travels through his body, making him convulse forward. Evan chokes, staggering, wheezing, his hands clutching at his stomach. His expensive watch glints under the harsh lighting as he tries to protect himself. He barely has time to react before I grab him by the hair, forcing him upright—just to slam his face into my knee.

Blood sprays, a sickening crunch echoing as his nose breaks. Warm droplets spatter across my jeans. He lets out a guttural yell, stumbling back, hands cupped over his face, but I don't let him go down.

Not yet.

I lunge forward, grabbing his collar, and drive him into the wall. The impact shakes the metal shelves, a few cardboard boxes tumbling down around us, spilling their contents across the floor. He groans, trying to push me off, but I slam my forearm into his throat, pressing in just enough to make it hard for him to breathe. His pulse thrums wildly against my skin.

"That's for every time you made her apologize for situations that weren't her fault."

His breath is ragged, eyes bloodshot, but the fucking idiot laughs through the pain.

"You're—" He coughs, spitting red onto my boots. "You're fucking insane."

I grin. A slow, dangerous grin that I can feel stretching my face. “For her, yes.”

I let go.

Let him slide down the wall, coughing, struggling for breath.

And then?

I take a step back—just to give myself room to kick him in the ribs.

The force sends him rolling across the concrete. The dull thud of his body hitting the floor reverberates through the storage room. He groans, curling in on himself, but I don't let him recover. I walk over, grip his shirt, and yank him upright again. The fabric tears slightly under my grip. He sways, barely conscious, dried blood crusting around his nostrils and lips, but I'm not finished.

Not yet.

I slam my fist into his stomach, then bring my elbow down into the back of his head, dropping him to his knees. Evan sways, hands hardly keeping him upright. His ragged breathing punctuates the silence.

He knows he's lost.

But I want him to feel it.

Slowly, I reach into my pocket and pull out my knife, flipping it open with a soft metallic click. The blade catches the light, gleaming silver.

Evan's body locks up.

I crouch beside him, pressing the cool edge of the blade against his cheek.

He flinches.

Sweat and blood drip from his face, his whole body trembles.

"Do you know how many men I've killed?" I whisper, my voice calm.

He barely breathes, his chest barely moving beneath his stained shirt.

"How many bodies I've put in the ground?" I press the blade just enough to break the skin. A single thin line of red beads down his cheek.

"But you?" I murmur, letting the tip trace along his chin, down to his throat, feeling the rapid pulse just beneath the surface. "You'd be the first I'd actually enjoy."

His breath comes in ragged, terrified shudders. The smell of urine suddenly permeates the air as a dark stain spreads across his pants.

I tighten my grip on the knife, about to finish it⁠—

And then⁠—

"Cal."

The voice is soft.

Familiar.

I freeze.

Turn my head.

Izzy stands in the doorway. The soft curves of her figure silhouetted against the light from the hallway. Her dark hair falls in waves around her face, her brown eyes steady as they meet mine.