James

Forty-eight hours.

That’s how long it’s been since he was taken, and still no call. No message. No proof that my brother is still breathing.

After nearly two full days of silence—of not hearing his voice, of not getting so much as a scrap of reassurance—the fact that I haven’t flown into a murderous rage is a goddamn miracle.

Not a miracle. 

It’s Annelly.

She’s the reason I’m standing here looking like a man who has his shit together instead of one who’s a heartbeat away from ripping the world to pieces. She’s the reason I seem patient in my restraint. Why I don’t look like I’m unraveling as I keep myself busy working around the cabin.

And I don’t mean busy in the way I usually revert to during a crisis. 

No. 

Today there’s no pacing. No snapping at anyone. No fists slamming into walls—or into my teammates—the way that itch under my skin usually drives me to do when I need something solid to push back against. Something that isn’t terror. Something that isn’t that sick, free-fall sensation that steals my breath when everything spins out of control.

Instead, I move through the cabin with deliberate purpose. Being helpful. Cooperative. Acting like the team player I’m sure Ben always wished I could be. 

In other words, acting like it isn’t my life on the fucking chopping block. 

I offer help constantly, volunteering to check the equipment again and again. Zeb—and even Dominick—indulge me every time, even though we all know it’s wasted effort since every sweep ends the same way.

With the realization that there’s nothing left to be done.

And then, within seconds, my chest clamps down tight again. That helpless sensation twists inside me until everything feels so constricted I can hardly draw in a breath. 

So I redirect fast, turning my attention to her instead.  

Checking in.

Feeding her.

Getting her coffee.

Touching her.

Kissing her forehead and breathing her in like a dying man trying to remember how to stay alive. 

Those small touches—the quiet intimacy, the warmth of her against me—soothe the monster screaming inside my skull. Muzzle it. Force it into silence. Into submission.

Until I can finally see straight.

And then…the cycle starts all over again.

It’s fucking maddening.

A slow, torturous kind of insanity, the likes of nothing I’ve ever known. Not even in the worst years of my life have I experienced anything like it.

But it’s necessary.

For her.

For Tyler.

I’ll do everything exactly the way I’m supposed to. White-knuckling my way through it minute by fucking minute. Hour by fucking hour. Sometimes breath by fucking breath if I have to, because this is the one time in my fucking life I can’t afford to screw things up.

There’s too much at stake.

Too much for me to lose.

“You okay?”

Those observant green eyes snap to mine from where she sits across the kitchen island, still trying to finish her dinner.

“Of course.” I attempt a smile, the lie slipping past my lips with an ease I’d be ashamed of if I didn’t know it’s exactly what she needs to hear.

If I learned anything from yesterday, it’s that to keep us both on steady ground, I have to be her strength. The same way she’s become mine.

From the way she’s looking at me, I know she doesn’t believe me for a second. But before she can push—before she can say anything else—my phone vibrates.

It isn’t loud. It isn’t dramatic. Just a single buzz against the countertop in front of me.

And it hits the room like an explosion.

Everything freezes.

For half a second, no one breathes. No one moves. The world suspends itself around that small, glowing screen as the unknown number pulses again.

My hand is already closing around the phone when Zeb moves.

“Wait.” His voice is sharp, cutting through the moment. He’s at my side in two strides, a device already in his hand. 

At the same time, Dominick snaps to his feet, fingers flying across the keyboard, eyes locked on the monitors as he fires off alerts to OTS.

Zeb plugs the tracer into my phone with practiced precision, fingers moving fast, efficient. When he’s done, he hands it back without looking at me and nods once.

Now.

I answer, putting the phone on speaker.

“Hello.” My voice is composed only because I force it to be. I slow my breathing, fighting to line my thoughts up so I can think instead of feel.

“Mr. Serrano.” The voice on the other end is smooth. Cultured. Polished with a hint of false charm.

It slithers straight down my spine.

“I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t answer.”

My grip tightens around the phone.

“Who is this?” I ask, even though every cell in my body already knows the answer.

A soft chuckle filters through the speaker. Amused. Intimate like we’re old friends catching up over drinks instead of enemies circling each other with blades drawn.

“Oh, come now,” he says gently. “You know exactly who this is.”

The room feels smaller. The air heavier.

“Where’s my brother?” I demand. No preamble. No pleasantries. The restraint I’ve been clinging to all day groans under the strain.

Another pause. Deliberate, I’m sure.

“He’s with me,” Victor says at last, calm as ever. “Safe. For now, at least.”

The words detonate in my chest.

I hear Annelly’s breath hitch somewhere across from me, but I don’t look up. I can’t.

“Where. Is. He?” I grind out. 

He hums in consideration, like he’s actually weighing the question.

“You sound… different, James,” Victor muses. “I must admit, I’m somewhat disappointed. Where’s the arrogance? The bravado? At the very least, I expected that legendary temper I’ve heard so much about.” A smile edges into his voice. “I’m beginning to wonder if your reputation as the Reaper was exaggerated.”

My jaw clenches until it aches. Of course he’s done his homework on me. Of course he knows exactly which buttons to push.

“I said—where the fuck is my brother?”

That makes him laugh.

“Oh, James,” he murmurs. “Always so singularly focused. You should know negotiations tend to go better when they’re preceded by a little civility.”

My fingers dig into the phone until my knuckles burn.

“Anyway,” he continues smoothly, “here we are—nearly forty-eight hours later—and you haven’t come charging into New York to tear the city apart looking for me.” His tone shifts. Almost approving. “I’m impressed by your restraint.”

The monster inside me slams against its cage, furious at the taunt.

“Stop wasting my fucking time,” I say tightly. “State your terms. What is it you want?”

Another pause. 

Longer this time.

When Victor speaks again, the polished businessman is gone. In his place is the vile, predatory thing that’s haunted Annelly for months.

“You know exactly what I want. I want you to choose.” He inhales, slow and indulgent. “Let’s stop pretending, James. You and I both know the only way this ends is with a trade.”

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