"I don't— I swear I don't know what happened—"
Crow doesn't let Wolfe finish. He yanks the blade from the man's thigh, blood gushing like a burst pipe, then slams it into the other leg. The scream Wolfe lets out is raw and wet, the kind that tears your vocal cords.
He begs. Pleads. Cries.
But we all know it's a lie.
For six months, we've been crawling through the filth of the underworld, pulling every thread that could lead us to Robin's final days. Dove hacked everything — street cams, laptops, burner phones, dark web message boards. Four months before Robin died, there's a blackout in his digital trail. Then a name.
Wolfe.
Robin met him once a month before his death. Then again, two days before we found him in pieces.
And word is, Wolfe laid hands on him.
So we came here. A forgotten town outside Colorado — where screams echo longer and cops don't ask questions.
Phoenix leans forward, elbows on his knees, his voice casual and calm — like he's asking about the weather, not surrounded by blood and fear.
"We're going to try this again," he says. "Why did Robin come see you?"
Wolfe sobs, head hanging low, blood running down his face and chest. His body's a ruin — fingers broken, kneecap shattered, ribs bruised purple. Six hours in the chair. And he's still alive.
Barely.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be," Phoenix continues. "Just talk, Wolfe. Give us what we want. No one else has to die."
Wolfe spits blood onto the floor and shakes his head weakly. "I can't... I can't..."
Crow stands at the table, shirtless, blood-streaked, calmly sharpening a long, curved blade. The screech of steel on steel cuts through the room like a scream on repeat. The way his fingers handle the knife — slow, practiced — makes it clear he's not just torturing.
He's savoring it.
Crow is many things. Brother. Assassin. Sadist. But above all? He's patient when he knows the end will be satisfying.
"I can't," Wolfe whimpers again, blinking through tears.
"Then maybe this will motivate you," Phoenix sighs, glancing toward me. "Raven."
I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Dove. She answers instantly.
"Kill one," I say, without emotion.
I walk forward, crouch down in front of Wolfe, and turn the phone screen toward him.
Dove's camera shows two girls kneeling on a concrete floor, tied and gagged. One of them is Wolfe's daughter. I remember her face from the surveillance feeds. Blonde. Doll features. Pretty. Now bruised and bloodied.
Wolfe's eyes widen in panic.
"No! Please—don't hurt her! I'll talk, I'll fucking talk!" he screams, voice shredding.
"You had your chance," I reply, my voice cold and still. "You chose silence. This is what silence costs."
On screen, Sparrow stands between the girls — dressed in all red. Red shirt. Red boots. Red lips. Her curly orange hair hangs loose around her shoulders, and there's something wild in her eyes. She glances at the screen and gives a single nod.
"Wait—wait, don't—" Wolfe starts to scream—
Crow grabs the back of his head and yanks his face toward the phone.
"Watch." His voice is low and calm. "You're lucky I'm not there. If I was, I'd make her scream first."
He presses Wolfe's face forward until he's eye-to-eye with the screen.
Sparrow draws her gun, steps back—
Bang.
The girl collapses. No hesitation.
The other girl — Wolfe's daughter — lets out a muffled wail, tears streaming down her face. She lunges for her sister, but the ropes hold.
Wolfe loses it. Screaming, sobbing, struggling against restraints he can't break. Crow laughs and kisses his cheek.
"Should've talked sooner, mate."
I end the call and return to my spot beside Phoenix, slipping my phone into my pocket.
I cross my arms. "Last time. Why did Robin come to you?"
Wolfe slumps like something in him breaks. "Will you let my daughter live?" he whispers.
Phoenix leans forward, clasping his hands. "You have my word. But if I think you're lying... she's Crow's."
Wolfe trembles, then nods furiously. "Okay. Okay. I gave the order to have him killed, but I didn't know who he was. I swear. Robin came to me, asking about product — stuff that didn't belong to him. I told him to walk away."
"But he didn't," Phoenix says.
"No," Wolfe moans. "He kept asking questions. And then... they came."
"Who?" I ask.
"Three men. They came to my house. Black suits. Masks. No names. Said if I didn't take care of Robin, they'd take care of me... and my daughter."
"You knew Robin was our brother?" Phoenix asks.
Wolfe shakes his head violently. "I swear to God, no. If I knew, I never would've touched him. My boss told me to stay out of it, but I was scared."
"Who's your boss?" I ask, my voice cold.
"Alejandro Vendetta," he says. "He runs Montgomery Gentleman's Club."
Phoenix leans forward slightly. "And who gave you the kill order?"
"I don't know their names!" Wolfe cries. "Just that they said they worked for someone above my boss. Someone they called... The Viper."
Silence settles over the room for a long, cold second.
Crow groans dramatically. "Still talking in riddles, Wolfe. I'm bored."
Before anyone can stop him—
SLICE.
Wolfe's scream is inhuman as Crow hacks through his hand with a heavy machete. Blood spurts like a fountain, splattering Crow's chest. He grins like it's Christmas morning.
Crow grabs Wolfe's face, lifts his chin roughly. "Last chance. What's the name?"
"I told you!" Wolfe sobs. "He goes by Viper! That's all I know! No face, no name! He never shows himself—just gives orders!"
Crow leans in, his nose brushing Wolfe's. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Wolfe sobs louder, snot and blood dripping from his chin.
Phoenix stands slowly and smooths out his coat. "Thank you, Wolfe. As promised, your death will be fast."
Relief flashes in Wolfe's swollen eyes. Pathetic.
"But," Phoenix adds, "we'll be taking your daughter. She has value."
"What? No—no, you said—"
"I said she wouldn't die," Phoenix replies coolly. "I never said she'd walk free."
He turns to Crow. "My brother deserves a reward. What do you say?"
Crow grins, wicked and wide. "She'll make a lovely gift."
"No—please, I told you everything!" Wolfe screams.
But it's already done.
Crow walks behind him, fists a handful of Wolfe's hair, and with one clean swipe — slices his throat open.
Blood floods the floor.
Phoenix doesn't blink. "Let's go."
We head for the stairs. At the top, Phoenix glances back.
"Dove needs to verify Wolfe's info. I want confirmation by morning."
He pauses.
"And get rid of the body. No traces. Not yet."
We step into the night. The cold air stings against the heat of the blood on our skin. The stars overhead don't care what we've done.
Somewhere in the distance, a bonfire crackles.
And suddenly, I'm back — five nights after we buried Robin
The stars are beautiful tonight.
Too fucking beautiful for a night like this.
They blink down like they're mocking us, lighting up the night as if they don't know we just buried our brother in pieces. The moon is full and silver, shining down on the five of us gathered around a fire just beyond the edge of our estate. A family reunion built on loss, silence, and rage.
No one speaks.
The only sound is the crackle of firewood and the distant crash of waves on the shore. The air is cold and salty, sharp in the lungs. It should sting. But all I feel is... hollow.
I'm on a blanket, knees drawn to my chest, a bottle of whiskey in one hand. The burn does nothing.
Phoenix sits across from me, elbows on his knees, face carved from stone as he watches the flames. Dove is curled on a log nearby, her guitar in her lap, fingers plucking a quiet melody — one she hasn't stopped playing since she sat down.
Sparrow's pacing again, arms crossed, cigarette tucked between her lips, smoke curling around her like it's afraid to touch her. And Crow — Crow leans against a rock, bottle in hand, smirking like he knows something none of us do.
It's quiet.
Too quiet.
"I miss Robin," Sparrow says suddenly, voice small. Cracked. Like saying his name out loud might make her shatter.
Dove keeps playing. She never looks up.
"I miss him so fucking much."
Crow snorts. "Missing him won't raise the dead."
Sparrow whirls on him. "Don't start."
"I'm not starting," Crow says, casual. Too casual. "Just stating facts. Crying over him won't change a thing."
"You cold-hearted son of a bitch," Sparrow snaps. "He was your brother."
Crow's jaw tenses. "And now he's dead. And we all know why."
His eyes shift to me.
Phoenix straightens slightly. "Don't."
Crow ignores him, his voice sharpening. "You all want to act like it was fate. Bad luck. Like Robin just wandered into a mess he didn't see coming. But the truth?"
He takes a slow swig of beer.
"He's dead because someone let him believe he was stronger than he was."
His stare lands fully on me now. Fixed. Unmoving.
I say nothing. Not yet.
Phoenix's tone is a warning. "Crow."
Crow steps forward, pointing straight at me. "She vouched for him. She told Father he could handle the outside. She said he was ready. And now he's fucking dead."
"I told him not to get involved," I say, voice low.
Crow doesn't stop. "You told him a lot of things, Raven. None of them kept him alive."
"Don't fucking do this," Sparrow cuts in, stepping between us.
"He trusted her!" Crow's voice rises. "She was the one who promised he'd be okay! And now—"
"Shut the fuck up," I say quietly.
It's soft.
Deadly soft.
Sparrow goes still. Even Dove misses a note.
Crow freezes.
My voice is calm, but something inside me is breaking open — slowly, quietly, like ice cracking underfoot.
Crow watches me. Waits.
When I don't move, he smiles like he's won. "Say it," he hisses. "Admit it. Just once. Say it was your fault."
Phoenix's voice slices through the tension like a knife. "Enough."
But Crow keeps pressing, stepping forward again. "Go on. Tell us. Say it so we can all stop pretending."
"Don't start with me, Phoenix," he snaps. "You know it's true. You all do."
"She's not the reason," Sparrow says firmly, stepping up beside me. "Robin was reckless. He made his own choices."
Crow's eyes narrow. "You want to start talking about choices now?"
"I'm saying stop blaming her for a death none of us saw coming."
He moves closer.
"Take it back," he growls.
Sparrow's chin lifts. "Make me."
They're toe to toe now, two grenades with pulled pins. Dove keeps playing, her expression unreadable, as if the music is the only thing keeping her grounded.
Crow takes another step. Sparrow doesn't flinch.
And that's when Phoenix stands. Slowly. Controlled.
"If you two don't sit down right now," he says, his voice low and lethal, "I will drag you both back to the house by your goddamn throats."
Silence falls again. It's suffocating.
Crow breathes hard, jaw locked.
Then, without a word, he throws his bottle into the fire. Glass explodes, flames jump, and he stalks off into the darkness, muttering, "Fuck this family."
Phoenix doesn't chase him. Neither does Sparrow.
Dove plays on.
And I finally speak again — just loud enough for the wind to hear.
"I don't remember a single good thing about him."
Phoenix turns his head to me. "Raven—"
"All I remember," I continue, "is yelling. Crying. Him trying to run, me dragging him back. He hated me. Every memory is stained with it."
"No, it's not," Dove says, her voice barely a whisper over the strings.
"You don't know what it's like," I murmur, staring into the fire. "Being the reason he died... and not even having a single happy moment to hold onto."
Phoenix watches me in silence.
And I don't cry.
Not tonight.
Because crying means hope, and whatever light I had left died with Robin
"Raven?." I shake out my thoughts and turn to Phoenix who's watching me carefully.
"You good?."
I hold his eyes for a moment before nodding. There's nothing I can do to stop these memories hitting me fill force. No matter how much I want to.