Page 80 of The Beautiful Dead

I hung up.

Remi leaned against the wall, watching. Waiting. That look in his eyes—the one that meant he wanted to see what I’d do next—only made the fire in my blood burn hotter.

He wouldn’t have to wait long.

Kyran was a fool marked for death, but his father? Stirling Senior needed a reminder. He was playing a game that he was about to lose. One he’d never recover from.

I turned to Ghost. His cool, amused gaze locked onto mine. “Pay Rutter a visit. Remind him what I said would happen if he stepped a toe out of line.”

His smirk widened, his posture shifting in anticipation. “I’ve got the recording.” He licked his lips. “How much do you want him to see?”

Ghost liked toying with people who fucked with the DeMarcos, almost as much as I did. Letting him off his leash once in a while was always… entertaining.

I held his gaze steady. “Everything.”

His pupils dilated. “Everything?” His fingers twitched, excitement bleeding into his voice.

“You got it, boss.”

“And when you’re done…”

Ghost leaned in, eager, practically vibrating with anticipation. “Yes?”

I let the silence stretch just long enough to make him desperate for it. To make him need it. “Dismantle the Stirlings until there is nothing left.”

His grin was razor-sharp, sick with delight. He loved this part. The breaking. The ruin. The hunt. And then—he dared to glance at Remi and fucking wink.

A low snarl tore from my throat before I could stop it, possessiveness curling through my gut like barbed wire. “Mine.”

Ghost knew exactly what he was doing. That laugh—sharp, teasing—was cut off the moment the elevator doors snapped shut.

Good. Because if he lingered a second longer, I would’ve slit his fucking throat right here.

The fire started at midnight.

It wasn’t random. It wasn’t reckless. It was precise. Controlled. It hadn’t taken long to get everything I needed into place. Kyran was oblivious, too consumed with trying to take me down to realize his demise was happening before his eyes.

I watched from across the street, hands in my pockets, as the flames licked up the side of Kyran’s apartment building, curling like fingers against the windows. The smoke slithered into the night sky, thick and choking.

It started in the walls—old wiring in the breaker box. A surge overloaded the system, and then boom. A fire that looked like a tragic accident but was as far from that as was conceivable.

By the time the first flames reached his bedroom, Kyran was already outside, in only his boxers, standing barefoot on the pavement, watching his world go up in smoke.

His chest heaved, face pale in the flickering orange glow. Panic clung to his skin like sweat.

I crossed the street slowly, my steps deliberate.

He heard me before he saw me. His head snapped toward me, and his whole body went rigid.

“Y-you,” he stammered, backing up a step. “What the fuck did you do?”

I tilted my head, letting the weight of my gaze bore into him, letting himthink.

“You should be more careful, Kyran,” I murmured. “Old buildings like this… accidents happen.”

His nostrils flared. “You think this is gonna make me drop the charges?”

I took another step forward, forcing him back.

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