Page 212 of Their Arrangement

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“She’s mine. In every way that counts.”

I took the notebook. Ripped out the pages. Held it to his face. Wasn’t about to tell the motherfucker she didn’tgoddamndrive.

“You come here again, and I swear to God, there won’t be enough of your body left for them to identify.”

He flinched. That felt like victory. Footsteps behind me.

Royal’s.

“Wolfe.”

I didn’t look back.

“He was watching her.”

“I figured.”

“You going to stop me?”

Royal was quiet for a second.

Then—

“No. Just don’t kill him here.”

I stood. The man didn’t move. Didn’t try to run. I dropped the notebook on his chest. Let him see the page again. Then turned.

Walked away with blood cooling on my hands and fire still crawling through my spine. Royal didn’t say anything until we reached the corner.

Then—

“Feel better?”

“No.”

I wiped my palm on my coat.

Tasted metal in my teeth.

“She’s not going to know about this,” I said.

Royal shrugged.

“She probably will. But not from me.”

I didn’t respond. Didn’t stop walking. Because if I did? I’d go back and finish it.

33

WOLFE

I metLondon at the back of a butchered cathedral.

The kind with stained glass that didn’t shine anymore—only fractured the morning light across the floor in bruised shards. The pews had long been cleared. The altar had been scorched. And the air? It still carried the weight of something holy that had long since turned to rot.

It reminded me of the stories.

Whispers about a man London mentioned once in passing. A name that didn’t sound like a name at all—just a warning folded into a curse.

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