Page 258 of Fractured Allegiance
The bundle on the tarp doesn’t look like a man anymore. Just an object, sealed and faceless, ready to vanish. That’s the most merciful thing about death—it reduces people to baggage.
Elias crouches near the body, tying a final knot. His movements are exact, the same as when he fixes his cuffs or folds a file. Everything he does has edges, and nothing wastes energy. He straightens, dusts his hands once, and glances toward Jax.
“You’ll drive.”
Jax startles. “Me?”
Elias’s stare pins him in place. “Yes, you. Consider it an education.”
Jax’s throat works, but he doesn’t argue. He just nods, mouth tight, as if swallowing glass.
Silas crosses the room, grabbing the roll of duct tape off the counter. He tears off a strip, presses it hard over the folds of the tarp. No hesitation, no grimace. Just efficiency.
Elias’s eyes linger on him a moment too long. Not distrust, not exactly. Something closer to assessment. As though he’s measuring how Silas carries the weight of another man’s body on his conscience—or if he even feels it at all.
“Help him load it,” Elias orders.
Silas doesn’t wait for agreement. He grips one end of the tarp and jerks his chin at Jax. “Lift.”
Jax groans as they heave it up, the weight dragging their arms low. They carry Ren out, the back door groaning on its hinges, and I trail behind just far enough to watch, not far enough to touch. The air slices across my skin, damp and biting, carrying the faint stench of the sea.
They lower the body into the trunk of a black sedan parked in the narrow alley behind the safehouse. It lands with a heavy thud, muffled by plastic, final as a slammed coffin lid.
Jax slams the trunk, then presses his palms flat against the metal as if steadying himself. His voice is low, ragged. “Feels wrong.”
Silas wipes his hands on his pants. “It always does. The first few times.”
The words make Jax flinch. He stares at Silas, searching for a hint of irony, some shard of humanity. He doesn’t find it.
Elias steps into the alley, his shadow long in the weak light. “It feels wrong because you’re still deciding if you belong here.”He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “If you have to think about it, you don’t.”
Jax looks away, jaw set, but doesn’t argue.
The silence stretches, filled only with the soft hum of the city pressing at the edges of our little alley.
I cross my arms, leaning against the brick, watching them all. Elias is steel. Jax is cracked glass. And Silas—Silas looks like he belongs in this scene too much. The way his eyes flick over the car, the body, Elias’s stance—he isn’t just helping. He’s cataloguing. Owning the process.
He looks back at me once, catching me staring. His mouth curves—not into a smile, but into the kind of expression that says: I know you’re watching. And I like it.
I should look away. I don’t.
Chapter 33 – Silas - Blood Debt
We move out immediately after putting Ren’s body in the trunk, Jax takes the wheel, the body shifting every time we hit a bump. The sound isn’t loud, just the dull scrape of plastic sliding against metal, but it grinds into my skull like a confession that won’t shut up.
Jax grips the wheel tighter than he should, knuckles pale against the steering column. His eyes locked harder on the road, as if staring too long at the world outside will erase what’s breathing down his neck inside this car.
I sit in the passenger seat, leaning back but never at ease, one hand resting near the pistol on my thigh. Not because I expect trouble here, but because I don’t trust stillness. Stillness is the kind of lie that gets you killed.
Behind us, Elias is seated behind Jax, giving him orders of where to turn at intervals and Lydia sits pressed against the door behind me, her gaze trained on the window. She hasn’t said a word since we loaded Ren into the trunk. Not when Jax swore under his breath, not when Elias gave his orders, not when Mara pulled her jacket on and left.
She’s stone, carved out of ice and nerves, but I know what I saw back there when I took her wrist. The way she didn’t pull back. The way her pulse throbbed like a drum under my thumb.
She’s not stone. She’s fire waiting for a hand reckless enough to stay on it.
Jax exhales through his teeth, loud enough to break the silence. “This isn’t right.” He says again, like saying it over and over again will somehow make it feel right to him.
I glance at him. “Killing traitors is the most right thing in this fucked-up business.”
