Loose Ends Unraveling

I yanked my hand from Dominic's grip.

Dad descended three steps, the gun steady in his right hand. His left hung loose at his side, fingers twitching. The overhead light caught the silver threading through his hair—more than I remembered. How long had it been? Six weeks since I'd walked out. Six weeks since I'd told him I was done pretending we were a normal family.

"Put the gun down, Marcus." Sienna moved between us, her heels clicking against concrete. "This isn't what you think."

"Isn't it?" Dad's voice was flat. Dead. "My daughter, in a basement with the Thorne heir and his pet witch. After someone just shot up half his security team upstairs." His eyes found mine over Sienna's shoulder. "You have any idea what you've walked into, Maya?"

The wolf in my chest snarled. I shoved it down, but my hands were already shifting, nails lengthening into claws. "You helped kill Mom."

He flinched. Actually flinched, like I'd hit him.

"That's not—" He stopped. Started again. "It was supposed to be a warning. Just a warning. They said they'd scare her, make her back off the investigation. I didn't know they'd—"

"Liar." The word came out half-growl. "You knew exactly what would happen when you gave them her schedule. Her routes. Where she'd be vulnerable."

More gunfire upstairs. Closer. Someone screamed, the sound cutting off mid-breath.

Dominic moved to my left, putting himself between me and the stairs. "We need to leave. All of us. There are at least six shooters up there, and they're not here for a conversation."

"Six?" Dad's gun shifted toward Dominic. "Who did you piss off this time, Thorne?"

"The same people who killed Elena Castellanos." Dominic's voice stayed level, but I caught the tension in his shoulders. "The ones who've been cleaning up loose ends for the past three years. Which, I'm afraid, now includes you."

Dad's finger moved to the trigger. "Explain. Now."

"Your contact." Sienna's voice cut through the testosterone. "The one who promised you they'd only frighten Elena. Did he have a name?"

"I'm not telling you shit."

"Was it Garrett?" I asked. The name from Dominic's folder, the one he'd circled three times. "Garrett Voss?"

Dad's teeth pressed together. That was answer enough.

"He's dead," Dominic said. "Killed two months ago in what the police called a mugging. Except muggers don't typically remove their victim's tongue before shooting them."

The basement door shook. Someone was trying to break through from the other side.

"There's a tunnel." Sienna moved toward the back wall, her fingers finding a seam in the concrete I hadn't noticed. "It comes out three blocks away. But we go together, or we all die here."

"I'm not going anywhere with—" Dad started.

The door exploded inward. Not kicked. Blown. The concussive force knocked me sideways into a metal shelf, and something sharp bit into my shoulder. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard boots on stairs. Multiple sets.

Dominic grabbed my arm, hauling me upright. Blood soaked through my shirt—the shelf had torn a gash from collarbone to shoulder blade. The wolf surged, trying to force a shift, but I locked it down. Shifting now meant losing the jacket, and I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"Move!" Sienna had the wall open, revealing a narrow passage that smelled like mold and old fear. She disappeared into it without looking back.

Dad fired twice up the stairs. Someone grunted, but the boots kept coming.

"Maya, go!" He fired again, and this time someone fell. The body tumbled down the stairs, landing in a heap at the bottom. Young. Maybe twenty. The back of his head was gone.

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. The wolf was screaming at me to run, to fight, to do something, but my legs had turned to concrete.

Dominic's hand found the small of my back. "I know you hate me right now. I know you want to watch me burn. But if you don't move in the next three seconds, we're both dead."

That got me moving. I stumbled toward the tunnel, my shoulder screaming with each step. Behind us, Dad fired twice more, then swore viciously.

"I'm out!"

"Then run!" Dominic shoved me into the tunnel and turned back. For a second, I thought he was going to leave Dad there. Let him die for what he'd done. Instead, he grabbed Dad's jacket and yanked him toward the opening.

Three men appeared at the top of the stairs. They weren't wearing masks. That was worse somehow—it meant they didn't care if we saw their faces. Didn't care because they didn't plan on leaving witnesses.

The lead one raised his rifle.

Dominic slammed his palm against something on the wall. The concrete panel started sliding shut, grinding on ancient tracks. Too slow. Way too slow.

I grabbed Dominic's shirt and pulled him into the tunnel. Dad dove through a second before the panel sealed, and then we were running in near-total darkness, following the sound of Sienna's heels somewhere ahead.

The tunnel was barely wide enough for my shoulders. Water dripped from somewhere above, and the air tasted like rust and decay. My shoulder throbbed with each heartbeat, blood running down my arm in hot rivulets.

"Keep moving," Dad panted behind me. "They'll have that door open in minutes."

"How do you know?" I didn't look back. Couldn't, in the narrow space.

"Because I helped design this place."

Of course he did. Of course Dad knew about Dominic's safe house, about the tunnels, about all of it. How deep did his betrayal go? How many years had he been lying?

The tunnel opened into a wider space—some kind of junction where three passages met. Sienna stood in the center, her phone's flashlight casting harsh shadows across her face. She looked at Dad like he was something she'd scraped off her shoe.

"You're the leak," she said. "The one who's been feeding information to Voss's people."

"Was." Dad leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "Past tense. I stopped after Elena died."

"Liar." I rounded on him, and the wolf was right there, pushing against my skin. "You've been working with them this whole time. That's why you didn't want me investigating. Why you tried to keep me away from the pack territories."

"I was trying to protect you!"

"By helping the people who killed Mom?" My voice echoed off the tunnel walls. "By letting them get away with it?"

"I didn't let them—" He stopped. His shoulders sagged. "I tried to find proof. Tried to build a case. But every time I got close, someone else died. Garrett. His partner. The detective who was helping me. They're cleaning house, Maya. Killing everyone who knows anything."

"Then why are you still alive?" Dominic asked quietly.

The question hung in the damp air. Dad's face went gray.

"Because I'm useful," he said finally. "Because I have access to pack records, to Elena's old files. Because they think I'm still on their side."

"Are you?" I asked.

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and something in his expression cracked. "I loved your mother. I know you don't believe that. I know I've given you every reason not to. But I loved her, and I've spent every day since she died trying to make it right."

"By lying to me."

"By keeping you alive." His voice hardened. "You think it's coincidence you've survived this long? That you've been able to dig into her death without ending up like Garrett? I've been running interference, feeding them false information about what you know, where you're looking. Buying you time."

Sienna's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her expression went carefully blank. "We need to move. They're in the tunnel."

"Which way?" Dominic asked.

"Left goes to the old subway station. Right comes out in a parking garage. Straight ahead—"

"Straight ahead is a dead end," Dad finished. "I know. I told you, I helped design this."

"Then you know there's a weapons cache in the subway station." Sienna was already moving left. "And we're going to need it."

We ran. The tunnel sloped downward, and the air got colder, damper. My shoulder had gone from screaming to a dull, throbbing ache. The blood had slowed, but I could feel it sticky and warm under my shirt.

Behind us, voices echoed. They were in the junction. They'd be on us in minutes.

The tunnel opened into what had once been a subway platform. The tracks were gone, filled in with concrete, but the old tile work remained—faded mosaics of ships and waves, remnants of whatever this station had been named for. Sienna went straight to a maintenance door and kicked it open.

Inside was enough firepower to start a small war. Rifles, handguns, boxes of ammunition. Even a few grenades.

"Jesus Christ," I breathed. "What were you preparing for?"

"This." Dominic grabbed a rifle and started loading it with practiced efficiency. "I've been preparing for this since I found out what my father did."

Dad took a handgun and checked the magazine. "How many are following us?"

"At least six," Sienna said. "Possibly more waiting at the exits."

"Then we make a stand here." Dad moved to the platform's edge, using a support column for cover. "Funnel them through the tunnel. Pick them off as they come."

"That's suicide," I said.

"It's tactics." He looked at me, and for a second, I saw the man who'd taught me to shoot, who'd spent hours in the backyard teaching me to track and hunt. "You take the left column. Dominic, right. Sienna, stay back and watch our six. Anyone comes through that tunnel, you put them down. Understand?"

I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell him he didn't get to give orders anymore, didn't get to play the protective father after everything he'd done. But the voices in the tunnel were getting closer, and we were out of time.

I grabbed a rifle. The weight of it was familiar, comforting. Dad had made sure I knew how to use every weapon in his collection. At the time, I'd thought it was paranoia. Now I understood it was preparation.

"Maya." Dominic's voice was low, meant only for me. "If this goes wrong—"

"Don't." I checked the rifle's sight. "Don't you dare try to apologize now."

"I wasn't going to apologize." He moved to his column, putting his back to the concrete. "I was going to say that the folder is in my jacket. Inside pocket. If I don't make it out, you need to get it to someone who can use it."

"Who?"

"I don't know yet. That's the problem."

The first shooter appeared at the tunnel mouth. Dad fired twice, and the man went down. Two more came through, using their fallen comrade for cover. I squeezed the trigger, felt the rifle kick against my good shoulder. One of them dropped.

Then they were pouring through, and there was no time to think, only to shoot and move and shoot again. The platform filled with the sound of gunfire, the smell of cordite and blood. My shoulder screamed every time I pulled the trigger, but I kept firing.

Someone got past Dad's position. Sienna put three rounds in his chest before he made it five feet.

"Reloading!" Dad shouted.

I shifted to cover his position, firing in controlled bursts. The rifle clicked empty. I dropped it, grabbed the handgun from my waistband. Four shots left. I made them count.

Then, suddenly, it was quiet. Bodies littered the tunnel mouth and the platform. Six. Seven. I'd lost count.

"Is that all of them?" Sienna asked.

"No." Dad was already moving toward the far exit. "That was the advance team. The real force will be—"

The explosion came from above. The ceiling cracked, raining concrete dust and debris. Through the gap, I saw movement. Ropes dropping down. More shooters rappelling into the station.

"Run!" Dominic grabbed my arm, pulling me toward the maintenance door. "There's another way out. Through the old service tunnels."

We ran, leaving the weapons cache behind. The service tunnel was even narrower than the first, barely wide enough to move single-file. Dominic led, then me, then Sienna. Dad brought up the rear, and I could hear him breathing hard, struggling to keep up.

"How much further?" I gasped.

"Two hundred yards. There's a ladder that comes up in—"

Gunfire erupted behind us. Dad grunted, stumbled. I turned, saw him clutching his side, blood seeping between his fingers.

"Keep going," he said. "I'll slow them down."

"Like hell." I grabbed his arm, tried to pull him forward. He was too heavy, and my shoulder was screaming, and the wolf was trying to force a shift because it knew, it knew we were about to die.

"Maya." Dad's hand found my face, and his fingers were cold. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For not being strong enough to stop them. For not protecting her. For not protecting you."

"Dad—"

"Go." He pushed me away, turned back toward the tunnel. "Go!"

Dominic's hand closed around my wrist. "We have to move. Now."

I let him pull me away, even though every instinct screamed at me to stay, to fight, to not leave Dad behind. We ran, and behind us, I heard more gunfire. Dad's gun, firing in steady, controlled bursts. Then other guns, answering.

Then silence.

The ladder was right where Dominic said it would be. We climbed, emerging into an alley behind a Chinese restaurant. The smell of garbage and old grease was overwhelming after the tunnel's stale air.

Sienna's phone buzzed again. She looked at it, and her face went white.

"What?" Dominic asked.

"It's a message. From an unknown number." She turned the phone so we could see.

The screen showed a photo. Recent, taken maybe an hour ago. It was Dad, sitting in what looked like a coffee shop. Across from him was a man I didn't recognize. They were leaning close, talking.

Below the photo, a single line of text: "Your father was never on your side. Check his left pocket."

I looked at Dominic. "What's in his left pocket?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do." The wolf was right there, pushing against my skin. "You searched him when you grabbed him in the tunnel. I saw you. What did you find?"

Dominic's hand moved to his jacket. Slowly, he pulled out a phone. Not Dad's usual phone—this one was a burner, cheap and disposable.

"I was going to tell you," he said.

"When?"

"When we were safe."

I grabbed the phone from his hand. It was still unlocked. The last message sent was from twenty minutes ago, right before the attack started.

"They're in the basement. All three of them. Thorne, the witch, and my daughter."

The message was sent to a number with no name attached.

My father had called them. Had told them exactly where we were.

"Maya—" Dominic started.

I hit him. My fist connected with his jaw, and he staggered back, more from surprise than force. The wolf surged, and this time I let it, let the shift start, felt my bones beginning to crack and reform.

"You knew." My voice was changing, deepening. "You knew he set us up, and you didn't tell me."

"I needed to be sure—"

"Sure of what? That my father was a lying piece of shit? That he helped kill my mother and then tried to kill me too?" The shift was accelerating, my skin rippling. "I trusted you. I let you—"

Sienna's phone rang. She answered it, listened for three seconds, then hung up.

"We need to go," she said. "Right now."

"Why?" I was barely holding the shift back now. Another few seconds and I'd be full wolf, and then someone was going to bleed.

"Because that message wasn't from the people hunting us." Sienna's voice was flat. "It was from your father. He's alive, and he says there's something we need to see. Something that changes everything."

"I'm not going anywhere with—"

"He says he knows who really killed your mother," Sienna interrupted. "And it wasn't Dominic's father."

The world tilted. I looked at Dominic, saw my own shock reflected in his face.

"That's impossible," he said. "I have proof. Documents. Recordings."

"Then your proof is wrong." Sienna was already walking toward the alley's mouth. "Because according to Marcus, the person who ordered Elena Castellanos's death is standing right here."

She turned, and her eyes locked on mine.

"It was you, Maya. You killed your own mother."