Anteros only heard the last part of Frankie and Nikolai’s conversation, but it was enough. She’d colluded in everything—the needle, the bomb, fucking trapping him at The Catacombs. At first he didn’t believe it, but Frankie’s response was etched into his skull.

What’s your point?

“This isn’t—it’s not—just let me explain!” Frankie gripped the pew until her knuckles whitened and the pads of her fingers welled with blood.

“So Nikolai isn’t a traitor with my…” Anteros trailed off, voice low and rumbling, hardly more than a growl. He wished he could contain the emotion in it, but he was so fucking weak. What did he call her? She was his heart, but he couldn’t say that. Not after what she’d done.

She still wore his fucking shirt, but now it was stretched so he had to see the lie on her chest. That had been his breaking point. The only reason Frankie had even fucking carved her initial was so he would trust Nikolai. Everything between them had been a complete fucking lie, a ruse.

Anteros ground his jaw, focusing on the bite of pain the pressure made. He was a complete fucking idiot. He’d known their love would destroy them, he’d just assumed they would be together for the destruction.

“No! Nikolai is a fuckhead but I’m—” She broke off, words ending in a sob. She swayed where she stood and grasped the pew for support. Worry flooded him but was evaporated by anger just as quickly. Why the fuck did he still care?

“I was coming to be with you.” She walked to him and attempted to grab his shirt but he acted like she was contaminated. He thrust her off and she stumbled back, nearly falling over. Concern knotted his chest again—why couldn’t she stand?

“I was going to tell you everything,” she continued.

He laughed acidly. “You’ve really played your part well.”

“There are no parts,” she beseeched. “It’s just us. It’s me.”

“Congratulations on exposing me.” His words were caustic, corroding the very air. “You’re the first.”

“I didn’t…that’s not what…I…” Taking a breath, she jutted a hand out and steadied herself on the pew. “We’re at war!” she said, tears coming to her eyes. “What did you think would happen?”

He laughed and nodded slowly, devoid of any emotion. This was his fault anyway. He never should have trusted her. Love had never been part of his life, he shouldn’t have assumed it ever could be.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Stop it, stop doing that. Don’t close all the parts you’ve finally opened for me.” Anteros averted his gaze, looking up at the partially exposed blue sky. He flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his jacket, anything to keep himself steady and hide that she’d seen right through him.

“You’re imagining things, Frankie. There was only sex between us.”

“No, don’t say that. Fight me back. Yell at me!” Anteros refused to play her game but Frankie continued. “We’ve been on opposite sides but we were never enemies. This was just a fucked up, dirty situation. Sometimes we cut each other to see what color the blood is, but it’s never to hurt, you know that.” Anteros used to think that was true, but now he wasn’t sure. Before Frankie, if something like this had happened, she would have been dead in an instant—but before Frankie, it never would have fucking happened.

“You don’t understand.” Tears fell and she attempted to swipe them away, but it was useless. They fell too quickly, rimming her lids pink and drenching her cheeks. He wanted to wipe them away. Instead, he grasped her arms and thrust her violently to him.

“Are you crying because you got caught?” he snarled, fingers curling tight, sure to leave a bruise. “Or because you’re afraid of what I’ll do to you?” She didn’t respond immediately so he shook her. She was like a rag doll; it was too fucking easy to break her.

“I’m crying because you’re acting like a stranger!” Her tears kept falling, making her words staccato and stressed. He nodded as if taking her statement to heart.

“Apparently I am,” he said then let her go. She stumbled.

“No you’re not—I was—” She gasped, putting a hand to her chest as if to stop the frantic beating. Her face grew sheet white and her knees started to buckle. Against everything inside him, he went to her and held her up by the elbow.

“Nikolai will explain everything,” she said through breaths. “That goddamn snake will explain everything.” For a brief second Anteros had hope. He’d completely forgotten about Nikolai. Still holding her, he turned to where the boy had been.

Nikolai was gone.

Anteros scanned the rest of the church, but it was empty.

“No…” she whispered, realizing the same thing Anteros had. Fury blinded him—he’d let his emotions cloud his judgment again. He let Frankie go and she fell in a heap to the worn, red carpet. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

“Hey Boss,” Little O said, coming on the line. “Check it out, Nikolai fixed conference call.” Just hearing the fucker’s name had his nostrils flaring.

“We’re all on the line,” Pretty Boy said.

“I’m not even in the same room as Pretty Boy.”

“Thank fuck for that.”

“And that’s Crazy A breathing on the line,” Little O said, “just like the psycho killer he is. He could even be wearing a mask, we’ll never know.”

“I’m not wearing a mask,” Crazy A muttered.

“We’ll never know—” Little O started, but Anteros couldn’t take their fucking jokes anymore.

“We need to deal with this princess problem once and for all,” he barked. Anteros hadn’t taken his eyes off Frankie the entire time. She’d been breathing slowly, arms above her, knees curled into a ball. Now she lifted her head, fear and worry and abject sadness in her eyes. Tears streamed down her face without care.

“Anteros,” she whispered, too quiet for them to hear. “Please let me explain.”

“Do you have a new idea?” Pretty Boy asked, bringing his attention back.

“She’s here. I’ll pin you the location. She’s bloody so you need to be discreet.” His voice was hoarse, fucking torn in two. Part of him hoped she was gone by the time they arrived. The other part wanted her gone for good so he never had to feel this way again.

At the same time, Pretty Boy and Little O said, “Are you fucking serious?” Anteros stalked back and forth, rubbing his lip before running a hand through his hair. Why couldn’t he just fucking tell them to do it? She didn’t give a shit about him. She’d used his love for her as a weapon.

Frankie hadn’t stopped looking at him, gaze watery but sharp and cutting. He’d be scarred and ruined by her forever. She was in his blood, but now that blood had turned, like arsenic pumping through his veins.

“First person to put a bullet in her gets a bonus,” Anteros said, looking away. “Money, women, whatever you want.” Then the line went dead.

“I dare you to run,” Anteros growled, turning back to her. What he really meant was, Run, fucking run. Even still, after everything, after all the ruination she’d brought, he couldn’t be callous. He absently rubbed the F on his chest before dropping his hand like he’d been burned.

He was a fucking pussy, and he wanted to tear Frankie apart for turning him into this shell of a man.

She didn’t run, she just laid on the ground, watching him with those big, fearful cornflower eyes. The A was too bold against her chest—a fact that used to turn him inside out but now just made him hollow. Fuck. That’s why Nikolai hadn’t cared about the F—the fucker had planned it. Bending down, he roughly gripped the fabric and forced her to hold it to her chest. The Wolves would wonder about it.

I don’t want a bandage. I want to bleed your name.

He stood back to his feet instantly, assaulted by the memory of that night. Dammit, Frankie was even beautiful when she cried. Her lips got puffy, eyes bright and shiny, lashes dewy. If it were any other situation, he would have made a mental note to fuck her until she cried so he could see those tears in bed where they belonged. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, refocusing his attention anywhere else.

His eyes landed on the stained glass phoenix. As he followed the fiery wings curving toward the roof, Anteros wondered if this was a setup, if Frankie was playing him with her tears, trying to get him and the Wolves all in one place.

“You’re not wearing the necklace,” he said, noticing her bare neck. His voice was raw with emotion he couldn’t hide. It was pointless mentioning it—she’d only worn it to worm her way into his heart. Yet for some reason, he had to say it aloud, had to hear the words for himself to cement the betrayal as real.

Her hand went to her throat, eyes widening. “That’s because—” Her words were cut off by the creak of the doors opening. Light streamed into the church, yellow and cold with the air outside. It illuminated her body in a spotlight and she looked too fucking angelic.

“I win the bet!” Pretty Boy exclaimed, thrusting both doors open. Anteros ground his jaw, forcing himself to look at the Wolves making their way up the aisle and not Frankie on the floor, bathed in celestial light.

When Crazy A reached them, he silently picked Frankie up by the arm, dragging her down the aisle. She craned her head, eyes locking with his as she disappeared out the doors.

“Little O bet you would kill her before we got here,” Pretty Boy explained, coming to stand next to Anteros. “He’s got the engine running. You coming?” Anteros nodded but didn’t follow when Pretty Boy left after Crazy A.

When the place had emptied, Anteros turned again to the phoenix. A few minutes passed in silence as he studied the intricate glass carving. When he heard the door creak open again and footsteps approach, he didn’t turn around.

“You’ll want to watch this,” Crazy A said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I can promise you’ll never forget it.” Anteros said nothing, and slowly Crazy A removed his hand. His footfalls grew quieter, the door creaked open then shut.

Focusing on the flames engulfing the phoenix, Anteros wondered if he’d done the right thing.

* * *

After shoving Frankie into the Escalade’s trunk, they brought her to the docks and carried her to the precipice of the pier. Ice crawled along the half-frozen Hudson and multicolored shipping crates dotted the docks behind them. The crates were usually filled with people being shipped to The Institute, but since the war shipments had been sporadic. It was currently deserted—the perfect place to kill and drop a body.

But Anteros couldn’t fucking do it.

He couldn’t pull the trigger.

“Everything all right, Boss?” Pretty Boy asked. No, he was a goddamn pussy. His soul had been fragmented but instead of getting revenge on the woman who’d torn it, he was watching the shreds blow in the wind like a tattered white flag.

Anteros couldn’t even ride in the same goddamn car as her. He’d had to follow in his McLaren, but not before watching them close the trunk on her. Frankie’s eyes had been locked with his all the way until the door shut on her head. Once again, though the pistol obscured half her face, her blue eyes bore into him.

“Just savoring the experience,” Anteros lied. “Been a long time coming.” Pretty Boy nodded, accepting the explanation. Frankie was spread eagle between him and Little O, their fingers biting the skin just below her shoulders. The tank he’d given her was precariously close to exposing the A, and a dangerous part of him wished it would slip, wished he could see it one last time. She mouthed something to him, but he didn’t catch it.

The sun was setting, outlining Frankie in a fiery vermillion hue. The wooden pier was covered with a dusting of snow, tinted orange by the sunset. Cinderblocks and rope sat next to Frankie’s feet—fucking cinderblocks so she would sink into the water and never return. Anteros rubbed the hand with the gun to his forehead. Goddamn, how had he ended up here?

With an exhale, Anteros lowered the gun and rubbed it on his thigh, wind biting at his exposed fingers.

“You do it.” Anteros turned to Crazy A beside him, putting his Glock back in his holster. Crazy A’s stare narrowed, but he unfolded his arms and pulled his gun out without a word. In seconds he had it pointed at Frankie’s head. Seeing the Wolf’s gun on her ripped Anteros apart. Even after all the betrayal, he wanted to save her.

He was so fucked.

“Please,” Frankie said, tears making her eyes shine. “Please just give me a chance to explain.”

“Dogs should really learn when to speak,” Crazy A commented.

“Fuck you.” Her voice cracked, a sob breaking free when she said you. Her eyes never strayed from Anteros.

“Not my type,” Crazy A responded without looking at her. Frankie gnawed on her bottom lip as if trying to keep the rest of her tears inside, but they streamed down her face anyway, clear rivers that were too fucking vivid. If Anteros had to watch another minute he was going to run, tug her from Little O and Pretty Boy’s grasp, throw her over his shoulder, and get her to safety—betrayal be damned.

“I’ll go grab some cinderblocks,” Anteros said, voice hoarse.

“We already got blocks,” Pretty Boy replied, nonplussed, but Anteros was already turning toward his McLaren.

“Anteros wait!” Frankie called out, and he stilled.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Pretty Boy asked. “Did Lucia tell you to call him that?”

“I love you.” The grim determination in her voice froze his blood. It said she was resigned to her fate, but still the last thing she’d say was, I love you.

He didn’t know what to think.

Was she just trying to save herself?

“That’s rich.” Little O laughed, apparently thinking the same thing Anteros was. “Never heard someone use that angle before.” Anteros shook his head, trying to get her out of it, and continued. Little O and Pretty Boy’s laughter echoed as Anteros walked back to the car. Even with his back turned, though, he could see the tears that tattooed her cheeks.

This had to happen.

She’d betrayed him.

So why did each step feel like another treason against his soul?

* * *

Anteros had barely taken another step when he heard the gun go off—the unmistakable deep, resonant pop. He could practically see the small, round nose powering through the air and punching through her soft flesh, tearing into her, destroying her—destroying him.

When he heard the splash and her body crash into the water, suddenly every muscle and sinew in his body was working without thought. Anteros spun around and ran back to his Wolves, at the same time pulling his Glock out. As Anteros approached the pier, his run slowed to a walk.

Frankie was alive.

She was still held between Pretty Boy and Little O like nothing had ever happened. The Wolves regarded him with curiosity. Adrenaline rushed through his body as his brow furrowed. What the fuck?

“Change your mind?” Pretty Boy asked.

“What happened?” Anteros replied, ignoring the question while his eyes darted around the scene, trying to piece it together. One cinderblock was missing, a track in the snow showing where it had been pushed off the pier.

“Crazy A knocked a fucking cinderblock into the water and shot off a bullet,” Little O said, incredulous and peeved. “He’s going insane for real.” Anteros slowly slid his gaze from the pier and locked eyes with Crazy A. Gun level on Frankie, his stare was hard on Anteros.

“I wish I could say this was surprising,” Crazy A said, laughing. “I’d like to hear you admit it, though, before I kill you both.”

“What the fuck?” Pretty Boy’s eyes darted from Anteros to Crazy A.

“I was joking before, but are you really going insane?” Little O asked.

Crazy A laughed bitterly, ignoring the other two Wolves. “It’s a poetic death, at least. More than I ever got.” Pretty Boy slowly dropped his grip on Frankie while Little O was rapt, watching the exchange.

“I really had hope, Anteros. I hoped you would let this fucking go. I knew you didn’t want me to kill her, were just buying time until you could figure out some plan, but then today I hoped you’d finally found the balls to cut this cunt free.” Crazy A closed the distance between him and Frankie, placing his hand at the back of her neck.

“You’ve got this all wrong, Alcide,” Anteros stalled, eyeing Crazy A’s grip on Frankie’s smooth, honey skin with clenched teeth. The caress was like a pressure bomb, harmless until the moment when everything blew up.

Something became clear to Anteros when the bullet sounded: no matter what Frankie had done or would do to him, he could never kill her. He would end his life before ending hers. Now he just had to clean this shit up.

“Don’t insult me,” Crazy A replied. “We’re past that.”

“Anteros please believe—” Frankie started, but Crazy A cut her off, gripping her neck and pulling her harshly back so she had to look at him.

“This doesn’t concern you,” he hissed.

“Someone tell me what the fuck is going on,” Pretty Boy demanded.

“You fucking idiots, he loves her. He fucking loves her.” Crazy A ripped Frankie’s shirt open, revealing the A. Stunned, palpable silence engulfed them.

“What the fuck?” Little O exclaimed finally. “What is that?”

“You know what it is,” Crazy A said, eyes still on Anteros. “It’s his fucking brand. He has a matching one.”

They both looked to Anteros. “He’s lying, right, Boss?” But Little O’s wavering voice betrayed his uncertainty.

“No,” Anteros replied. “He tells the truth.” Anteros was done pretending. The day would most likely end in death, and he wouldn’t go to his grave a liar. Frankie had betrayed him; she didn’t love him, but dammit, he’d loved her.

Crazy A laughed. “At least you’re not pretending anymore.”

“Fuck this,” Pretty Boy said, hastily unsheathing his gun and aiming it at Frankie. “This is bullshit. No chick is worth more than us, than the Wolves, than what we’ve been through.” Pretty Boy’s grip was unsteady because he was unsteady. He didn’t even look at Frankie, creased brow and worried gaze stuck on Anteros.

“Wait—” Frankie started, but Pretty Boy fired and her word broke in a scream. The bullet knocked her free from Crazy A and she fell backward into the water, cry disappearing in a splash.

Without hesitation, Anteros shot Pretty Boy. There was only a second for Little O to realize what that meant. His mouth parted in shock as Pretty Boy fell into the water then he whipped around to Anteros. Little O fumbled awkwardly with the trigger then fired.

The bullet cut through the cold air and at the last minute, Anteros parried to the left, discharging his Glock. Little O’s bullet clipped Anteros below his rib just as Anteros hit the Wolf clean in the chest. Anteros fired another shot, then another.

Little O’s gun fell to the pier with a thud.

He stumbled back, hitting the water just seconds after Pretty Boy, their deaths marked by a one-two successive splash. Anteros’s head pounded with adrenaline, his blood vibrated. A years-long alliance had been annihilated in an instant. They were gone before they could even process what had happened. There wasn’t even a spot of their blood on the pier to demarcate the moment when the Beast had chosen the princess.

“You’re a fool,” Crazy A said and Anteros quickly turned to face the next threat. Crazy A already had his gun on Anteros. Holding his side with one hand, Anteros raised his own with the other. This was what it would have always come down to, Anteros realized. That day years ago, Anteros had torn an irreconcilable hole. Their brotherhood had only masked the blood thirst, the need to avenge. It would have always ended with the both of them at each other’s guns.

“At least I admitted my weakness,” Crazy A continued. “You’re in love with her and you won’t admit it to yourself. You’re fucking crippled.”

“I know I love her,” Anteros said as blood wept between the cracks in his fingers. “I’ve loved her since the day she demanded I take her instead of her father. I knew I would rather destroy everything than harm her when you insisted I kill her. I don’t just love her, Alcide, she is my ruination and my salvation.” The declaration poured from him like the blood seeping from his side. He couldn’t stop the words but for the first time, he didn’t want to.

Crazy A’s eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. His gun lowered slightly and Anteros took the brief second pause to gain the advantage.

He fired.

The bullet pierced Crazy A and he fell backward into the water, joining the others in their watery grave.

But not Frankie, Anteros thought grimly as he sprinted to the river.

* * *

Determined to bring Frankie back with him, Anteros threw his arms wide above him, clapped his hands together, and fell into the river in a swan dive. The tips of his fingers broke the icy surface then the rest of his body followed.

At first the water was like thousands of razors slicing his skin, but numbness quickly settled—a relief for his injured side, at least. As Anteros dove deeper, the bodies of Little O and Pretty Boy drifted lifelessly next to him, their blood swirling like ribbons in the inky water.

Anteros swam harder against the current, ignoring their surprised faces. They’d had no idea what was coming, had been loyal to the end, and that had cost them their lives.

It was just a flicker of light in the deep water, but she grew clearer and unmistakable: Frankie. The smooth, lovely curves of her face caught the light of the fading sun. Eyes closed, lashes dusted her cheekbones. Her arms rose lifelessly above her like she was reaching up after him. She was falling deeper and faster, and he didn’t have much breath left in him.

Anteros kicked faster, reaching his hand out until his shoulder hyperextended and the muscles of his back and arm groaned in protest. Finally, he grasped her wrist. He tugged them back up through the slogging water while invisible tendrils tried to drag them back down.

His lungs demanded breath, face tight with the need for air, but all he could think about was saving Frankie. Light glimmered across the surface, dancing like pixies, taunting him, a flicker he could see but couldn’t breach. The walls of his brain were closing in on him, desperate for oxygen.

At last, Anteros broke the surface, sucking in air as he dragged Frankie to the pier. With one arm wrapped around her waist, he lifted them. Her wet hair fell over his arm as they dangled. His bicep flexed painfully and his fingers threatened to give way but with a final breath, he pulled them up. Lying on his back, Anteros focused on the few stars that broke through the cloudy gray night, waiting until his blurry vision cleared. Then, with another heavy breath, he rolled over to examine her.

Jesus.

What had he done?

What the fuck had he done?

Her lips were blue, eyes closed. Blood seeped from the bullet wound in her arm like a watercolor left in the rain. Hovering, he touched her neck, checking for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but it was there. Still, he had to get the water from her lungs.

Tilting her neck back, he put his lips to her frosty blue ones and breathed into her lungs. He started compressions and even though her lack of response made him want to go hard and fast, he remained steady. Seconds felt like decades, dread coiled in his gut, but then she miraculously sat up. With violent coughs, Frankie expelled water from her mouth. Their eyes locked.

Without thought, Anteros crushed his lips against hers, kissing her so fiercely and so hard that it pierced the numbness. He was still infuriated by her betrayal, but killing Frankie only served to destroy him further.

He was fucked.