Chapter 2 Kat

I wait until Liam leaves.

He always does after a tantrum—storms out like he’s the victim, slams the door like it’s punctuation. I count the seconds. Twenty-seven. Then silence.

I clean the mess slowly, deliberately. Not because I care about the floor, but because it gives me time to think. Time to plan.

The cut on my palm is shallow. I wrap it in a dish towel and press hard. The pain keeps me grounded.

There’s a burner phone in the liquor cabinet. I saw him stash it last week, drunk and sloppy. He thinks I don’t notice things. He’s wrong.

I move through the house like a ghost. No creaking floorboards. No sudden movements. I’ve learned how to disappear in plain sight.

The cabinet is locked. Of course it is. But the key is in his jacket—always the left pocket. I know because I do his laundry. Because I fold his lies into neat little piles and pretend not to see the blood on his cuffs.

I wait until nightfall.

He’ll drink. He always does. Whiskey first, then something stronger. He’ll pass out on the couch, one arm dangling, mouth open like a monster finally at rest.

That’s when I’ll move.

But for now, I rehearse. In my head. Over and over.

Step one: get the phone.

Step two: find a signal.

Step three: call someone who won’t hang up.

Not my father. Not my brothers. Not yet.

I don’t know if they’d answer. I don’t know if they’d forgive me.

But I know this: I’m done being Liam’s trophy. His punishment. His proof that he could break the Don’s daughter.

I’m not broken.

I’m just waiting for the right moment to rise.

The phone rings.

Once. Twice.

Then a voice, sharp and guarded:

“Liam?”

I freeze. Of course she’d assume it’s him. This is his number. His world.

I don’t speak. Not yet.

“Liam?” she says again, slower this time. “Why are you calling me from this line?”

I swallow hard. My voice is barely a whisper.

“It’s not Liam.”

Silence.

Then: “Who is this?”

I close my eyes. I hate how small I sound. How much I need her to believe me.

“It’s Kat.”

Another pause. Longer this time. I imagine her somewhere dimly lit, surrounded by secrets. I imagine her calculating—wondering if this is a trap.

“How did you get this phone?” she asks.

“I took it. He doesn’t know.”

Still nothing. Just breathing. I can feel her weighing the risk.

“You said once,” I whisper, “that if I ever wanted out, you could help me.”

“I remember,” she says. Her voice is different now. Softer. But still cautious. “I didn’t think you’d ever call.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever survive.”

That gets her. I hear it in the way she exhales. Like she’s letting go of something heavy.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“In the house. He’s passed out.”

“Okay.” She’s already moving. I can hear it—keys, footsteps, urgency. “Don’t hang up. Don’t make a sound. I’m coming.”

Sarah’s POV

I didn’t expect the call.

Liam’s number lit up my screen and I almost didn’t answer. I don’t take calls from monsters unless I’m ready to burn something down.

But something told me to pick up. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the way that girl looked at me last week—like she was trying to memorize my face in case she never saw another kind one.

Then I heard her voice.

Not Liam. Not venom. Just a whisper.

“It’s Kat.”

I froze.

I don’t know who she is. Not really. Just a girl tucked into the corners of Liam’s house, too quiet, too careful. But I know what fear sounds like. I know what it costs to ask for help.

She said she took the phone. Said he didn’t know.

That was enough.

I didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press for details. I just moved.

Because the Lords don’t hurt women. We save them. We dismantle the systems that feed on them. That’s why I’m here in Texas—embedded, watching, waiting for the right crack in the armor.

And this girl? She’s the crack.

I texted Jasper.

Incoming. One soul. No name. Prepare Wolf.

My brother doesn’t need context. He just needs coordinates.

I grabbed my keys, threw on my jacket, and tucked a Glock into the lining. Not because I plan to use it. But because Liam might wake up. And if he does, I won’t hesitate.

Kat doesn’t know who I am. Doesn’t know that the girl with the smoky eyes and the fake laugh is royalty in her own right. That I was born into a kingdom of leather and steel. That my brother runs the kind of empire that doesn’t ask for permission.

She doesn’t know any of that.

All she knows is I said I’d help her.

And I will.