Page 81 of Vows of Ruin

Max exhales sharply. “That’s ours.”

“Then it was someone with key access,” Wrenley says. “Which means management level or higher.”

I look between them. “How many have that clearance?”

“Four,” Max answers. “Two bartenders, the floor manager, and me.”

I don’t respond. Not yet. We’re past the point where anyone’s name can be safe, even his. And I hate myself for that last thought.

I push the file toward Wrenley. “Get Riot to pull those three. Quietly. We’ll question them one at a time, in here.”

She nods once and heads for the stairs. Max stands still, tension rolling off him like static.

The door closes behind Wrenley, leaving Max and me alone in the office. The silence stretches. Downstairs, the bass from the club’s sound system hums faintly through the floor, someone must have brushed a switch, a pulse that doesn’t belong here anymore.

Max stands by the window, staring down at the sea of nervous faces below. The glow from the monitors cuts sharp lines across his shoulders.

“You know it’s not me,” he says quietly. No bite, no defense, just truth spoken like a confession. “I’d never do anything that put her in danger. Not her.”

I study him for a long beat. The kind of man who jokes when he’s bleeding, who carries his guilt like it’s armor. He’s shaking a little, not fear, just restraint.

“I know,” I say. I do know it’s not him. “Still, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t cross my mind.” The words taste like iron.

He turns toward me, eyes shadowed but steady. “Then you’re doing your job.”

That lands harder than I ever thought it would. He nods once, almost like he’s granting permission for me to doubt him. “I understand, Liam. I’d question myself too.”

The use of my name hits deep, not Reaper, not rank. Just Liam. The reminder that underneath all of this, we’re still human, still trying to keep the same person safe in different ways.

I exhale through my nose, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “Then let’s figure out who’s screwing us over.”

Max’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “Together, then.”

“Always.”

The comm in my ear crackles before either of us can say more. Riot’s voice comes through, low and tight. “First one’s on the way up. Says she’s clean, but she’s sweating bullets.”

I glance at Max. The calm settles back over him like a switch being thrown. Whatever storm was there, it’s buried again.

“Let’s get this done,” I tell him.

He nods, stepping toward the door as footsteps echo up the stairs.

Whoever’s about to walk through that door either has answers or they’re the reason everything we built is about to fall apart. The door opens with a soft click. The young floor manager steps inside, eyes darting between Max and me. Nervous. Hands clasped so tight her knuckles have gone white.

I nod toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit.”

She obeys immediately. The silence stretches. Max and I stay on the edge of the desk, arms folded, just watching. It’s the kind of quiet that makes people talk too soon, and she looks like she might already break from it.

Max finally moves first. He pushes off the desk, walks to the window that overlooks the empty dance floor. His reflection cuts through the glass. “Lena, right?” he says. “How long have you worked for me?”

She swallows hard. “Almost two years, sir.”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. “Do you know why you’re up here?”

Her head shakes once, jerky. “No, sir.”

“We’ve got a problem,” I say. “Someone’s been helping a man who wants to hurt our wife.” I let the word wife hang in the air, sharp and deliberate. “Very badly. And we don’t take kindly to people who threaten what’s ours.”