chapter nine

Chapter Nine: Trigger Line

By the time dawn bled across the sky, there was no longer a clear line between what I felt and what I feared. The safe house was still and quiet, but my chest churned like a war zone. I had killed no one in two weeks, but it felt like I'd been dying a thousand deaths each day—of doubt, of guilt, of everything I was becoming and no longer could control.

I stared at the glass of whiskey on the table in front of me. Killian had poured it hours ago, said nothing, and left. I hadn't touched it. Not because I didn't want to—but because I didn't trust myself. That much silence could drive a person mad. That much stillness made even peace feel like a lie.

A knock broke the quiet.

Luca stepped into the room, his arm still in a sling from the sniper hit two nights ago. He looked tired, eyes bloodshot, but alert.

"We have a problem," he said simply.

Of course we did. There was always a problem.

"Let me guess—Natasha made another move?"

"Not yet," he said, walking further inside. "But someone inside our own ranks did."

I stood slowly, every nerve in my body instantly on edge.

"What happened?"

He tossed a black flash drive on the table. "Found this in Miguel's coat. He was trying to leave the compound."

Miguel.

He was Killian's newest tech guy—young, lean, smart with firewalls, and quiet enough to be invisible. I never liked how he avoided eye contact.

"What's on it?"

"Encrypted files. Internal movement logs. Smuggling routes. Password keys. All set to be sold to someone offshore."

"Natasha?"

Luca shook his head. "That's the problem. We don't know. Whoever paid Miguel isn't one of the cartels. It's an external buyer. Independent."

I frowned. "An outsider wants in."

"Exactly."

He turned to face me.

"And you need to be careful."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're not invisible anymore, Amara. Whatever loyalty you had with Killian... it's on thin ice with everyone else. Some of the guys are starting to whisper. Asking why you're still alive."

"Let them whisper."

Luca gave me a long look. "I like you. But this place? It doesn't care about like. It chews up anything that looks too human."

He walked out without another word.

---

That afternoon, I found Killian outside on the rooftop balcony of the main compound. He had one hand wrapped around a tumbler of scotch, the other resting loosely on the railing as the wind swept through his hair. The sun made him look almost gentle. Almost human.

But Killian Moretti was never gentle.

And definitely never just human.

"You found the mole," I said.

He didn't flinch. "Luca told you."

I walked up beside him. "What's the plan?"

"Interrogation. Then extraction."

"Extraction?" I asked, arching a brow.

"A polite word for disposal."

I shouldn't have flinched. But I did.

He noticed.

"I can handle it," I said.

"No," he said, voice low. "You're not that girl anymore."

"You don't know who I am."

"I do," he replied, turning to face me. "You're trying to hate me again. But you can't."

His words hit like gunfire.

"You kissed me," he added. "And now you're trying to undo it."

I clenched my jaw. "That kiss didn't change anything."

"Then why haven't you left?"

I didn't have an answer.

Because even I didn't know.

---

That night, they brought Miguel to the basement. Tied, bloodied, and barely conscious. I watched from behind the two-way glass as Luca landed another punch. Miguel didn't even cry out. He just bled in silence, like a man who knew the end had come and chose not to beg.

Killian stood beside me, arms folded, eyes flat.

"Loyalty doesn't mean silence," I said after a while.

"True," Killian murmured. "But betrayal always does."

He turned and walked into the room.

Miguel lifted his head, blinking through blood.

Killian knelt in front of him. "Who paid you?"

No answer.

Another punch from Luca.

"Who paid you?"

Still nothing.

Killian's hand wrapped around Miguel's throat, firm but not crushing. Just enough to let him feel how close he was to death.

And then Miguel laughed.

Low. Ugly. Mocking.

"You're already dead, Killian," he spat. "You just haven't realized it yet."

Killian stood slowly.

Then he looked at me through the glass.

And I knew.

He wanted me to pull the trigger.

My chest tightened.

I walked in.

Miguel's bloodshot eyes widened as I stepped closer.

"You don't know what you're doing," he rasped.

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I said softly.

I pulled my gun.

He laughed again. "You think this ends with me? She's coming for you, girl. Natasha doesn't play fair. You think you're in love with him, but you're just a pawn."

I didn't hesitate.

One shot.

Clean.

His head snapped back, and his body slumped.

Killian didn't say a word. He just nodded once and turned away.

And I... I felt nothing.

Not guilt. Not sorrow.

Just cold clarity.

The kind my father must've felt before he died.

---

Later that night, Killian came to my room.

He didn't knock.

He never did.

"You pulled the trigger," he said.

"I had to."

"No," he said. "You chose to."

He sat on the edge of the bed.

"You're changing."

I nodded. "Maybe."

"Does that scare you?"

I met his eyes.

"No," I said. "What scares me is how easy it's become."

He leaned closer.

"You think I'm your redemption," he whispered. "But I'm not."

"I know."

He brushed his thumb against my cheek, gentle for once.

"You kissed me," he said again.

"You let me."

"We can't go back."

"I don't want to."

He leaned in.

This time, I didn't flinch.

And when his lips met mine, there was no confusion. Just fire.

But somewhere, deep in the pit of my stomach, I knew...

This was the beginning of the end.

Because love built on vengeance never survives the blast.