CHAPTER 218 Hello, Pete. Goodbye.

*Pete*

Big Mike hoisted the bloodied, unconscious hooker into the back of his rust-streaked van with the ease of a man who had done it far too many times before. She dangled in his grip like a broken puppet, limbs swinging loosely as he slung her onto the cold metal floor. The van creaked under the weight. With a grunt, he slammed the rear doors shut.

Then he turned, swaggering toward me with that lopsided grin, reeking of motor oil and stale bourbon.

“Pete,” he drawled, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Say it. I *need* to hear you say it. That my debts are gone.”

I gave him my most charming smirk and pulled a thick roll of hundreds from my coat pocket—money still warm from my body heat. I tossed it his way. “We’re square. Here’s a little bonus—for the other girl. Try not to piss it all away at the tables.”

He snorted and caught the wad mid-air. “No promises,” he said, tucking it into his vest. “Casino’s calling.” He winked and strolled off toward the driver’s side. The engine coughed to life a moment later, and then he was gone—swallowed by the dark stretch of night.

I turned to Greg, my second-in-command—or so I thought.

“Are my guests restrained?” I asked.

Greg didn’t meet my eyes. “No, sir. Too risky. I’m not chaining them myself. If they wake up, I don’t want them recognizing my face later.”

I stared at him in disbelief, jaw twitching. *Useless*.

“Fine,” I spat. “I’ll do it myself. Just make sure the overhead doors are sealed.”

“Understood.” Greg gave a sharp whistle. “Men, pack it up. We’re moving out.”

“What?” My voice cracked like thin glass.

One by one, Greg’s crew started piling into their black SUVs, tossing gear into the trunks like they had a plane to catch.

“That wasn’t the agreement!” I snapped, stepping in front of him.

Greg calmly drew his weapon, letting the barrel hover just above my heart. “The agreement has changed,” he said. “The FBI has Mayor Cohen boxed in. Orders are to pull out—now. You should too.”

My pulse rocketed. “I can pay you. Two million. Three! Just stay and protect the compound.”

Greg shook his head, emotionless. “You don’t get it. I don’t work for *you*. You were a side job—nothing more. And right now, you’re a liability. Two girls in your basement? That’s a federal rap I’m not touching. Good luck, McDowell. You’re gonna need it.”

He stepped back, keeping the gun trained on me until he was inside the SUV. “Close the overhead,” he said to his last man before slamming the door shut.

And then they were gone—leaving behind a silence that felt like a funeral.

I stood in the echo of their departure, heart hammering, palms clammy. But I still had time. Liam didn’t know I was here. And Lisa… she knew what happened to rats.

I’d make my exit in the morning, after I had my fun with Virtue and her little friend. Millions of viewers on the dark net had already prepaid for the exclusive show.

I descended into the basement, the stairs groaning beneath my feet. The air was damp, thick with mildew and secrets. One flickering bulb swayed above a mattress at the far end of the room, casting uneven shadows across the concrete walls.

There they were—Virtue and her friend—laid out like porcelain dolls, their bodies still, faces serene in slumber. I swallowed. They looked angelic. Fragile.

I fired up my laptop, set a fifteen-minute countdown to ping my viewers, and adjusted the cameras to catch every angle. My hands shook with anticipation as I crossed the room, grabbed Virtue’s wrist, and lifted it to the chains bolted to the wall.

“Gorgeous, gorgeous Virtue,” I whispered, my voice thick with hunger. “You and me? We’re gonna have a real good time.”

I fumbled with the cuffs, my fingers slick with sweat and my heart filled with excitement. Then I froze.

Her eyes were open. Cold. Wide. Staring right at me.

A sudden, cold pressure against my groin made my stomach drop. I looked down and nearly screamed. The barrel of a gun was pressed against my balls.

She smiled, a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

“Hello, Pete. Move, and you’re a eunuch,” Virtue said, her voice ice-cold but laced with a venomous smile. She yanked her arm free and sat up slow, keeping the gun steady. "Kiki, frisk him."

I choked on my own breath. Her friend, Kiki, was already up, a second gun in her hand, cocked and aimed at my chest. She walked up to me, her eyes burning with hate.

“Ah, ah, ah," Virtue warned. "If I were you, I wouldn’t move. I’m new at this… my finger might twitch. Poof—there go your balls."

That laugh. It wasn’t human. It belonged to a predator.

Kiki frisked me, her hands rough and deliberate, checking every inch for weapons. “Your security bailed, Pete,” she said, her voice cold as ice. “That leaves you all alone. With us.”

*They planned this*. Every second. Every move. *This wasn’t random*.

Kiki stepped back, gun ready. “He’s clean,” she said to Virtue, then turned to me, her eyes hard. “Now, strip. Everything. Move.”

Sweat drenched my face, stinging my eyes. My hands trembled so bad I could barely unbutton my shirt. “What the hell is this?” I stammered, my voice cracking. “Is Liam behind this? You want cash? I’ve got millions—name your number, just don’t shoot!” I fumbled with my belt, pleading. “Please, tell me what you want!"

Virtue stood, her movements smooth, fluid, lethal. “Money?” she said, her voice sweet as poison. “I don’t want your cash, Pete. I want to watch the light leave your eyes when I pull this trigger.” She glanced at my briefs, her gun aimed low. “You heard Kiki. Strip. Everything. I want you to feel what it’s like—every woman you’ve taken, humiliated, broken.”

My heart pounded so hard I thought it’d burst. I hesitated, knowing they’d laugh, knowing they’d mock me. “Please,” I stammered, “you don’t have to—”

“STRIP!” Virtue roared, her rage a living thing. Her gun whipped across my face, the metal cracking against my cheekbone. Bone split. Fire exploded behind my eyes. "NOW!"

Shaking, I slid off my underwear, standing naked under the unforgiving light while both women laughed. That laughter—laced with revenge—sent a chill down my spine.

Kiki shoved me onto the mattress, her gun pressed to the back of my skull. “Cuff yourself."

I obeyed, my hands trembling as I snapped the cold metal around my wrists. The overhead light glared down, exposing every inch of me. I felt small, pathetic, naked in every sense.

Virtue’s voice cut through the silence, sharp as a blade. “Tell me, Pete. Did you order the assault on Joy Taylor ten years ago?”

I squinted against the light, her face a blur. “What’s it to you? You FBI or something?”

They both laughed, a sound that made my skin crawl. “FBI?” Virtue mocked. “Oh, Pete, you wish. Answer the question, or we start breaking fingers. Did you order the assault on Joy Taylor?”

“I’m not saying shit without a lawyer,” I spat. “I got rights!”

A heavy object—Kiki’s gun, maybe—slammed into my hand. A sickening crack echoed, and pain ripped through me like lightning. I screamed, my body convulsing.

Virtue leaned closer, her voice low, almost a whisper. “Ten years, Pete. Ten years to piece myself back together after what you did. All for what? A patch of dirt my father wouldn’t sell you. That land was my future, my *inheritance*.” She paused, her breath shaky. “I blamed Liam, Jack, Dan, and Cris for what they did to me. Left me for dead. But then I learned the truth. You and your mother pulled the strings." She paused, her lips trembling with rage, her face a mask of raw, unfiltered pain. "Your mother? I took her down. Theodore Cohen? That was me, too. Cris Murdock? I put a bullet in his head while he was chained up, naked, just like you are now. And guess what, Pete? You’re next.” She stepped closer, her gun steady, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “You thought you could ruin me and walk away. You thought wrong.”

My blood ran cold. Virtue Sullivan *was* Joy Taylor. My eyes locked on hers, wide with terror. She cocked her gun, the click loud as a death knell.

“Wait!” I gasped, desperate. “Before you shoot, Joy, there’s something you need to know.”

She tilted her head, her finger still on the trigger. “Make it quick. I’m in a hurry.”

“Noah,” I blurted, my voice shaking. “It was all his idea. My mother wanted your father dead, but Noah said if we went after you, George would break. He’d sell. It was Noah’s plan from the start.”

Joy’s eyes narrowed, her gun unwavering. “Noah,” she repeated, her voice a low growl. “You’re telling me Noah masterminded this? My childhood best friend?"

I nodded frantically, hoping to buy time. “Yeah, Joy. *Noah*. He’s the one you want—my capo. Not me."

I saw hope for half a second. Saw her process it. Saw her eyes shift—

And then go dark... cold, unyielding, promising death.

Her lips twisted into something monstrous. “Thanks for that bit of information, Pete,” she said softly. “But do you honestly think that saves you? You’re wrong.”
She leaned so close I could smell her breath—mint, metal, madness. “But don’t worry. Noah’s next. Goodbye."

Her finger squeezed the trigger.

And the last thing I saw was her cruel smile.