Page 82 of Tiny's Testament
One Twin leans against the dresser. “She tried to crawl back out.”
The other finishes softly, “He killed her for reaching.”
Something inside me snaps.
Not loudly. Not violently.
Quiet. Precisely. Like a bone giving under the right pressure.
I stand. My knees ache from crouching, but I don’t feel it.
“Bring them all down, or die,” I whisper.
Capone hears it. So does everyone else.
I step back toward Pearl’s body, brushing a strand of hair off her cold cheek. “You got what you asked for, darlin’,” I murmur. “I hope it was worth it.”
When I turn around, no one tries to stop me. They can all see what’s coming.
Capone straightens, his voice a gravel anchor. “Where is she?”
I hold up the phone. “The old county animal shelter. Lattimer carved his mark on the wall.”
Trigger stiffens. “That place is condemned.”
Blayze cracks his neck. “Which means he picked it on purpose.”
Torch checks his gun. “What’s the plan?”
I holster mine. My voice is steady, deadly calm. “We go in hard. We go in fast. We tear his fucking world down brick by brick. And we bring Syvannah home.”
One Twin smirks. “Finally.”
The other mirrors it. “Time to break things.”
Aloiki claps me on the back with a grim smile. “You lead, brah. We follow.”
Capone nods once. A command and a blessing rolled into one. The air shifts, thickening with shared purpose. Every man in the room straightens. Grief turns to fury. Fury turns to resolve.
“Mount up.” Capone’s two words ride deep in our bones.
We move as a single force, slipping out of the room, down the walkway, and into the night. As we each mount our bikes, engines fire in unison, a thunderous grip on the dark, shaking the ground, each vibration a vow. This isn’t the hum of bikes anymore, it’s the sound of men preparing to tear the city apart.
Blayze swings his leg over his Dyna, and for a split second, something thumps in his left saddlebag. Blayze glances down, confused, pats the bag to check the latch, then shrugs and revs the engine. I think I’m the only one who notices, and the moment passes as quickly as it came.
I grip the bars, twist the throttle, and feel the beast come alive. We ride south with the devil snapping at our wheels and falling behind.
My heart hammers against my chest, hard enough to hurt, before resolve burns through every vein in my body. “Hold on, Syvannah,” I mumble into the dark. “I’m on my way.”
19
SYVANNAH
Time behaves strangely in this hellhole. It stretches thin in some moments and crushes inward in others, folding fear into the smallest spaces. The concrete floor steals heat from my body. The lights flicker overhead, casting trembling shadows across rows of cages.
Peanut curls against me, her small body warm beneath my hands, her purr steady, a fragile heartbeat fighting to stay alive in a place meant to destroy everything soft.
Around us, the other women hover between sleep and panic, drifting into nightmares only to claw their way back out. My own thoughts feel like they’re made of static and broken glass.
