Page 187 of Joker

Raven under him.

Raven hurting.

And just like that, the last thin thread holding my self-control in place cinches into something colder than rage. Something cleaner. Something final.

When I speak, I don’t raise my voice. I don’t need to. Because now he gets the version of me that doesn’t bluff. “Listen to me real carefully,” I say.

The line is so quiet now I can hear the faint static behind his breathing.

“If you ever say another word about her like that, I will rip your fucking jaw off your skull.”

Nothing. Not even a breath.

I keep going. “And if you ever get close enough to make her afraid again, I won’t just kill you.” My hand tightens aroundthe phone. “I’ll make sure every piece of you regrets surviving long enough to meet me first.”

That one lands exactly the way I want it to.

Because when Cal speaks again, the arrogance is still there, but there’s something else under it now too. Something he didn’t have at the beginning of the call. Uncertainty. “You threatening a detective?” he asks softly.

I almost laugh. “No,” I say. “I’m promising a dead man.”

The silence after that is the best part of the whole fucking conversation.

Then he says, “Tell Raven I’ll be seeing her soon.”

And before he can hang up, before he can take the last word and feel like he left this call with any kind of control at all, I cut in hard enough to stop him. “You don’t say her name.”

His breathing stalls.

Good.

“You don’t think about her. You don’t look for her. You don’t breathe in her direction. Because from this second forward, every step you take toward her is a step into your own grave.”

My voice drops lower still. Murderously calm. “And if you’re stupid enough to come for Lexi?”

That’s where I let him hear it.

Not rage. Not temper. Not emotion. Conviction. “I will turn your whole bloodline into a cautionary tale.”

For the first time since he called, Cal doesn’t have a clever answer. No smug laugh. No slick comeback. No taunt. Just one long, ugly second of silence.

Then the line goes dead.

I lower the phone slowly and stare at the black screen for half a heartbeat before I look up.

Dom’s still standing there. Watching. He doesn’t ask what was said. He doesn’t need to. He can probably read enough of it in my face already.

Because I know exactly what I look like right now. Like violence with a pulse. Like a countdown with skin. Like the kind of man people pray they never give a reason.

I tuck the phone back into my cut and roll my shoulders once, every part of me locking into place with terrifying clarity.

Then I look at Dom and say the only thing left to say. “Find him.”

And this time, I don’t mean eventually.

Now.

I know the second I wake up that I shouldn’t go.