“What the hell were you thinking?” Ezra snapped, his voice low and sharp as Victoria stepped into the underground cell.
She barely spared him a glance, her heels clicking on the stone floor. “Don’t start, Ezra.”
“One of them’s already dead,” he hissed, pointing toward the blood-smeared corner. “Fought back during transport.”
“Good,” Victoria muttered, brushing her coat sleeve. “One less trouble to deal with.”
Ezra paced, jaw tight, hands clenching and unclenching. “Zayn’s on his way here. If he talks to the others—”
“He won’t,” Victoria interrupted, finally looking at him. “Because they won’t be alive long enough.”
He froze.
“You mean to kill them?”
“I’m just tying up loose ends,” she said calmly, stepping closer to the iron bars. Inside, the remaining two rogues sat chained to the wall, battered and bloodied. One of them sneered when he saw her.
Ezra moved to block her path. “You’re talking about murder.”
