“If you knew that shipment wasn’t yours, you should’ve returned it. Instead, you tried to turn a profit—and walked straight into your ruin.”

Ronan stumbled backward until the pool table blocked his path, his body trembling uncontrollably. His weapon had disappeared, and there was nowhere left to run. He stared at Rylie in terror, her figure slender yet imposing in the flickering light, the blood-red stains on her face accentuating the emptiness in her cold eyes.

“N-You’re VS? The arms dealer? The one from the dark web?” Ronan’s voice was cracked, dry with disbelief. “How can someone like you be VS?”

But if what he feared was true—if Rylie was indeed the elusive and deadly VS—then the alliance between her and the Costa Syndicate suddenly made perfect, terrifying sense.

Rylie’s expression remained unreadable. “Just because you’ve never seen it doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

Ronan edged sideways along the pool table, his eyes locked on her every movement. His voice trembled as he tried to bargain. “If you are VS, then let’s talk. I know you came for revenge, but this is all about money, right? Once I’ve dealt with those kids, I’ll give you everything—everything! If that’s not enough, just let me get to shore safely. I’ll bring back as much as you want. Name your price.”

“For money?” Rylie arched an eyebrow, her tone cool and flat. She noticed his hand inching toward a pool cue behind him but gave no indication she cared, casually drumming her fingers on the felt table surface. “It’s not just about that. I don’t make my living from hurting the helpless. I don’t kill for sport—and I don’t take from children or the innocent.”

She wasn’t a hero—but she had her code. That was what set her apart from men like Ronan.

His fingers clenched around the cue, but he froze—his fear breaking through his bravado. He tried to cover his panic with indignation. “Oh yeah? You say that, but you arm pirates. You gave them the weapons they used to massacre people on passing ships. And now they answer only to you. So what does that make you, huh? A fraud? A hypocrite?”

Ronan’s voice cracked with fear. The sound bounced off the walls in the stillness of the room.

Rylie came to a halt, just three steps from him. The searchlight outside caught her at an angle, casting a harsh glow on one side of her face.

Her eyes revealed no flicker of emotion. They were cold and unreadable, like ice that never thawed.

She let out a quiet laugh, sharp and cutting.

“You’re calling me a hypocrite?” The card in her hand—the Ace of Spades—stopped mid-spin. She let it rest between her fingers. Instead of responding, she stepped closer. The sound of her heels echoed in the room, sharp and slow, each step ringing like a funeral bell in his ears.

“Tommy’s ship carries my flag,” she said. Her voice was calm, but it landed heavily. “That flag isn’t just for show. It comes with rules. You follow them if you want protection. I sell weapons, yes. But I also lay down the terms for staying alive.”

.

.

.