Just when Callie thought her horrors for the day were over, she couldn’t be more wrong. Not fifteen minutes from when Raleigh had her seated and strapped into the backseat of his car, Callie found herself witnessing an interrogation. No, not an interrogation, a torture session.

She had asked—begged—over and over for them to stop, but no one listened to her. Even Vin was indifferent.

He sat in an old metal chair across from Cullen Reich, who was tied to one. Blood caked on his fingers where nails used to sit, fingernails that Z so mercilessly pulled using some ancient-looking contraption.

By fingernail number three, Callie’s throat was sore, and...