Daggermouth (The Heart, #1) — Chapter no 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jameson Fucking Vine

Shadera’s world narrowed at the sound of those four words. A voice. His voice.

The liquor in her veins turned electric as she stared at the reflective faceplate, her own distorted reflection looking back at her. Time stretched and compressed around her as her mind struggled to process what her heart already knew.

Jameson was here. In the Heart. Inside the beast’s den.

Something cracked inside Shadera, a dam breaking to release a flood of emotion so powerful she could barely breathe through it as Jameson pulled the helmet from his head. She launched herself at him without conscious thought, arms wrapping around his neck as her body collided with his. He caught her, arms encircling her waist and lifting her off her feet in a crushing embrace against the unfamiliar hardness of the Veyra armor. She didn’t care. It was him

underneath.

It was Jameson.

“You’re here,” she gasped against his neck, inhaling his scent. “You fucking idiot, you’re actually here.”

His arms tightened around her, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head as a laugh slipped from his lungs. “Did you think I wouldn’t come for you?”

Shadera pulled back just enough to see his face, her hands framing his jaw as if to confirm he was real, solid, present. That this wasn’t some alcohol-induced hallucination. His eyes searched hers through her mask, drinking her in with equal relief.

“How?” she asked, still not quite believing. “How are you here in this uniform? The checkpoints, the security—”

“Long story,” Jameson said, his thumbs tracing circles on her lower back, as if he couldn’t stop touching her now that she was in his arms. “I’ll tell you once we’re out of here. We don’t have much time.”

Reality crashed back with his words. They were still in the Heart, still surrounded by enemies, still in imminent danger. The joy of seeing him was immediately tempered by fear for his safety.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice tightening. “Did they—did he—”

“I’m fine,” she cut him off, though the word tasted like a lie. “You need to leave,” she said, letting her boots fall to the floor and pulling back further. Her hands remained on his shoulders, unwilling to break contact completely. “If they catch you, if Greyson sees you—”

“Greyson?” Jameson’s hands stilled on her waist, his fingers tightening imperceptibly. “You’re on a first-name basis with the Executioner now?”

There was something in his tone she couldn’t quite place—jealousy maybe, or betrayal. She didn’t have time to analyze it.

She ignored the question, stepping back from his touch. The loss of contact felt like stepping from the warmth of home into a winter morning. “You need to get out. They’ll catch you if—”

“They won’t.” His voice held absolute certainty. “We have a way out. A good one. But we need to move now.”

Shadera’s mind raced, cataloging possibilities, risks, variables. “There are at least thirty security personnel in the club. More outside. Veyra patrols in the streets. Checkpoints at every sector.”

“We have a plan,” Jameson insisted, reaching into a compartment in his bag to withdraw a small bundle of black fabric and helmet. “But you need to change.

Now.”

He unfolded it, revealing another Veyra uniform, sized for her. Shadera stared at it, understanding dawning with cold clarity. They were going to walk out as Veyra officers, hiding in plain sight, using the Heart’s own authority against it.

It was fucking brilliant.

“Jaeger’s here?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Only Jaeger would attempt something this audacious.

Jameson nodded. “And six others. But our window is closing. We need to go.”

Shadera glanced toward the door, thinking of Greyson somewhere upstairs, unaware that his prisoner was about to slip through his fingers. Something

complicated twisted in her chest—not quite guilt, not quite relief, but some emotion that defied simple categorization.

“Shade.” Jameson’s voice softened, his hands coming up to frame her face, fingers gentle against the edges of her mask. “Come home. Please come home.”

The words undid her. Whatever confusion she felt about Greyson, whatever complex emotions had developed during her time with him, they paled beside the pleading she saw looking into Jameson’s eyes.

“Get me out of here,” she said, reaching for the uniform.

The smile that spread across Jameson’s face was one of relief, of a man looking into the eyes of a woman he feared he would never see again.

His smile disappeared.

The door behind them hissed open, and her eyes locked onto that bright blue gaze and widened. Shadera froze, her body turning to stone.

Greyson stood framed in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the space.

The mask stared back at her, black and expressionless. But she knew the face beneath it now, knew the look in those eyes that watched her through those hollow sockets.

He stepped into the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft pneumatic hiss, sealing them in, the outside world once again muffled and distant. Greyson leaned against the frame casually, but Shadera could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his body coiled like a spring about to release.

Jameson’s hand slid to Shadera’s waist, pulling her behind him as he slowly turned to face Greyson, his hand dropping to the weapon at his side. The Veyra uniform he wore made the standoff even more surreal—two men in the garb of the Heart’s enforcers, facing each other across an invisible line with Shadera caught in the middle.

The room began to shrink around her, the walls creeping inward with each breath. The air felt thicker, heavier in her lungs as her heart rate doubled. The single holo-lamp cast their shadows against the wall—three dark silhouettes stretched and distorted, overlapping and separating as they moved. Predators circling each other in a cage too small to contain them all.

Shadera’s eyes darted around, cataloging the space with growing desperation.

Soundproofed walls. No windows. One door. No escape route. The alcohol in

her system, which had felt warm and comforting just minutes before, now churned in her stomach, making her lightheaded. The room was designed for privacy, for secret conversations and clandestine interactions. Now it felt like a tomb.

A deep, menacing chuckle left Greyson’s lungs and the sound crawled over Shadera’s skin like ice, raising goose bumps in its wake. She’d heard that laugh before—in his apartment after she’d tried to kill him, last night when his father had shot him. It was the sound he made when he was at his most unpredictable, when the careful control he maintained began to slip.

His head tilted slightly, the movement predatory, calculating, as his eyes traveled from Jameson’s face down to where his hands still gripped Shadera’s arms.

“Jameson fucking Vine. I believe your hands are on my wife,” he said, his

voice deceptively soft.

The claim set fire to her nerves.

She watched Greyson’s jaw tighten at the edge of his mask, saw his hands flex at his sides, fingers curling into half-fists before stretching out again just inches above his weapon. The gesture was small but loaded with violence. She knew him well enough now to recognize the restraint it cost him, the control he was exerting not to draw.

“Greyson—” she started, trying to keep him calm.

“Don’t.” The single word cut through the air like a blade. “Don’t say another

word.”

The command ignited her hate.

“I’m not your fucking wife,” she snapped back, stepping out from behind Jameson’s protective stance. “I will never be your property.”

The words came out harder than she’d intended, razor-edged and absolute.

She saw Greyson’s head tilt further, a small, familiar movement that told her she’d struck a nerve. Good. Let him feel something of what she felt—this suffocating trap closing around her.

Jameson’s body tensed against hers. He turned slightly, confusion evident in the rigid line of his shoulders, in the way his gaze darted between her and Greyson.

“What’s he talking about?” The question was directed at her, but his eyes remained fixed on Greyson, tracking every minute shift in posture, every potential signal of attack.

Before she could answer, Greyson pushed away from the doorframe, taking a single step into the room. The movement was too calm, almost languid, but Shadera recognized the deadly intent beneath the relaxed facade.

“Do you really not recognize me?” Greyson asked, something odd entering his tone—a note that could’ve been amusement or contempt or both.

Jameson’s response came immediately. “Obviously I fucking do. The Executioner.” His voice hardened on the last word, loaded with all the hatred, all the suffering that title had inflicted on the rings.

“Interesting.” Greyson’s head nodded subtly. “I thought my voice—or at least my presence—would be more memorable.”

Shadera stepped forward suddenly, her voice shifting from anger to something closer to pleading.

“Please,” she said, looking directly at Greyson, “let us go. I know you don’t want to keep me prisoner. I know you’re not like your father.” The words felt too intimate, too revealing of the complicated understanding that had developed between them, but she kept speaking. “You don’t have to do this.”

Greyson remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed on hers. Something shifted in their depths, a flicker of emotion quickly suppressed.

“You made your choice, Shadera,” he finally said. “When you took my contract, when you agreed to my father’s terms, you set events in motion that cannot be undone.”

“What terms?” Jameson demanded, his voice tight with growing anger.

“What the fuck is he talking about, Shade?”

“Four days,” Greyson answered. “In four days, we stand on the execution platform and take the Vow before all of New Found Haven.” His gaze moved to Jameson. “Every screen in every ring will broadcast it. The Daggermouth and the Executioner, united in holy matrimony.”

Jameson’s laugh was harsh, disbelieving. “That will never happen. The rings know what she did. The rebels are fighting with her, for her, for what happened in the prison.”

Shadera turned to him, confusion rippling through her. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything in that prison except get people killed.”

Jameson turned toward her, his brows furrowing. “You really don’t know?”

He shook his head. “Your assassination attempt has spread through the rings like

wildfire.”

Her throat constricted.

“Figures the Heart wouldn’t let you see what’s happening in the rings,”

Jameson spat toward Greyson. “The rebels are singing the anthem, everyone in the rings.” His voice softened with something like pride. “It’s become the song of the rebellion. They’re looking to you as a symbol, Shade. The Daggermouth that took a stand against the Heart.”

“I don’t want that,” she said immediately, the words tearing from her throat.

“I don’t want to be a symbol. I just want to go home.”

She wasn’t a fucking symbol. She was a mercenary, a killer for hire—not a hero, not a leader, not some face of a failing rebellion.

“I can’t let you leave,” Greyson said, his voice holding a twinge of apology.

“Can’t or won’t?” Jameson challenged, taking a step closer to Greyson.

“Because from where I’m standing, this looks like a man who enjoys having a prisoner to play with.”

Shadera saw Greyson’s shoulders tense, saw his hands finally form fists at his sides. When he spoke again, his voice had lost all warmth.

“I can’t.” The words seemed to cost Greyson something, dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling. “If she leaves, if she doesn’t take the Vow, people die. People I…” He stopped, recalibrating. “People who’ve done nothing to

deserve it.”

“Who?” Jameson demanded.

“Callum. My sister.” Greyson’s eyes found Shadera’s again. “You know they’re innocent in this.”

“No one in the Heart is innocent,” Shadera hissed, despite the images rising in the back of her mind, the knowledge of the President’s brutality.

“So you’ll keep her prisoner to protect them?” Jameson’s voice dripped with contempt.

“Yes.” Greyson didn’t flinch from the accusation. “I will keep her to protect them. I will do whatever is necessary to keep them alive.” A pause, weighted with something unspoken. “Why don’t you tell him what will happen to him and the rings if you leave?”

The question landed like a grenade between them. Jameson went still, his eyes finding Shadera’s with a question in them.

“He knows,” she said quietly. “Maximus has been watching you. He knows your location, the rebel headquarters, the clinics.” The words tasted like poison on her tongue. “He’s had drones following you since the moment I left. He has bombs, Jay. If I don’t comply, he’ll drop them. Starting with you.”

Something seemed to click in the expression that formed on Jameson’s face, like the last piece of some puzzle he’d been missing suddenly fell into place. The look quickly shifted to fury. “And you believe him? You think the Heart would risk bombing the rings? They need us. They need our labor, our—”

“He doesn’t care,” Shadera cut him off. “Maximus is losing control. He’d burn it all down to maintain power.”

The radio on Jameson’s belt crackled to life, Jaeger’s voice cutting through the tension. “Ghost, report. What’s your status? We’re running out of time.”

Greyson’s body went alert, his attention sharpening on the radio. “Is Jaeger Nolin in the Heart?” The question was a demand, edged with pure hatred.

“Where is he?”

Jameson’s hand moved to the radio, silencing it. “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Where is he?” Greyson repeated, taking another step forward until the two men were separated by inches.

“What’s the matter, Executioner?” Jameson taunted. “Afraid the Wolf might send another Daggermouth for you?”

Shadera sucked in a sharp breath of the charged air. The holo-lamp flickered once, casting Greyson’s mask in sharp relief and for a moment, his mask seemed to grin in the blue-tinged light. She’d never feared Greyson, not really—not even with all his threats and promises. But now, seeing him and Jameson in the same space, seeing the way they measured each other, calculated weaknesses, planned attacks—now she was afraid.

Not of what Greyson might do to her, but of what these two men might do to each other.

“Tell me where he is,” Greyson insisted, his voice dropping to a dangerous register.

“Go fuck yourself,” Jameson replied, not backing down an inch.

Shadera moved before she could reconsider, pushing between the two men, her hands against their chests, forcing them apart.

“Stop it,” she barked. “Both of you.”

The radio crackled again, more urgent this time. “Ghost, extraction window closing. Thirty minutes until rendezvous.”

Jameson’s eyes dropped to hers. “We need to go. Now.”

Greyson’s hand shot out, gripping her wrist with careful but immovable pressure. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“The hell she isn’t,” Jameson growled, reaching for her other arm.

Shadera found herself literally caught between them, each holding one of her arms, neither willing to release her. The situation would have been fucking absurd if it weren’t so dangerous.

“I’m not either of your fucking property,” she snapped at both of them, yanking her arms free. “I just need to fucking think.”

“There’s nothing to think about. We’re leaving,” Jameson argued.

“She’s right, I don’t own her,” Greyson started quietly, “but I do control what happens to you and your little rebellion.”

Shadera’s eyes shot to Greyson then flickered to Jameson. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Understanding dawned slowly in Jameson’s eyes, realization spreading across his features like a stain. Greyson pressed his advantage, ignoring her question.

“Who did you think was smuggling contraband into the rings with a Serel serial number?” he asked, his voice laced with dark amusement. “The medicine for your clinics, the vaccines for the children, the antibiotics that keep your people alive—where did you think they came from?”

Shadera’s eyes widened at the revelation, her body tensing, oxygen catching in her lungs. His words echoed in her head and suddenly became clear.

There are things I can do from this position that I couldn’t do from a grave.

All this time. All this time, he had been working both sides of the conflict, had been helping the rings.

Her mind began to spiral as she frantically put together the pieces, replayed everything he had ever said to her, everything she’d ever seen him do.

“You’re lying,” Jameson said, but there was uncertainty in his voice now.

“Am I?” Greyson countered. “The serial numbers all begin with SIG02. Serel Industries, my initial, second son. My personal division.”

Shadera watched Jameson’s posture shift as the truth sank in. She could almost see his mind racing as fast as hers, recalculating risks, reassessing the man before him.

“If you want that medicine to continue flowing into the rings,” Greyson continued, “you will leave now, without Shadera. According to Jaeger’s timeline, you have twenty minutes to get out of the Heart alive. I suggest you get moving.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Shadera looked between the two men, her mind reeling. If what Greyson said was true, if he had been sending medicine to the rings all this time, then he wasn’t entirely the monster Jameson believed him to be, that she had believed him to be. But he was still the Executioner. Still Maximus’s son.

“I’m staying,” she said finally, making the decision for Jameson so he wouldn’t feel the guilt of choosing the rings over her. He would choose them, she knew that. Knew that at the end of the day, no matter how much he cared for her, he would not risk thousands of innocents just to keep her alive, now that he knew the consequences. “We can’t risk the rings getting bombed. They need the medicine. I’ll find another way out.”

“With him?” Jameson asked incredulously. “With the fucking Executioner?”

Shadera glanced at Greyson, studying the rigid line of his shoulders, the way he stood perfectly still, waiting for her response. She turned back to Jameson.

“Yes,” she confirmed, her voice steadier than she felt. “You might not understand this, or believe me, because you haven’t seen the things I’ve seen. But we’re both trapped in this. Greyson and I have to find a way out of this together if we want to save the most lives.”

Jameson was silent for a long moment, his face twisting with emotion. The clenched jaw, the furrow between his brows, the mix of anger and fear in his eyes. She knew his face better than she knew her own.

“Get out,” Jameson said finally, turning to Greyson. “I need a minute with her. Alone.”

Greyson’s posture stiffened. “Fuck no. I will—”

“Please,” Shadera interrupted, looking directly at him. “I won’t leave, but I need to say goodbye.”

She watched the internal struggle play out in Greyson’s body language—the tension in his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head as he considered. Finally, he nodded once, sharply.

“Three minutes,” he conceded, moving toward the door. “Then I’m coming back in, whether you’re done or not.”

Jameson watched Greyson exit before turning back to Shadera. For a moment, they stood frozen in the blue-tinged light, the weight of everything unsaid pressing between them like a physical force. Shadera could see the raw emotion he let bleed free now—anger, fear, pain.

In one movement, he closed the distance between them, reaching for her mask.

His fingers found the edges of the skull, gently lifting it from her face. The air felt cold against her skin, vulnerable and exposed after hours beneath the mask.

Jameson’s eyes roamed her features hungrily, as if searching for changes, for signs the Heart had already begun to transform her.

He moved to kiss her, his body leaning forward with the momentum of need, of desperation, of all the nights they’d spent apart. But Shadera backed away, her hand coming up between them, palm flat against his chest. A barrier. A denial.

The hurt that flashed across his face was immediate and visceral, a wound opening before her eyes. His arms, which had begun to reach for her, stilled in the air.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shadera swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

How could she explain what she didn’t understand herself? The knot of confusion and fear and something else that had been growing inside her since

she’d entered the Heart. Since she’d seen beneath Greyson’s mask, touched his scars, witnessed his struggle against his father’s legacy and brutality.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, the lie sour on her tongue. “But you need to go.

We don’t have time for this. You need to get out of the Heart before they realize you’re here.”

His eyes narrowed, his gaze becoming more searching, more penetrating.

She’d never been able to hide from him, not really. He knew her too well, could read the truth in the tension of her body, the way she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Time for what?” His hands dropped to his sides. “Time for goodbye? Time for us?”

“Jay—” Still she couldn’t look at him, couldn’t witness the pain she was causing. “You need to get to safety. You need to warn the rings.”

He studied her face, reading the truth she couldn’t bring herself to voice.

Understanding dawned in his eyes, followed by a flash of something darker.

“You’re really going to do this,” he said, the words falling like stones between them. “You’re going to take the Vow. With him.”

The weight of his gaze felt unbearable. “I don’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice, Shade.” His voice hardened. “Even when all the options are shit, there’s still a choice. You are the one that told me that.”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustration building beneath her skin.

“What would you have me do? Let your clinic be bombed, the headquarters?

Let children and families die because I was selfish? Because I wanted to go home?”

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” The question was quiet, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.

“No,” she said immediately, the denial sharp and genuine. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

“It’s not just about safety,” Jameson pressed, taking a step closer. “I know you, Shade. I can see it.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady. “What you see is exhaustion. Fear. Survival. What you see is someone with a new perspective, who

doesn’t hate him in the same way I once did. I am playing my part. I have to… need to keep you alive.”

Jameson stared at her, assessing, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to break through, as if searching for something he’d lost. His face was a battlefield of expressions—grief warring with anger, understanding with betrayal. In the harsh blue light of the anti-scan room, the shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises, proof of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You don’t need to protect me,” he said finally, his voice rougher than before.

“That’s not your job.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Isn’t that what we’ve always done for each other?”

The weight of their situation settled into Shadera’s bones—this might be the last time they ever saw each other. The thought sent a spike of pain through her chest so sharp she almost gasped. After everything they’d been through together, after all the missions, the close calls, the nights of drinking and laughing and holding each other when the nightmares came, it couldn’t end with him dying because of her selfish need for revenge.

“You need to go,” she said again, her voice softer now. “Go back to the Boundary. Prepare them for what might come.”

He looked away, his profile sharp in the dim light. She could see the calculations running behind his eyes, the strategist in him weighing options, looking for solutions where there might be none.

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I’m sorry for not listening when you told me not to take the contract.

I’m sorry for bringing this down on everyone. I’m sorry for—”

Jameson’s head snapped back toward her, his eyes suddenly fierce. He moved before she could finish, his hands coming up to cradle her face, fingers splaying across her cheeks with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze.

“Shadera Kael,” he said, his voice low and intense, “don’t you ever apologize for your anger.”

Her breath caught at the unexpected absolution.

“You walked into the Heart knowing you might never come back, not just because of what his family did to yours, but because you believed it would make

a difference. That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.” His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, the touch reverent. “The woman who fights even when victory seems impossible. The woman who puts others before herself even when she does not realize she is doing it.”

The tears she’d been holding back threatened to spill over. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, refusing to make this goodbye harder than it already was.

Jameson released her face, one hand moving to his belt where he retrieved a small, flat object. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “Keep this on you if you can. It’s an encrypted tablet. We can coordinate what comes next.”

Shadera looked down at the device, no bigger than her hand, sleek and black.

A lifeline to the world outside, to Jameson, to freedom. She slipped it into her pocket next to the picture, praying Greyson wouldn’t search her when they returned to his apartment.

“The signal is weak,” Jameson explained, his voice dropping lower, more urgent. “But it will connect to our network once a day at three a.m. Keep it hidden. Use it to let us know what’s happening, where the bombs might be dropped if something goes wrong.”

She nodded, her throat too tight for words. The clock was ticking down— their minutes nearly up, Greyson’s return imminent. This goodbye had to last them, might need to sustain them through whatever came next.

The radio at his belt crackled again, Jaeger’s voice cutting through with unmistakable urgency. “Ghost, exit window closing. Move now.”

Shadera stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his neck as his arms clutched her against his body.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured into her hair, his lips brushing against her temple. “We always do.”

Jameson finally pulled away, his hands lingering on her shoulders as if reluctant to break contact completely.

“I love you,” he said, the words simple and unadorned. “I will always love you, no matter what happens next.”

The declaration hung between them, simple and honest. She’d always known, had seen it in his eyes a thousand times, in the way he watched her when

he thought she wasn’t looking. But he’d never said it, not directly, not like this.

The words were a gift and a burden, beautiful and terrible in their timing.

Jameson reached for his helmet, placing it back over his head. The reflective faceplate slid down, hiding his expression, transforming him back into a Veyra officer. Anonymous. Untouchable. He retrieved her mask from where he’d set it aside, handing it to her with a gentleness that made guilt flare in her chest.

A sad smile graced her lips as she looked from the mask to him. As he moved toward the door, she said his words back to him. The same ones she had heard before she left the Boundary. “Don’t die on me, Ghost.”

Jameson let out a small chuckle as he looked back at her. “I’ll try, but no promises.”

Then he was gone, stepping out into the crowd beyond the threshold, the thumping music filtering through the door as it slid closed behind him.