The Last Round - Chapter 5

Sutton

The station is quieter than usual when I step outside, the weight of the day pressing down on me like a second skin.

Homicide isn’t an easy job.

It wasn’t easy when I started, and it sure as hell isn’t easy now.

But this case? This case is personal.

I pull my jacket tighter around me as I cross the parking lot, my heels clicking against the pavement.

My brain is still working through **the details of the latest victim-**young, fit, an underground fighter who ended up dead in an alley.

The third one this year.

And all signs point to Leon Mercer.

The bastard’s been running illegal fight rings for over a decade, profiting off blood and broken bones.

He’s careful.

Too careful.

His name is never directly tied to anything, but I know how to read between the lines.

I’m going to take him down.

I dig my keys out of my pocket just as my phone buzzes.

Kingston.

Kingston: What’s for dinner? Me: What, no “hi, Mom” first? Kingston: Hi, Mom.

What’s for dinner? Me: You could cook, you know.

Kingston: I could.

But I won’t.

Me: Order pizza.

I’ll be home in twenty.

Kingston: Extra pepperoni? Me: If you’re paying.

Kingston: Guess I’m eating cereal then.

I smirk, shaking my head as I unlock my car and slide behind the wheel.

At almost fifteen, Kingston doesn’t need me to check in on him.

He’s sharp, confident, and independent.

He doesn’t need anyone telling him what to do.

But still, he texts me every single night.

Even if it’s just about food.

And after a long day, that little piece of normal keeps me grounded.

I start the engine and pull out of the lot, but my mind is still tangled in the case I can’t let go of.

I should turn it off.

I should be heading home, leaving behind the world of crime scenes, blood- stained alleys, and dead ends.

But I can’t.

Because this isn’t just about some underground ring.

It’s about Mercer.

And Mercer? He’s tied to every part of my past that I refuse to acknowledge.

I exhale slowly, pressing my fingers to my temple, feeling the dull ache that’s been building all day.

My long black hair is still tied up from my shift, and I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the rearview mirror-tired eyes, smudged eyeliner, a woman who’s spent too many years chasing ghosts.

I shake it off.

Tonight, I’m just Sutton.

Not Detective Sutton.

Not a woman with a vendetta.

Just Kingston’s mom.

And that’s all I need to be.

I turn onto my street, pushing the past back where it belongs.

The second I pull into the driveway, I hear the chaos inside.

Laughter, muffled voices, and the distinct sound of something clattering against the counter.

The door is half-open, light spilling onto the porch.

Kingston’s friends are here.

Again.

I grab my bag and step inside, instantly hit with the scent of vanilla, cocoa, and something that smells suspiciously burnt.

I freeze in the doorway.

Kingston is standing in the kitchen, a smear of chocolate batter on his cheek, eggshells scattered across the counter, and a mixing bowl in his hands.

Wes is next to him, covered in flour, licking frosting off a spoon.

I glance toward the oven, noting the timer counting down.

“Oh, hell no,” I mutter, tossing my keys onto the counter.

“What did you two do?” Kingston lifts a brow.

“We’re making a cake. ” I blink.

“A cake?” Wes grins.

“Technically, it’s an apology cake. ” My eyes narrow.

“Apology for what?” Kingston and Wes exchange a look before Wes shrugs.

“We haven’t decided yet. ” I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“You ordered pizza and decided to bake a cake?”

“Yep. ” Kingston licks some batter off his finger.

“Multitasking, Mom. ” From the couch, Jace stretches his arms behind his head.

“They also almost set the kitchen on fire, but we don’t talk about that. ” I arch a brow.

“What do you mean ‘almost’?” Kingston waves a hand.

“It’s fine. The flames went out. ” Jace snorts.

“Yeah, after Wes threw a bag of flour at it. ” I stare at Wes, who at least has the decency to look guilty.

“Flour’s not supposed to be flammable,” he mutters.

Jace shakes his head.

“You’re a walking safety hazard. ” I sigh, pressing my fingers against my temple.

My patience is hanging by a thread, but the sight of Kingston-flour-dusted, chocolate-smeared, looking so damn proud of his disaster of a kitchen-makes it hard to be mad.

“I’m serious, Kingston,” I say, lowering my voice a little.

“You guys gotta be careful in the kitchen. I don’t want to come home one night and find the house burned down. ”

Kingston rolls his eyes but shifts on his feet, just slightly.

It’s the smallest thing, the kind of detail only a mother would catch.

He pretends to be this untouchable, cocky kid, but at the end of the day, he still listens.

He still cares what I think.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters.

“I got it, Mom.” He shoves a piece of cake at me before I can get any sappier about it.

Jace, still lounging on the couch, smirks.

“We saved you some batter if you want to lick the spoon.” I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

This house is always full. It used to annoy me. Now? I wouldn’t change it for anything.

I open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water.

Kingston watches me, something flickering across his face.

I narrow my eyes.

“What?” He shakes his head.

“Nothing. ” But it is something.

I see it in the way his fingers drum against the counter, in the way his eyes flick toward the TV in the other room.

I let it go.

For now.

Because tonight, I have no idea that across the city, Jaxon Kane is speaking words that will change everything.