CHAPTER 8
Timothy
I'm done playing defense.
I lie awake after Carla falls asleep, her body curled against mine, and all I can think about is what he spray painted on her car.
You're mine.Always.
Never again.
The rage that burns through me is cold.Controlled.The kind of rage I used to feel before a mission.The kind that makes you dangerous because you're not reacting.You're calculating.
Randall wants a war?I'll give him one.
But this time, I'm not waiting for him to make the next move.I'm taking the fight to him.
I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Carla.She needs sleep.Needs rest.Because when this goes down, she's going to need all her strength.
In the living room, I grab my phone and start making calls.
First is Vincent.
I check the time.0217.Vincent's going to be pissed.He answers on the fifth ring.
"Someone better be dead."
"Not yet."
"Tim.What the fuck."
"I need that backup.How fast can you get here?"
Silence.Then: "Give me eight hours.Where am I going?"
“Come to me.”
“She better be worth it.”
She is.She's everything.But I don't say that.
I hang up and call Jonah next.
"You're making a move," he says when he answers.Not a question.
"Yeah.I need eyes on Randall.Where he's staying.What he's driving.Who he's with."
"I can do that.Give me a few hours."
"Thanks."
"You going full operator on this guy?"
"Yeah."
