Jameson’s voice hardens. “If he’s talking to cops, he’s a liability. I want him dead. I don’t care how you do it, but keep it quiet. Make sure his sister can’t trace it back to us. And Nightmare, since you fucked this up, you’re the one cleaning it up. You fail again, I’ll put you down myself. You hear me?
“Yeah. I hear you.”
“Good. Then handle it!”
Maverick’s eyes don’t leave me after the call. He doesn’t say anything more; he doesn’t need to. Steel leans in, tone flat.
“You sure you want this?”
“I’m sure,” I tell him, and it sounds steadier than I feel.
Maverick steps in close, voice hard, and dangerous. “No more excuses. No more complications. You finish this, or we finish it for you!”
“Understood.” I keep my voice level, but my throat is tight. My gut’s twisted in knots because… what the actual fuck!
The meeting breaks. The room empties fast… orders flying, boots moving. Steel grabs my shoulder before I can leave. His grip is tight. Not brotherly.
“You know if Mav handles this, it won’t be quick. He’ll make him suffer. So whatever you’re feeling, kill it now, or you’ll be next.”
“I said I’ll handle it. I don’t need you or anyone else spelling out what happens if I don’t.”
Steel slaps me on the back, and leaves without saying another word. Jameson’s voice is on a steady loop in my mind. He talks like we’re expendable, replaceable. At the same time, it’s what we signed up for. No room for hesitation. No room for our pasts to get in the way.
That’s the part that sits wrong in my chest. Tyrique’s a snitch, and we have rules for people like that. But the rules don’t tell me the why. They don’t tell me how a person I grew up with ends up feeding cops, or how Londyn winds up in a uniform. They don’t tell me how both of them wound up stepping into our run and blowing everything to hell.
If I’m going to put a bullet in someone I used to call family, I need more than orders. I need to know when his life turned to shit and got so damn messy.
Stepping outside into the thick Atlanta night, the air is heavy like the burden pressing on my chest. Pulling out my phone, I scroll past the burner numbers I keep for work, and stop on the one contact I never thought I’d use again. Tyrique.
I’m not sure where to start, but I need to find him. If this thing’s getting buried, I’m going to dig it up first.
FIVE
LONDYN
The porch lightcasts a hard yellow glow across the yard. Tony’s sitting on the bumper of his car, arms crossed, eyes locked on the street like he’s in deep thought. Tyrique’s curled up on the porch steps, knees hugged to his chest, hoodie pulled tight around his sunken face. Twenty-seven years old and he looks like a kid who got left behind. My heart hurts seeing him like that.
“You get him fed?” I ask shutting the car door behind me.
Tony stands, following us into the house. “Yeah. Gave him some water, a smoke. Tried to get him to eat something, but he only managed fries. Sarge said get him settled and let him sleep,” he shrugs.
“Thanks.” I toss my keys on the counter, peel off my jacket, watching Tyrique’s back as he goes to his room. My hands tremble slightly, a face from the past flashing through my mind. “You staying?”
“No. I need to get back to the station and take care of some paperwork.” He watches me. “You okay?”
I want to say no. I want to tell him about my connection to Malcolm. I want to tell him that I’m a wreck because I know thissituation just got complicated and that shit is fucking with my head. But I just say, “My perp didn’t hold.”
Tony just nods. Doesn’t press it.
“You tired?”
“Yeah.” I rub my face. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He steps in close, voice low. “You almost lost him tonight.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. It’s written all over me.
Tony and I don’t do feelings. No strings attached and no promises. That was the deal. We both work long hours and neither of us have time for relationships. Still, I press my forehead into his chest. I’m tired. Bone deep, soul-worn tired, exhaustion bleeding through every limb. One of his arms wraps slowly around my lower back. The other slides up to cradle the back of my head. His grip is firm and slightly tender. It’s not soft, just real. It’s as if he knows I need something more this time.
