Dale stood still, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart.Oren wasn’t here.Ty wasn’t either.
Boots pounded from the path leading back toward the shooting range.Dale turned as Ty came out of the tree line, Sam on his shoulder.He didn’t wait.He walked straight for Ty, set one hand to his jaw, the other wrapping around his waist and pulling him tight against him then kissed him hard enough to quiet the voices in their heads.
“Last night,” Dale said slightly against his mouth, not wanting to disconnect completely, breath rough.“I’m sorry.I was going to do this apology right—with Oren there—after we got our feet under us.But I needed to say it to you now.”
Ty’s hand closed on the back of Dale’s neck.“We’re good,” he said.“Same page, Dale.We end this now.”
They turned back to the group.
Ricky lifted a hand.“Question.Carson said he wanted a stage.If he wants an audience, where’s his curtain?”
A circle of possible places spun and locked for Dale.Carson wanted a stage, he wanted an audience, he would want whatever he had planned for Oren to be seen from all angles.The gym.Dale had canceled morning classes because of the drone mess, and everything else that was going on.The gym was empty when it shouldn’t be.Mirrors.Open floor.Plenty of places to make a point.
“The gym,” he said.“He’ll want the mirrors.”
Bateman leveled Ty with a look.“You’ve got your rifle.Can you take this shot?”
Dale tensed, about to chew the ass out of his CO, when Ty stepped forward.“Yes, sir.Carson has something precious to me.”
“To us,” Dale corrected, and he saw Ty’s small smile, despite him still locking eyes with Bateman.
Ty nodded.“Correction, precious to us.Carson needs a bullet to the head, and I am just the man to do it.”
“I can vouch for that,” Sam said, stepping forward.“He’s locked in and loaded.”
Bateman didn’t waste a second.“Roles.Dale, you’re talk and primary.Ty—high.Catwalk if you can get to it, rafters if you can’t.Nick and Sam on side doors.Ricky, Ezra, you’ve got the north entrance and block any exits in case the bastard runs.Marsh, lock the exterior and cut power on my call.”
They moved.The gym sat wide and wrong in the morning light, quiet in a way it never was.Even before they rounded the last corner Dale heard it—fists meeting flesh, the dull wet sound that makes men stupid.
“Hold,” Bateman said, a palm to Dale’s chest.Dale made himself obey.They took the doors in sequence—Nick and Sam on one, Ricky and Ezra on another.Ty peeled off without a word, eyes on the ceiling grid.
Dale stepped to the glass and took a slice of the room.Oren was upright but not by choice, wrists cuffed to the crossbar of a weight rack.Blood tracked from both wrists and his eyebrow to his jaw in a clean line.Weapons were laid out on the bench like a buffet.Carson paced the distance between Oren and the mirror wall, knuckles red, eyes a shocking blue that didn’t belong to the man Dale had met two months ago.
Oren saw him in the reflection and didn’t let it show on his face.“You smell the same,” he told Carson, voice dry as dust.“A fucking sickly mix of coward and bad aftershave.”
Carson hit him once more, then smiled into the mirror at nobody.“You should have recognized me,” he said.“Brother of the one you let die.Took you long enough.”
Oren huffed a sound.“I would have recognized you sooner if you hadn’t been wearing brown contacts.Hamid died in war, Carson, as fucking millions have over the years.We follow orders just like you did.”
Carson laughed, an evil maniacal sound.“True, but your orders killed my brother, and it is my job to avenge his death.”
Oren spat blood to the side.“Big words for a guy working over a cuffed target.You want justice, uncuff me.You want theater, keep talking.”
Dale had to bite back the growl.Stop pushing him, Oren.Give us a second to line this up.
“High,” Ty breathed in Dale’s ear, so soft it barely moved the comm.“Catwalk.Two meters left of center.I need him two steps left—off Oren’s line.”
“Copy that,” Dale whispered.To Bateman he said, “I’m going in.”
Bateman nodded once.
Dale walked in like he had all the time in the world.Carson turned at the sound of his boots.The mirror gave Carson their angles.He moved behind Oren, dropping low to make himself less of a target, and pressed the barrel of his sidearm to Oren’s head.
“Morning,” Dale said.“Oren said you wanted a stage.”
“This is the perfect room,” Carson said.“A stage that should have come with an audience.Shame about the crowd.You canceled class.”
“You’re not much of a draw,” Dale said.He let his eyes flick to the mirror, just enough for Ty to read his line.“You done grandstanding, or do you need to monologue some more?”
