Ninety-nine percent of it is trash. Drug deals, escorts, stolen crypto wallets.
But then a post pops up on one of their smaller, invitation-only boards, and my stomach turns to concrete.
Looking for local muscle. One-night job. Hunting expedition. $50K each. Serious inquiries only.
Hunting expedition? Jesus. They aren’t even subtle about it. That is definitely a hit.
As I stare at it, another message rolls through an encrypted relay I tapped days ago.
The package is en route. Wait for arrival before breaching.
Package. That is never a good word when criminals use it, and with Caruso, it likely means someone important is on their way. Someone high-ranking who wants to be front row for whatever they plan to do to her.
A zap of cold, electric fear runs down my spine. They aren’t merely circling or threatening. It’s already two a.m., technically morning, which puts it at tomorrow night. Roughly forty-eight hours from now. Maybe a bit less.
I shove back from my desk hard enough that one of my empty cans topples onto the floor, but I don’t even look at it. I’m already moving. Chance is with Roxie, sleeping with her tucked under his chin like she’s the heartbeat keeping him alive, so waking him isn’t an option.
Besides, he needs rest more than any of us, and Roxie needs him to be the one beside her right now. So I go to Boone, pushing into his room without knocking, reaching over and shaking his shoulder. “Boone. Boone. Wake up.”
He startles awake in half a second, combat-reflex fast. His eyes lock on mine, and whatever he sees there wakes him instantly. “What happened?”
“They’re coming.” My voice sounds rough, even to me. “Tomorrow night. Job postings went out for hired guns. They’re calling it a hunt. Fifty grand each. There was another message indicating someone higher up is on the way. Maybe even Caruso himself.”
He shoots fully upright before scrubbing a hand over his face. “We have to get Roxie out. Tonight. Before?—”
“No.” The word is out before I even know I’ve decided it. “No, man. Your thinking is too linear.”
He frowns at me like I’ve spoken Klingon. “If we move her, they’re likely to either see us or find out. They’ve been watching the property for days. They’ll shadow us, ambush us, and cut us off. We’d walk her right into danger,” I say.
Boone clenches his jaw hard. “So, you just want to keep her here? Right out in the open in a place where they already know she’s living?”
“Not out in the open.” I shake my head, forcing the logic through even though fear claws at my ribs. “Here, we control the game. We know the layout. We’ve got defenses, cameras, weapons, and choke points. We have a fighting chance, especially with the cops knowing what’s going on.”
He hesitates just for a second, but I see the moment he accepts the truth. His shoulders drop and his breath leaves him in a slow, controlled exhale. “Yeah, okay. It’s safer to keep her with us, but we could all go somewhere together, too.”
A beat passes before I finally manage to shake my head. “I’ve thought about that, but they’ll just keep coming, and God only knows what they could plant in the house while we’re not here. Even if we sell and never come back, they’ll just find her again. Running isn’t going to work.”
“Fine, but if we stay and fight,” his eyes are dead serious, locked on mine, “we do whatever it takes to keep her safe.”
I know what he means even though he doesn’t say the words. Hell, I’ve known long before tonight. There isn’t a single scenario where any of us lets something happen to Roxie. We’d die first.
I look toward the stairs, knowing Chance is probably wrapped around her like a human shield, and that he’d tear the world in half before he let it touch her. “Yeah, we will. I guess it’s a good thing he insisted on giving me a little training, huh?”
Boone claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not bad with a gun, bro. You’re just better with a keyboard. But unless you break it over someone’s head, it’s probably going to be pretty useless once they get here.”
“Fair enough, but at least we know when to expect them.” The next steps fall into place like a grim little checklist. “We should get the safe room ready for her. Now would be best.”
Boone lets out a groan. “Yeah. We built the damn thing for a reason. At least we’ll finally get to use it, right?”
“Right.” Years ago, we poured concrete, installed a reinforced steel door and separate filtration. We connected a backup generator, set up independent comms, and keep it stocked with its own bottled water and nonperishable supplies.
It’s a fortress in the bones of the house that can’t be found on any plans or blueprints. Chance insisted we might need something like it one day, and it looks like he was right.
Boone and I never thought we’d use it. Frankly, I considered turning it into a very expensive storage room more than a few times, but we spent the next hour clearing the path to it, checking the supplies, and running drills between rooms.
It’s all a blur of motion lit by the cold blue glow of monitors and Boone’s phone flashlight. By the time exhaustion finally drags us toward sleep, it’s close to dawn.
Morning hits fast, and when Roxie wakes up, we don’t lie or soften the blow. Instead, we treat her the way she deserves to be treated, like an equal.
