“I want to go tonight,” Brooks blurts. His voice is flat, fists clenched tight at his sides.
I believe we’ve got a real chance—and Brooks needs this. We’ve gathered enough intel. “I want Ash with us. If I get a thumbs up from Dad, you all in?” I glance around. Everyone nods.
“Good.” I reach for my phone. “I’ll make the call. Gear up.”
I step outside with my phone, call my father, and tell him what’s going on. Within ten minutes, I’ve got his permission.
Right after that, I call Ash. “Can you be at the gate of the compound in ten minutes? We’re going on a mission to Vanderberg. I think you need to be there for your brother.”
His only answer is, “I’m on my way.”
Forty-Three
Duskhasfallenwhenwe pull up to the bar. Ash is already there, leaning against his bike like he’s been waiting forever. His arms are crossed, one boot resting over the other, head bowed like he’s praying—or cursing. When he finally looks up, a strand of dark-blond hair slips into his eyes. The resemblance to Brooks hits hard. He brushes it away with a flick, his jaw tight.
“What’s the plan?” he asks, voice low and clipped.
“He dies tonight,” Brooks growls. No emotion. Just fact.
Ash scoffs, eyes narrowing. “Oh, glad someone finally fucking told me. And what—he’s just gonna keel over from the weight of your rage, genius?”
Before they can explode at each other, I step in. “Shift change just happened. Next one’s not till midnight. We’ve got their route—just two guards. Predictable.”
“Then take them out,” Ash says, dry as dust.
I nod. “We’re going in with seven. Magic and Hawkeye guard the door. Rest of us go upstairs. We don’t know what’s inside, but we’re not leaving without answers.”
Ash’s eyes flick to Brooks, who hasn’t said another word, just breathing like a bull about to charge.
“He’s got free rein, right?” Ash asks, eyes sharp, like he’s daring me to say no.
I nod slowly. “Yeah. All his.”
Ash presses his thumb hard into his lower lip, like it’s the only thing keeping him from losing it.
“Then let’s fucking end this,” he mutters, pushing off the bike.
The formation shifts seamlessly as Colt takes the lead, guiding us to the best hidden spot to leave our bikes. He’s done the recon, so we trust his call. We fall into place behind him without a word.
“They’re making rounds together,” Colt murmurs when he returns from the corner, voice low and sharp. “Best move is for two of us to walk past them and double back. It’ll draw their attention just long enough.” He tugs on his earlobe—classic Colt, a dead giveaway that he’s on edge.
“I’ll go,” Ash says without hesitation, already scanning the rest of us.
Colt nods and steps beside him. “I’ve got your back.”
“We’ll stay put, and wait so we can move in together,” I tell them, holding their gazes to make sure they understand. They nod, no questions asked. “Let’s move.”
We round the block and split into pairs. Brooks shadows me, and for once, I don’t have to yank him into formation—he sticks to the plan. Still, I keep one eye on him. The guy’s grief is a lit fuse, and I wouldn’t put it past him to blow this whole op to pieces. But for now, he’s solid.
We approach the entrance and stop across the street. Brooks pulls out a pack of smokes with shaking fingers, masking nerves with a flick of his lighter.
“What do you got on you?” I ask him, referring to whatever weapon he plans to use.
He puts a cigarette between his lips, the pack back in his pocket, and lifts his shirt a little.
The belt with knife holsters appears, his two Bowie knives in them. I close my eyes briefly and pinch the bridge of my nose. That’s going to be a lot of blood. Thank God he’s dressed all in black.
He smokes his cigarette in silence and I stand next to him. “What the fuck’s taking so long?” I feel a prickling unease as my gaze sweeps across the building. Where are those two?
