“Showtime,” he announced.
Men poured into the common room, abandoning pool games and conversations, moving with practiced coordination born from years riding together.Women clustered near the bar where Ace wiped glasses with unnecessary focus.The kids disappeared into the small TV room, lured away by promises of cartoons and popcorn.Nobody mentioned danger aloud, but tension was heavy in every breath.
Atilla leaned against the pool table, his hand resting on Solena’s shoulder.General positioned himself in the corner, angled toward the wall -- always keeping his back covered.Spade placed his tablet on the green felt, blue light from the screen illuminating grim faces.
Roth’s car filled the display.The camera angle came from a security feed near an out-of-the-way intersection, higher than a person’s view.The car turned off a main road and headed down a narrower one bordered by trees.
“Gas station at the county edge,” Spade narrated.“Fueled up.Bought smokes.Checked his phone three times.Then he took the turn toward the hideaway.”
He tapped, and the image shifted to an overhead view of the access lane.The car crawled forward, swallowed by the trees.
“He turned down the lane ten minutes ago.”Spade’s tone sharpened.“No other cars followed.No new heat signatures on the property besides his.Either he’s cocky or he thinks Diaz isn’t watching this spot.”
“Both,” General muttered.
My pulse kicked up.
Atilla’s gaze swept the room, checking faces, reading readiness.“All right,” he announced.“You know what this means.We’ve got a window.Might be small.Might close fast.We’re taking it.”
He pointed as he spoke, assigning roles like commands carved into stone.“General.Falcon.Knuckles.Rook.Primary.Raven and Cruz, backup.Two vehicles.No colors.Black clothes.Armor if you’ve got it.Spade feeds coordinates and eyes.”
His attention shifted to me, and the weight of it tightened my throat.“Jade.You stay here.”
I expected it.It still stung.My hands clenched before I could stop them.
“I want a job,” I forced out.“Something besides sitting and waiting.”
Atilla crossed his arms.“You already have one.Casey needs you.The kids need you.We practiced safe room drills for a reason.Tonight might turn real.I need you down in the basement if a call goes out.”
I gripped the edge of the table.“You believe Diaz will hit us while you’re gone.”
“I believe Diaz might test our defenses when he assumes we’re distracted.”Atilla spoke with flat practicality.“He remains unaware of our numbers.He can’t know who stays where.I won’t risk you or the kids on a gamble he’ll stay put.”
“I can fight,” I snapped.“You’ve seen me practice.”
Atilla’s gaze locked with mine, unwavering.“When they come at this fence while we’re gone, you will.Being a fighter means more than standing in the woods aiming a gun at the man who hurt you.”
I hated that he made sense.“Okay,” I managed, quieter.“Then I’ll make sure everyone you love stays breathing until you get back.”
Approval flickered in his eyes, fast as a match strike.“Good answer.”
Kane moved to my side, his fingers brushing mine in a small, grounding touch.His voice dropped low enough for only me to hear.“I’ll be careful.”
“You better.”My threat came out shaky.“I already told you I’m haunting you if you die.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth.“I’m coming back.We still have our date at the library.”
“You’re really going to hold me to this?”
“Absolutely.”
The men peeled off to gear up.They checked weapons, clipped radios, strapped on vests.Rook fussed over a duffel straight from a nightmare.Knuckles moved with loose, confident energy, making violence seem routine.
Kane slipped on a lightweight vest, then tugged a black hoodie over and pulled the hood up, checking how much remained hidden.Seeing him without his cut felt wrong -- as though the patch belonged to his skin and removing the leather left him vulnerable.
“Weird seeing you dressed this way,” I admitted.
“Feels weird too.”Kane adjusted his holster.“But I won’t advertise our name at Roth’s hideout.”
