“The Damned Saints will move like hunters.”
That settles something in her.
“Tell me what to do when I get there,” she says.
“I’m saying this once,” I tell her. “You do exactly what we agreed. No improvising. No speeches. No heroics.”
Her mouth tightens.
“I don’t want you hurt because of me.”
I step closer, lift her chin.
“He started this,” I say low. “I’m ending it.”
She exhales slowly.
“We make it look real,” I add.
My phone buzzes.
Havoc.
“Ghost fill you in?” I ask.
“Yeah. We’re five out. You bringing the girl?”
“She’s the hook.”
A beat.
“Figures. What do you need?”
“Quiet.”
“You’ll get it.”
The cab pulls up twenty minutes later.
She doesn’t look back when she gets in.
Good.
I wait thirty seconds.
Then I roll the spare bike out the back of the cabin and head down the opposite road.
I spot the cab three turns later. I stay far enough back that no one connects us. Close enough to move fast.
The industrial strip sits where the small town of Silverbrook Valley forgot to finish things.
Metal siding. Chain-link. Gravel lots.
The cab slows.
I peel off down a side access road before we hit the main gate.
Ghost’s voice is already in my ear.
