Wyatt’s words came fast, his voice wavering. “It’s bad, Dante. The Death Dogs rolled in—hundreds, maybe more. Dec told us to hang back. Shots, fighting—it was chaos. The shooting’s stopped, but... that’s all I know.”
Roxy’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her words trembled with urgency. “What about the women and children?”
Wyatt replied, “King got Declan and the Irish guy to help. We shuttled them to the airport and got everyone on planes. Where they flew, I couldn’t say.”
Melissa stepped forward, her face pale, voice shaking. “Haizley?”
Wyatt’s tone softened. “Hey, Mellie. Haizley went with Ellie and the kids. Gunner and Ryder made sure she got on the plane.”
Melissa exhaled, relief flooding her features as Roxy rubbed her back. Roxy pressed on. “Did Karlyn—Ravage’s woman—get out?”
Wyatt hesitated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see her.”
Dante’s shoulders sagged, the lines around his eyes deepening. “What about Tank?” he asked, his voice tight as he looked over at me.
Wyatt let out a breath. “Yeah. Tank left with the prospects. King had to make him go. Took Ghost, Gunner, and Big Ben—he fought it, but they got him on the plane.”
Melissa’s head snapped up, eyes wide, hope crashing through her voice. “Ghost went too?”
Wyatt’s answer was gentle, but final. “No, Mellie. He stayed behind. Just made sure Tank got out.”
Melissa’s hand flew to her mouth, her shoulders trembling, hope morphing into dread. The silence in the room was thick, everyone straining for more, but the answers stopped coming. I could feel the anxiety crawling under my skin, the shared fear almost physical as we waited for what—if anything—came next.
Dante’s jaw tightened, the weight of unanswered questions pressing on his shoulders. “What else can you tell us?” he asked, his voice edged with fatigue as he rubbed his temples, eyes betraying exhaustion.
Deputy Wyatt sighed. “Not much,” he replied, voice low. “All of us here are waiting for Dec to give us the go-ahead to drive over there.”
The tension grew. Every second stretched, the air thick with anticipation. Diamond Creek loomed large in everyone’s mind—a place of danger or sanctuary, depending on the outcome.
“Call me back when you know more, Wyatt,” Dante pleaded, his voice wary. He pinched the bridge of his nose before disconnecting the call. The instant the line went dead, Melissa erupted—her breath hitching as she bolted from the room, sobs sharp and raw echoing down the hallway. Her hands covered her face, shoulders shaking violently, every step weighted by fear that hope might be lost. In her mind, worst-case scenarios spiraled, each image more unbearable than the last. Roxy’s concern flared; she didn’t hesitate for a moment, darting after Melissa, her own heart, no doubt, pounding with helpless worry and fierce loyalty.
I watched as the door swung shut behind them, the lingering ache of their absence settling over the room. “Sinclair texted me. He wants me to head to Diamond Creek,” I said, uncertainty threading my words as I glanced at Dante.
His shoulders slumped for a moment, dark circles carved beneath his eyes. “You can’t leave me here alone, Row,” he said, voice ragged and barely above a whisper as his computer signaled an incoming video call. “I need you here.”
I hesitated as he accepted the video call to see Sinclair’s face on the screen. “I take it Deputy Wyatt called you with the update?”
“Yeah,” Dante nodded. “We all heard.”
Sinclair’s gaze didn’t waver, his posture rigid, every word measured. “I am waiting for more definitive news,” he declared, his voice even and deliberate, almost as if he were reciting an order. “The deputy’s call was intended for the women. He had little substantive information to offer.”
I clenched my fists as heat prickled my skin. “So the call was just to pacify Melissa and Roxy? Letting them fall apart while you hold all the cards?” My voice came out rough, brittle, unable to mask my anger as I glared at the screen.
Sinclair’s eyes narrowed, cool and unwavering, his jaw set with unspoken authority. “I am safeguarding them,” he replied, tone clipped and composed. “Whatever the outcome, I have sworn to protect Melissa. Complete disclosure at this moment serves no purpose but pain.”
I stepped forward, pulse hammering in my ears. “She deserves the truth, Sinclair. They both do.” My voice cracked, frustration bleeding through as I stared him down.
Sinclair’s reply was steady, unflinching. “When I have certainty, so will they.” He met my glare head-on, not a flicker of doubt in his expression.
A bitter laugh escaped me, sharp and harsh. I raked a shaky hand through my hair, unable to contain the anger boiling inside. “God, you’re unbelievable, you know that? All that matters is your damn family. As long as your son’s safe, the rest—Ghost, Sypher—they’re just collateral, right?” My voice rose, echoing off the walls, each word a jab I couldn’t hold back.
Sinclair’s spine straightened, his presence dominating despite not being in the room. His words came low, icy, every syllable a warning. “Tread carefully, Rowen. You know nothing, and Sypher is not just a bystander—he is my son-in-law.” His eyes flashed beneath the cold veneer, the threat unmistakable.
I couldn’t stop; my voice trembled with fury and hurt. “But Ghost isn’t, is he?” I spat, every muscle taut. “He’s just a pawn to you. Disposable.” My chest ached, the accusation burning in my throat.
Sinclair’s features softened minutely, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. His tone dropped, heavy with significance. “You’re wrong. He is far more than that.” He paused, and a silence thick and suffocating settled between us. Then, with deliberate calm, he uttered, “Travis Foley is your brother.”
“Oh shit,” Dante cursed.
