Saint answers, but he doesn’t leave me out of it.That’s deliberate.I speak when there’s space, not when I’m invited and no one interrupts me.
“We’re not cutting everything,” I say.“Just enough to destabilize rhythm.If they panic, they’ll consolidate.We want them confused and not knowing which direction to turn.”
Savage nods.“Agreed.”
After the meeting breaks, I don’t retreat to my room.I walk the compound.Not to reassure and not to command, but to observe.It still amazes me that they have simply accepted me being here, but I won’t complain.It’s nice to belong, even if it’s only temporary.
The men are quieter than usual, but not tense, they’re focused.Fury’s teaching a prospect how to adjust his grip without humiliating him.Steel sits near the infirmary, eyes bloodshot but steady, waiting for word on Ghost.
I stop beside him.“How’s he doing?”I ask.
“He’s stable, which is more than I was expecting,” Steel replies.“The doctor says he’s stubborn and will probably pull through on grit and determination alone.”
I smile faintly.“That sounds about right.”
He hesitates.“They’re asking about you.”
“Who?”
“Everyone,” he says.“But it’s not like before.They’re just ...checking.”
I nod.“Did you tell them anything?”
He shakes his head.“It didn’t feel like my place.”
****
After the sun setsand the desert cools, the city twitches.
You can’t feel it unless you know how to listen.The Strip keeps flashing, music keeps thumping, and tourists keep drinking.But under it all, something misaligns.Supply chains hiccup, runners double back, and phones ring unanswered.
The cartel doesn’t like unpredictability.Men who built their power on fear being consistent rarely do.
I’m in the garage when the first real response comes.
A bike rolls in too fast.The prospect, I think his name is Mutt, doesn’t cut the engine right away, he just pulls his helmet off with hands that shake just enough to be noticeable.
“I have a message,” he says.
Steel appears beside him instantly.“From who?”
“It doesn’t say,” the rider replies.“They just left it on my seat at a stoplight.”
He holds out an envelope.I see Savage before I feel him.He takes the envelope without touching the prospect and opens it carefully.
Inside is a phone.A Cheap burner that rings the moment it lands in his palm.
Savage answers without hesitation.“You’re late.”
The voice on the other end is calm, almost amused.“You hit quietly,” he says.“We expected louder.”
Savage doesn’t look at me, but he angles his body so I can hear every word.“Volume is inefficient,” he replies.
“Do you think this ends with you fucking with our logistics?”
“No,” Savage says.“I think this ends when you realize you misjudged your leverage.”
The voice laughs softly.“You mean the woman?”
