Noise-wise, it was still a lot.
But after the lobby, the stairwells, the elevator, and the gunfire, it felt like someone had turned the war down from a scream to a simmer.
I could picture Vladimir in there even without seeing him—hands tied, leg clamped in a tourniquet Priest had wrapped tight enough to make a grown man beg, shoulder fresh with a bullet hole. The wound Gianna’s knife left under a taped bandage. He was too stubborn to pass out. Men like him wanted to see how the story ended, even if they were the corpse in the last chapter when the credits roll.
Another SUV had left before we did, cutting hard for thecasino.
Roman’s wife and daughter were inside.
I’d watched its taillights disappear while we loaded Vladimir into the other amidst the chaos. That SUV had been the only clean thing around that building—Roman’s blood getting taken home while we sorted out the rest of the mess.
Now all I had to look at was the back of the cage carrying the Russian and the road ahead.
Valkyrie rode in my blind spot, just a hair back and to the right, close enough that if I reached my hand out, I’d brush her bar. Viper cut on, safe key at her throat, helmet hiding her face but not hiding the way she held herself. Relaxed enough to ride, alert enough to kill.
The air from the ocean was colder here. Salt bit the back of my throat. The smell of death and blood had been scrubbed away by the wind and speed.
Blackjack’s phone buzzed in his pocket up ahead. I saw him pat his cut, pull it out at a light, glance at the screen as we idled at an intersection.
He put it to his ear instead of speaker. The night was loud enough without Roman’s voice bleeding through the open air.
We rolled on another block before he put his phone away and then brought a hand up to tap his mic.
“Wife and daughter made it back to the casino,” his voice cracked in my ear. “Roman’s people have them in the penthouse. He says they’re safe. He also says his men are handling the cops and the bodies. They’re calling it a private security incident. Vandalism.Attempted theft. No charges being pressed. He’ll ‘handle it internally.’”
I snorted softly behind my visor.
Of course he would.
You don’t build empires like his without owning at least half the people who come calling when a gun goes off.
“Any heat coming our way?” 8-Ball’s voice came over the channel.
“Some noise,” Blackjack said. “Sirens up the strip. They’ll be told to look somewhere else. Roman’s men are already on with whoever they need to be on with. It’s giving some people headaches, but it’ll get pushed under the rug like everything else around here.”
“I’ll drink to institutional corruption,” Miami muttered in my ear.
A few laughs over the chatter.
There was a moment of silence, then Miami spoke again. Softer this time.
“You did good, Jersey. You too, Valkyrie.”
“Keep my good reviews coming,” Valkyrie said. Her voice was thinner with distance, but the edge in it was solid. “I live for your validation.”
He laughed.
“Thankful for your techie brain,” I told him. “We’d have been swinging blind without your eyes tonight.”
“Careful,” he said. “Keep talking like that and I’m going to start asking for a raise.”
“You’re not even cleared to ride and you’re alreadygetting paid more than enough,” 8-Ball cut in. “Shut up and enjoy your chair.”
“Fuck you,” Miami said, but there was no heat in it.
I let their bickering run under the ride like background music. It kept the part of my brain that wanted to replay every shot from the boardwalk from doing exactly that.
We cut down through streets that got progressively darker. Less neon. More residential. Then the houses thinned too, and the smell shifted—more sea, less gasoline and fried food.
