Zane
The crash ripsthrough the bar loud as a gunshot.
I’m awake before I know I’m awake. Already moving. Already reaching for something solid in my hand.
Another sound follows. Glass raining down.
I’m down the stairs in seconds.
Cold air hits my face as I shove open the kitchen door.
The back window is gone.
Shattered inward. Glass everywhere. Whiskey bleeding down the brick as a wound. The neck of a smashed bottle still spins lazily on the floor.
There’s a note tied to it.
Ryder stands in the center of the wreckage, boots planted in broken glass, shoulders squared toward the alley, daring someone to still be there.
Finn is outside in the alley itself, half shadowed, scanning the rooftops and dumpsters with his phone light, one hand already tucked into the back of his waistband.
I step into the wreckage.
Glass crunches under my boots.
Ryder doesn’t look at me. He just hands me the note.
Three words.You will pay.
My vision narrows.
The air feels too thin.
Cole.
Of course it’s Cole.
My hand tightens around the paper until it crumples.
Then I crouch and start picking up glass.
The shards bite into my palms, slice into the thin skin near my thumb.
Good. Let them.
If I move, I’ll go looking for him.
And that would be a mistake.
The broom scrapes hard against the floor. I push the shards into a pile with more force than necessary. My jaw aches from clenching.
Ryder steps back toward the doorway but stays inside the kitchen, positioning himself between the open alley and the interior of the bar. He’s not relaxed. He’s guarding.
Finn slips back in from outside a moment later.
“Alley’s clear,” he says, but he doesn’t sound satisfied. He stations himself at the exterior door anyway, one shoulder against the frame, eyes still scanning.
Then I hear it.
