“I found her info,” Syx said as he pulled a laptop from his bag. “Ashley Voss is twenty-five. Same age as Sage. Grew up in foster care until the age of twelve when a half-brother found her and raised her until she dropped off the grid.”
“That must have been when she worked on the streets with Sage,” Boston murmured.
“Why do you say that?” Law frowned.
“It’s just a guess. I don’t know if she was a street rat like Sage and I were.” Boston tossed Micah a quick glance. “Like a lot of us were.”
“You’re not a street rat,” Rip said gruffly.
Boston held up a hand, stopping him. “Regardless of what we were, when you grow up in that environment, those are your friends. Those people become your family.”
“Sage considers her family.”
“It’s a safe bet.” Boston nodded.
“How does this Jade factor in?”
“He knew them,” Micah said.
“Why would you say that?” Law turned to Micah.
“This.” Micah held up a photo of four people. Jade. Ashley. Sage.
Law took the photo. A few years old. Before Genesis. A past he’d never shared.
“So, the location of Sage’s phone,” Micah said, interrupting his thoughts. “That’s here in Los Angeles.”
“What are we waiting for?” Syx said.
“We’re not,” Law growled and stalked toward the door.
The decision locked in—no hesitation, no second guess.
He was followed by the four assassins. They fell in at his flank like shadows of death.
He let them.
They may come in handy if Sage couldn’t handle what or whom he was after.
Because Law was fucking positive Sage went after Jade’s killer.
And Law would bet money that Sage was out for blood.
Los Ángeles…
“You wanted me here, motherfucker.” Sage’s voice stayed low as he approached the building. “Well, here I am.”
The sidewalk buckled underfoot, cracked concrete lifting in uneven slabs.
He didn’t slow.
Rook’s old place had been empty. Two hours to track Voss’s current address—longer than it should’ve taken, but not long enough to matter.
No one stayed hidden from him for long.
The place came up fast—two stories, paint worn down to something that might’ve been mauve once, now just dull and forgotten. One light burned over the hallway entry, flickering just enough to catch if you were looking for it. A car idled across the street, bass thumping low, more felt than heard.
The air carried that closed-in city smell—stale, layered with old heat and something sour underneath. Oil and trash clung to it, baked into the air and not going anywhere.
