Page 27 of Carver’s Crusade

I stare at the growing pile, my fear subsiding as I watch the arsenal grow.

“Raven,” he says, softer now. “You got someone you can call if things get bad?”

I hesitate. Carver’s face flashes in my mind, uninvited and entirely too tempting.

“I’m… working on that,” I say.

Luis nods, like he understands more than I’ve said. “Good. Don’t handle this alone.”

He slides everything into a bag and hands it to me.

“If you need help,” he adds, meeting my eyes, “you come find me. No questions asked.”

I nod, clutching the bag like it’s a lifeline.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

As I turn to leave, I bump into a hard body. That body belongs to someone I wasn’t expecting to see.

CHAPTER 13: CARVER

The swap meet is already packed when we step through the entrance, the hum of voices and music blending into a steady roar. Jackson takes the lead while Axel and I fall in behind him. To avoid drawing attention, we left our kuttes in the truck.

“End of the row,” Jackson mutters without looking back. “Blue canopy.”

I spot it a second later. It’s a small and temporary setup. A folding table covered in tools. Our tools.

My jaw tightens.

The same brand nail guns. Same bulk packs of fasteners. Even the damn marking tape we order by the case. I don’t need a receipt to know where that shit came from.

“Kids,” Axel says under his breath.

He’s right. A teenage boy, maybe seventeen, lanky and twitchy, keeps scanning the aisle like he’s waiting for something to go wrong. The girl with him is younger, sharper. She handles the customers, does the talking, and takes the money.

They don’t look like hardened thieves.

They look like they should be in school.

“Don’t stare,” Jackson murmurs.

I drag my gaze away as he veers us toward a booth halfway down the aisle where a guy is demonstrating some kind of multi-tool blender bullshit. The crowd gathered there gives us cover.

We stop near the edge, half watching the demo, half watching the kids.

“Is that our stuff?” Axel asks. I nod. “Do you think they stole everything or are they working with someone?”

“That’s a good question,” I say. “They could be the same duo from the security feed. Or, there could be a bigger crew.”

Jackson crosses his arms, eyes flicking toward the end booth. “We roll up too hard, they bolt. We spook ’em, we won’t know.”

“Then we don’t spook ’em,” Axel says. “We buy.”

I shake my head. “Too clean. They’ll clock us.”

The demonstrator cranks up the blender, the noise giving us a moment of cover as we lean in closer.

“We can split up,” Jackson suggests. “One approaches, two hang back.”