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“Ken!” Snowy grabbed for him, but he raised his palm without turning around.

“Take them.” His voice was barely there. He looked at Alex. One nod. “Go.”

He limped over to the officers, hands raised, a trail of blood behind him on the white marble.

Alex pulled Kana tight against him, and they ran. Down the steps, across the driveway, into the Challenger. He threw himself behind the wheel and had the engine roaring before the doors were shut.

“Go, go, go,” Hal panted from the passenger seat.

Alex checked the rearview. Snowy sat in the back, arms wrapped around the chrome case, eyes empty. Kana stared at nothing beside her. At least they were safe.

He reversed hard, tires biting the driveway, a dust cloud trailing behind them, and slammed on the brakes.

A woman in uniform stood behind the car, one hand braced on the trunk, staring at the bumper she’d almost become a part of. She straightened. Looked into the rear window. Into the mirror.

Yoona.

For one second, Alex couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. She looked directly at him through the glass—or maybe through him, at whatever was left of the boy she used to know.

Hal’s hand clamped his shoulder. “Come on, dude!”

When Alex glanced back, Yoona was already jogging towards the house. He reversed, swung onto the dark road, and floored it.

The mansion shrank in the mirror. His fingers drummed the steering wheel, heart rattling against his ribs.

Too much. Everything was too much.

“We going to Basa?” Hal asked.

Alex glanced at the chrome case in Snowy’s arms. Evidence. Leverage. But a confrontation with Basa wasn’t what his mind was screaming for.

“Not yet.”

“Why not? Manny can’t die for nothing! He told us Basa’s making Durden—”

“And if he’s been doing it, why didn’t Rafael say anything?” The steering wheel creaked under Alex’s hands, knuckles white. “Rafael would’ve been the first to tell us. Breaking loyalty is the worst thing you can do in the Garras. I left, but I still know the code. Something doesn’t add up.”

Hal went quiet. Because he knew Alex was right.

Alex merged onto the freeway, the Challenger disappearing into the river of taillights.

“First things first.” His jaw set. “Let’s go get our boy.”

29

Homecoming

He kicked the apartment door open. The boom echoed down the hallway in the dead of night.

Jun’s legs dangled over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry—deadweight, but warm. Still breathing. He could feel the slow heave of Jun’s chest against his back as he eased the door shut with his foot.

He navigated the small living room, stepping around scattered blank canvases and brushes in the dim glow from the kitchen counter. The monitor there pulsed softly. Seventy-eight percent. Still analyzing.

He cradled the back of Jun’s head, fingers lacing through coarse blond hair, and lowered him onto the couch. He set his motorbike helmet on the coffee table and let his eyes adjust.

Jun’s mouth was bloodied and chapped, each breath a thin wheeze. Cuts and bruises mottled his face like a bad painting. He pulled off his fingerless gloves and pressed the back of his hand to Jun’s cheek. Cold.

Jun flinched away, and he jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned.