Something flared in Jamie’s eyes—sharp, unfiltered, a mix of focus, excitement, and something darker. Anger? Anticipation? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. But I recognized it for what it was: intent. Whatever he saw in this moment, whatever thread he was ready to follow, it meant he was leaving. Soon.
And I could pretend he wasn’t doing this, pretend he and the men at Redcars could let this go.
But that wasn’t him. That had never beenus. I knew his whole heart, and I reached for him, cradled his face in both hands, and forced him to look at me, to feel what I was offering him—not hesitation, not fear, but permission.
“Make him pay, Jamie.” He blinked, breath catching. “Make him fucking pay.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Jamie
Rio waswhere I expected him to be, pacing at our meet point, a short distance from where Lassiter would be in less than thirty minutes. He was bruised and had a bandage over one of his eyes. A shadow detached itself from the edge of the warehouse wall, and I didn’t even need to look to know it was Enzo—his presence was a low thrum in the air, vibrating with tension. He stayed back just far enough that he could watch without being seen, eyes fixed on Rio with a sharpness that promised violence. His silence wasn’t calm—it was lethal.
“You went to a fucking fight?” I said in disbelief.
Rio’s jaw was set, bruised and shadowed, his chest still rising fast from whatever adrenaline hadn’t burned off yet.
“Of course he did,” Enzo snapped, stalking toward me, muttering under his breath. His fists were clenched as if he wanted to plant one right in Rio’s face.
“You know how important this is,” Enzo snapped. “You could’ve lost and ended up unconscious in a gutter somewhere, and then what?”
Rio shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “I don’t lose.”
“You couldn’t leave it for one night? One fucking night?”
“Two, actually,” Rio shot back. “You seriously wanted me on ice for forty-eight hours while Lassiter breathed free air?”
“Don’t you fucking care what he did to Robbie?” Enzo was working his way past pissed and onto full-on temper.
“What the hell?” Rio snapped. “Of course, I fucking care.” He lifted his knife. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“That doesn’t mean shit when you went out and put yourself?—”
“Stop, both of you.” I planted a hand on each man’s chest, smaller than both of them; they could crush me like a bug, but despite Enzo’s growls and Rio’s defensiveness, they stopped and listened. “Seriously, now is not the time. You both know why we’re here. We have a ten-minute clearance to get inside.” I tapped my ear where Caleb was detailing exactly where Lassiter was. “Let’s go.”
They stared at each other a beat longer, energy crackling in the air between them before Enzo turned away with a snarl and Rio muttered something I didn’t catch. Then, Rio slumped and turned back to Enzo.
“Shit Enzo, you know I care; you know this is what I want to do. I’m sorry man, okay?”
Enzo grunted, but they at least did this bro hug thing they had between them.
The warehouse loomed behind us—a long stretch of corrugated metal and rust-stained glass, isolated enough that no one would question the noise, the power usage, or the people coming and going at odd hours. Inside, the air was cool and dry, thick with the scent of oil and dust and old concrete. Rows of shelving units lined the far walls, stacked with unused machinery and crates covered in tarps. Overhead, the fluorescents buzzed, casting everything in stark white light.
I’d prepped the space as soon as we knew the information had gone out. Lassiter would be spooked. Killian had said he’d reach out. He’d been right.
In the center of the open floor, I’d cleared a wide circle and bolted a steel chair to the concrete. It wasn’t just for effect—it was necessary. The restraints hung loose for now, the cuffs on either side catching the light, and a board in front of it to hide it until Lassiter was inside.
We didn’t know how this would go. But I wasn’t taking any chances. This was the endgame. And I could feel it—low and heavy in my chest, pressure building before the break. This was it. One way or another, Lassiter wouldn’t walk away from this untouched. There would be fire. There would be reckoning. And when it was done, one more piece of Robbie’s past would be avenged.
Caleb’s signal pinged in my earpiece again. “Lassiter’s approaching. Two blocks out. You’ve got maybe three minutes.” As I’d agreed, I pocketed the device, and the Cave team was effectively cut off from what we were doing here.
I turned back to Enzo and Rio. “Let’s get into position.”
Enzo melted back into the shadows by the far shelving unit, crouched low, his hand already on his weapon. Rio headed up onto the catwalk, his bruised face half-shadowed, knife sheathed but close. Iducked behind the control panel near the back wall, the chair still covered, the room silent.
We waited.
The metal door creaked open, and there he was.
