26. Chapter Twenty-Six Skylar
Chapter Twenty-Six: Skylar
I was perched high above the ground in a crumbling shell of a building, like a vulture waiting for the kill. Dust hung in the damp Miami air, thick as guilt, coating my throat with each careful breath. The whole place was a graffitied monument to the way things fell apart—glass and concrete fighting a losing battle against time and the elements. But it had its advantages. Namely, giving me a perfect view of the upcoming shitshow.
Through the binoculars, the industrial yard was a cold labyrinth of steel and shadows, the kind of place only the rats loved. And tonight, those rats were supposed to include Vito and his men. It looked abandoned to the untrained eye, but I knew better. Even from this distance, I could see potential hazards and handy escape routes. I adjusted the focus, spotting the ideal place to spring our trap. I was doing more than just watching; I was memorizing, mapping out each detail with the care of a painter creating his masterpiece.
“Looks quiet so far,” I reported, the words clipped through my earpiece. “No sign of the bastard yet.”
Bash’s voice came back, all command and certainty. “Keep us updated. We don’t move till we know exactly what we’re up against.”
Zane’s voice was next, steady and reassuring, like it always was. “Don’t do anything stupid, Skylar.” I grinned at that, though no one was around to see it.
There was a time when I lived for moments like this—the adrenaline, the high stakes, the beautiful chaos of it all. Maybe I still did, but the thrill wasn’t the only reason I was here. It was for Zane, for Justice, for all of us wrapped up in this mess. We’d carved out something worth keeping, and I wasn’t about to let some old-world crime lord snatch it away.
I shifted slightly on my perch, feeling the comfortable weight of my gun and knife. Years ago, they’d been just toys in the game, but now they were part of the family. I was a long way from where I started, but then, so were all of us. That’s when I saw him—a figure moving in the shadows. A lone wolf sniffing around the edges, checking the scene before the rest of the pack showed up. My grip on the binoculars tightened, my body tense with readiness.
“We’ve got movement,” I said, voice low and hard. “Looks like the asshole’s doing his homework too.”
I leaned forward, the concrete ledge biting into my skin as I zeroed in on the advance guard. I knew this game well, but it was different now. More to lose. I kept my eyes on the shadows, waiting for what I knew was coming.
I felt it before I saw it—that creeping sense of wrongness, like a shadow you couldn’t quite shake. As I scanned the yard again, I noticed things that weren’t there before. Too many shadows where shadows shouldn’t be, the telltale sign of men in position. I shifted on my perch, double-checking with the binoculars. A prickle crawled up my spine, the instinct that had kept me alive for so long flaring bright and urgent.
There were more of them than Dante had promised, a lot more. Either Vito didn’t trust his nephew, or the bastard was setting us up for a bloodbath. Typical De Luca move, making sure he had all the pieces stacked in his favor. The realization hit like a sucker punch, and I bit back a curse. This wasn’t just a dance with the devil; it was looking like a full-on orchestra.
I took a moment to breathe, letting the situation settle in my head. If Vito was upping the stakes, he had to be planning something big. A double-cross wasn’t off the table. It never was with these types. I tightened my grip on the binoculars, my eyes moving quickly over the yard, memorizing new positions, recalculating exits. The urgency buzzed in my blood, but I couldn’t afford to let it trip me up.
“We might have a problem,” I said into the earpiece, keeping my voice as even as I could. “Vito brought extras to the party.” I could almost hear the silence on the other end, the moment Bash processed the news. His response was steady, the way it always was when things got hairy. “Stick to the plan. But stay on alert.” Typical Bash—calm in the middle of the hurricane, always one step ahead.
I smirked to myself, feeling the unease coil tight in my chest. Bash could be the rock, but I was the fire. We made a damn good team, but this was shaping up to be a hell of a storm. I knew that much, and I trusted my gut. It had saved my skin more times than I could count. I watched the yard, noting each man’s movements, every potential threat.
We were walking a thin line, but what else was new? One false step, and we’d be done. But I wasn’t about to let that happen. Not here, not now. I kept my eyes sharp and my senses sharper. This was the life, and I lived it full throttle.
I found Zane where we’d planned, far enough from the yard to avoid curious eyes but close enough to stay in the loop. He was all business, as usual, the tension between us crackling like a downed power line.
“There you are,” I said, sauntering up with a grin I knew would get under his skin. I relayed the new information, filling him in on Vito’s little surprise. “Looks like the party just got bigger. Either Vito’s lost faith in young Dante, or they’re getting ready to double us.” I threw in a smirk. “Can’t trust anyone these days, eh?”
Zane listened with the intense focus of a surgeon mid-operation, nodding as I laid it out. His eyes, those deep wells of calm and resolve, scanned mine. “It means they’re expecting trouble,” he said, voice steady as ever. “We’ll have to be more careful.” There it was again, that word. Careful. Didn’t exactly fit with my style, but I loved him for trying.
“Careful is your middle name, isn’t it?” I teased, leaning back against a wall that looked ready to crumble with a strong breeze. “I thought you’d appreciate the challenge.”
He gave me a look—one that said I was impossible but also made it clear he wouldn’t change that if he could. “This is serious, Skylar,” he said, but there was warmth beneath the words, a deep undercurrent of something solid and reassuring.
When he moved closer, checking me over like I was a puzzle he had to solve, I leaned into it more than necessary, making sure he knew I wasn’t afraid. Not of this, not of anything. His hands brushed my arms, searching for signs of risk or injury. It was a touch more electric than comforting, but I didn’t mind.
“Aw, Doc, you worried about me?” I said, my tone a perfect mix of sarcasm and sincerity.
“Always,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But I know you won’t listen, so why bother?”
“Careful,” I warned with a wicked grin. “I might start thinking you’re sweet on me.”
“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” he asked, leaning in closer to me, his breath tickling my skin. “Behave, okay? I can’t always be picking up the pieces.”
“Okay,” I replied. “I promise.”
The tension was so thick you could taste it, a metallic tang in the air as the rest of the Knives gathered near the yard. The night wrapped around us like a shroud, anticipation building with each passing second. Nobody needed to say a word; we all felt the gravity pulling us closer to the center of the storm.
After reckon, it was time to get ready. We geared up in silence, methodical and precise, hands checking weapons and exchanging quick glances. I watched as the crew readied themselves, a mix of resolve and unease etched on every face. This wasn’t just another job; it was a gamble where the stakes were everything we’d fought for. My gut twisted with the knowledge that one misstep could send it all crashing down.
Justice’s voice cut through the quiet, crackling over the radio from the secondary safehouse. “What’s the status?” she asked, her tone sharp but with that familiar warmth that always found its way in. Even from a distance, she had a way of making her presence felt.
I shot a quick look at the others, then replied with the cocky bravado that I hoped would mask the anxiety simmering underneath. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll get to play queen over Miami soon enough. Just warming up the throne for you.”
Bash smirked at that, a rare expression that spoke volumes about his own brand of confidence. Zane shook his head, half-exasperated, half-amused. The rest of the crew took the cue, a few nervous chuckles breaking the tension but only for a moment.
I knew what they were thinking—what we were all thinking. This was as close to the edge as we’d ever been, and the ground was crumbling beneath us. I couldn’t shake the unease that gripped my chest, but I wouldn’t let it show. I couldn’t afford to. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, forcing the anxiety to bleed out with it.
We’d come too far to lose it now. I wasn’t about to let some power-hungry bastard take what was ours, not when we’d fought this hard to keep it. I thought of Zane, of Justice, of all of us riding this razor’s edge together. It made the danger worth it, but it didn’t make it any less real.
“One mistake, and we’re done,” I said, half to myself, half to the crew. My voice held no hint of doubt, just the sharp edge of determination. “But mistakes aren’t my style.”
***
Dante’s convoy pulled into the yard like a circus rolling into town, an explosive mess barely held together by strings of false promises. The cars were sleek and black, their engines purring with deceptive calm. I watched through the binoculars, my pulse quickening as the scene unfolded like a bad dream you knew was going to get worse.
Vito’s soldiers spread out, a deadly fan of men in motion. Their body language screamed tension, weapons ready for the slightest provocation. I could practically smell the gunpowder, already mingling with the salty Miami air. This was no cautious meet; it was a damn powder keg with a fuse about to be lit.
Dante stepped out of the lead car, his face a mask of cool indifference. But I saw the flicker of nerves in his eyes, the calculating way he took in his surroundings. I’d bet my life—and everyone else’s—that he was holding out for the perfect moment to play both sides. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to dance that line.
“Showtime,” I whispered into the earpiece, the thrill of it sparking through me like a live wire. “Our friend Dante’s got his poker face on, but these guys look trigger-happy.”
Bash’s response was quick, laced with the kind of calm you only got after walking through hell and back. “Stay sharp. We only get one shot at this.”
I felt the words hum through me, feeding the adrenaline that coursed just beneath the surface. The tension was electric, every moment stretched taut like the skin of a drum. This was the kind of situation that defined us—made or broke us in the blink of an eye.
I watched the yard, the players moving into place like pieces on a bloody chessboard. Dante was the wildcard, but I knew he wouldn’t be for long. We had our own hand to play, and we played it ruthlessly.
“Hope you’ve got your knives ready, Bash,” I muttered, cracking my knuckles in anticipation. “Looks like it’s gonna be a long night.” And what a night it would be, teetering on the brink of chaos, just the way I liked it.