Chapter 68 Roger Grand
Roger Grand
The city was alive with fire, and Roger Grand watched it from the high-rise like a man admiring his own painting. From up here, the smoke curled across the skyline in ribbons of red and black, the sound of gunfire drifting faint beneath the hum of neon.
“Status,” he said.
One of his lieutenants stepped forward, head bowed. “The Golden Team is locked in the market district. Our men are pressing them toward the industrial zone. The trap will close soon.”
Roger’s lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. “And the girl?”
“She fights.” The man’s voice faltered. “But she’s not breaking.”
Roger turned his head, eyes narrowing on the burning horizon.
“She doesn’t need to break. Not yet.” He stepped closer to the window, the glass reflecting the sharp gleam of his smile.
“She just needs to remember what she is. And Beckett?” His voice dropped, venomous.
“He’ll learn the cost of choosing her over survival. ”
The lieutenant swallowed hard. “Do you want them alive?”
Roger let the silence stretch, savoring it, before answering. “The Golden Team can burn. But Elara—bring her to me breathing. I want her to look Beckett in the eyes when she begs me to let him live.”
The room stilled, the weight of his words pressing like smoke. Roger turned away from the window, the city’s fire painting his shadow long across the floor.
“Tell the men: tonight, we don’t just hunt them. Tonight, we own this city.”