Chapter 9
Shadow
I don’t like the van.
That’s the first thing.
White delivery van. No markings. Pulled against the curb with its hazards blinking, blocking half the Bluebird Café window like bad luck with wheels.
Could be nothing.
Usually isn’t.
Ghost is in my ear, talking fast, but my eyes stay on the glass.
“Say that again,” I tell him.
“Damned Sinners sent us intel twenty minutes ago,” Ghost says.
That gets my attention.
The Sinners ride out of Roseburn Falls. Grim’s club. Different patch, different territory, same kind of violence aimed at the same kind of monsters.
The Saints and Sinners have a history written in blood and bad timing.
Five years ago, before either club had learned how to stand steady, Havoc and Grim crossed paths on the same cartel route outside Mercy Creek. Both men were hunting the same shipment. Both thought the other was in the way.
It should have ended with bodies wearing cuts.
Instead, it ended with Havoc dragging Grim out of a burning building while Grim held pressure on a bullet hole in Havoc’s side, both of them cussing each other too hard to die.
Six girls made it out that night.
After that, the Saints and the Sinners stopped circling each other like threats and started answering the phone when the other called.
We don’t share territory.
We don’t share command.
But when traffickers cross the mountains, we share blood.
So if Grim sends intel, I listen.
But only half.
The rest stays inside that café with Talia.
I’m standing right outside the front window, close enough to see the counter, the front booths, the waitress moving with a coffee pot.
I can’t see the back booth anymore. The van killed that angle.
My jaw tightens.
I shift two steps along the window, trying to see past the reflection and the van’s white side panel.
Still nothing.
“Shadow,” Ghost says.
“Talk.”
“Grim says the source is clean.”
That gets the rest of my attention.
Grim doesn’t call anything clean unless he’s already dug the grave for whoever made it dirty.
“There’s a name in the asset list,” Ghost says.
Something in his voice changes.
I stop moving.
“Who?”
“Brianna Hardy.”
The street goes quiet.
Not really. There are cars, voices, a dog barking somewhere down the block, the café bell jingling as someone leaves.
But none of it reaches me right.
“What list?” I ask.
Even though I heard him fine the first time.
Ghost doesn’t soften it.
“Asset list.”
My hand tightens around the phone.
“Not victim?”
“No.”
The word lands like a round through the ribs.
I turn toward the café window.
The van is still there, blocking the back.
“Say it clean,” I order.
Ghost exhales once. “Brianna Hardy is listed as a recruiter. Lure girl. Works with Landon. Targets women who are broke, isolated, running from something, or looking for cash. Gets them to parties. Gets them comfortable. Then Landon’s people move them.”
My blood goes cold.
Talia.
Her arms around that girl.
Her face when she saw her.
Her voice in the motel room, breaking over a sister who was never missing.
I move.
Fast.
The white van leaves.
“Shadow?” Ghost snaps.
“Trap.”
I yank the café door open.
The bell screams overhead.
My eyes go straight to the back booth.
Empty.
For one second, the world narrows down to that.
Empty booth.
Empty seat.
No Talia.
No Brianna.
The white van out front was cover.
My hand goes to my gun.
Civilians everywhere.
Can’t draw.
Not yet.
A waitress freezes near the counter. “Sir?”
“The two women in the back booth,” I bark. “Where?”
Her face goes pale.
“I don’t know. One of them looked sick. These men came from the hall and helped her up.”
“Men?”
“Two. Maybe three.” Her voice shakes. “They said they were family.”
Family.
I’m going to kill them.
I’m going to rip Landon apart with my bare hands.
And if Brianna helped him, she can watch.
The thought is calm.
That’s how I know it’s bad.
I move for the hallway.
A man steps out of the restroom and sees my face. He flattens himself against the wall.
Smart man.
The rear exit hangs open by two inches.
Cold air cuts through.
I slam through it into the alley.
Too late.
The alley is empty except for a delivery cart, a busted crate, and fresh tire marks cutting through a puddle near the back curb.
At the mouth of the alley, a black SUV cuts into traffic.
Black Chevy Tahoe. Tinted windows. Mud on the rear bumper. Sticker on the lower left corner of the back glass. Partial plate before it swings behind a delivery truck.
K7.
Maybe KZ.
No clean shot.
Too many civilians.
No bike in reach.
No fucking Talia.
I run anyway.
Because stopping isn’t in me.
The SUV disappears around the corner, swallowed by morning traffic like it was never there.
I stop in the middle of the alley, chest heaving, every bad thing in me going quiet.
That’s the part people don’t understand.
Rage isn’t loud when it’s real.
It settles.
It sharpens.
It picks a target and waits.
I tap my earpiece so hard it hurts.
“Ghost.”
“I’m here.”
“They took her.”
Silence.
Then Ghost’s voice drops into something deadly. “Location.”
“Bluebird Café. Rear alley. Black Chevy Tahoe, tinted windows, partial plate K7 or KZ, mud on rear bumper, sticker lower left back glass. Heading south out of Lovefall Cove center.”
“I’m moving.”
“Get Havoc. Lock roads. Cameras. Traffic cams. Gas stations. Every brother with wheels.”
“Already doing it.”
I turn back toward the rear door.
My boot hits something.
Small.
Black.
Talia’s phone.
Screen cracked. Lying face down near the threshold like it got knocked loose when they dragged her out.
I bend and pick it up.
There’s blood on one corner.
Not much.
Enough.
My hand closes around it.
For a second, all I see is her hand in mine last night.
Small cuts.
Fresh blood.
Her trying to act like it didn’t hurt.
Her mouth saying she could handle herself while her eyes begged the world to stop taking pieces.
I told her to stay in the booth.
She did.
That’s the part that hits hardest.
She listened.
To me.
And I still lost her.
My grip tightens around the phone until the cracked screen bites into my palm.
The café door opens behind me.
I turn fast.
The waitress stands there, one hand pressed to her chest, face white.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I thought they were helping her.”
I force the gun back down from where my hand wants to go.
Not her fault.
Not her target.
“Did you see the other girl leave?”
“The blonde?”
“Brianna.”
She nods fast. “She went with them. I think. I don’t know.”
My pulse goes colder.
“What did she look like?”
The waitress swallows. “Okay, I guess.”
Ghost crackles in my ear. “Shadow.”
“Talk.”
“Havoc’s moving. Viper’s pulling camera feeds from Lovefall Cove. Ace is getting eyes in the air if he can. Sin’s digging on every property tied to Landon and every Salazar shell within fifty miles.”
“Find Brianna too.”
“We will.”
“No,” I say, voice low. “Find Talia first.”
A beat.
“Yeah, brother.”
Brother.
The word usually steadies me.
Not now.
Now it just reminds me I stepped away from my woman.
And in that slice of time, they took her.