Chapter Thirty-Five
Breaker
The engine howls beneath me as I rip through town, the streets of Ironwood Falls a blur of gray-black and flickering neon and the shimmer of rain on asphalt.
I don’t feel the cold, and I don’t feel the wind knifing my jaw.
Only the white-hot, animal certainty in my chest: Randall Pike is somewhere ahead, and the universe has finally, mercifully, lined up a shot at his skull.
The rest of the world drops away. All that’s left is the hunt.
The target. The son of a bitch who’s going to die at my hands.
Every mile I close feels like vengeance tightening into a sharper edge.
This ends now.
Viper waits where he said he would be. He’s a shadow propped against a streetlight, face lit sharp by the cherry of his cigarette.
He looks up as I cut the engine, flicks the butt onto the ground, and grinds it out beneath a boot.
His mouth is a flat line, but his eyes gleam with something almost like excitement, a feral anticipation I’ve seen in him in the service, in those moments just before the bullets would fly.
Whatever’s coming, Viper’s ready for blood.
“You got here fast,” he says.
“Where is he?”
Viper jerks his chin down the block. “Few buildings down. Old jewelry store. Been shut since a robbery ten years back. He’s holed up inside. Real twitchy. Saw him pacing by the front window. Weapons unknown.”
“Backup’s on the way,” I tell him, stepping off the bike. “Club got intel from Officer Alvarado. Pike’s name just popped up on one of her alerts.”
Viper’s eyebrow flicks up, but the rest of his face is stone. “So we’re the first boots on the dance floor?”
I smirk. “We are. Let’s go. I’m not missing a chance to take that bastard myself. Neither are you.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rolls his shoulders, a silent signal that says, “locked and loaded.” I’ve always trusted him in these moments; always trusted his instincts and his ice-cold focus.
We fought side by side in dirt and blood a hemisphere away, and there’s no man I’d rather have watching my back.
But for one heartbeat, a pulse of unease worms its way up my spine. I shove it down deep.
“You sure you don’t want to wait?” Viper asks, but we both know I’ll say no.
“Not a chance,” I growl. “I want to end this right now.”
He grins again, wider this time, and for just a second his eyes flicker away from mine, down the street, then dart back. “After you, brother.”
We move, smooth as muscle memory, covering each other’s blind spots, boots silent on wet concrete.
The jewelry store’s front is a cave of rotten plywood and flapping police tape, and inside, the darkness is thick as old oil.
I scissor my flashlight beam around—shattered counters, empty racks, a carpeted aisle strewn with yellowed newspapers and little piles of broken glass.
The stench of mold and dust, and the sweet, cloying aftertaste of old perfume choke the air.
Viper glides behind me, pistol up, breath so soft I barely hear it.
We make the back of the store in seven silent strides.
A hallway splits off, leading to the manager’s office.
The battered door hangs open, just an inch, just enough to bait us in.
I know Pike is behind it; his panic practically radiates through the walls.
I want to look him in the eyes as I finish him and see the light go out inside.
Pausing, I take a breath to steady my pulse, and Viper leans close, his lips almost at my ear. “He’s got nowhere to go. Don’t get sloppy.”
“You either,” I bite out.
Then I move, fast and low, shoulder to the door. My hand reaches for the knob.
The moment before violence is the clearest I ever feel; the air sharpens; time slows; my heart steadies.
This is it. For Riley, and for every woman Pike preyed upon. For every nightmare I’ve ever had about failing the people I should’ve protected.
I tighten my grip and step forward.
Then — CLICK.
I freeze.
That sound isn't in front of me. It’s behind. Close. A gun’s hammer being cocked. Cold steel presses against the back of my skull.
Viper’s voice slithers into my ears.
“Don’t move, brother.”