Chapter 28 JACE
JACE
The truck tires crunch over loose gravel, winding around the hillside road. The air is cold and sharp against my face, carrying the faint scent of pine. The villa sits ahead, half-hidden in the dark folds of the hills, lights flickering along the roofline.
I glance at Beck and Zane in the front seats, eyes forward, taut, muscles coiled like springs.
Beck checks his rifle again, the familiar rhythm of a man who knows his weapon better than his own heartbeat.
Zane adjusts the satellite radio, running through frequencies.
I nod at both of them. Calm, steady. This is what we do.
Ryder’s already on-site, perched like a shadow on the ridge overlooking the villa.
I see the faint outline of him through the night vision feed on Zane’s device, rifle slung, scanning.
No wasted movements or unnecessary sounds.
That man moves like he’s already disappeared once and will do it again before dawn.
I reach for my earpiece. “Ryder, we’re two minutes out.” My voice is steady, but there’s a charge in it that even I can feel: anticipation, adrenaline, the edge of the fight to come.
“Copy that,” he replies, calm as ever. “Villa’s three levels, main entrance at the front, and two side gates. Two guards at the main gate, one on the balcony above, and additional security rotating inside. Helicopter ETA, twenty minutes. Timing is critical.”
I memorize every detail, imagining it like a chessboard. Beck and Zane listen silently, nodding in acknowledgment. No questions or hesitation. They know the stakes as well as I do, and they know that hesitation gets people killed.
The villa is more visible now, its walls catching moonlight in a way that makes shadows dance across its balconies and terraces. The upper floors are mostly dark, the guards moving in predictable circuits. Ryder’s feed overlays on Zane’s tablet, tiny red dots marking every threat.
I take a deep breath. I can feel the adrenaline humming through my veins, hot and fast. The calm before the storm is always the worst part—that moment when your brain and body wait for something to explode.
I glance at Beck. His jaw is tight, hands resting lightly on his weapon, eyes scanning the ridge beyond the villa. “You ready?” I ask quietly.
Beck’s smirk is faint but sharp. “I was born ready. You know that.”
Zane, still watching the feed, gives a curt nod. “Let’s get it done.”
“Team,” Ryder’s voice cuts through the earpiece, soft but commanding. “They’re moving him now.”
I grip my gun a fraction tighter, tension coiling in my shoulders. This is it. The moment we’ve been waiting for. No mistakes. No mercy.
I can feel my chest tighten, adrenaline and fear wrapped into one sharp knot. But under it, something steadies me—the knowledge that my brothers are here, that Ryder is watching, that we can handle this.
I glance in the rearview mirror. The hills behind us are black and empty, safe for now. In front, the villa waits, lights glowing like a trap. And somewhere in there, Richard Kane is about to realize he’s run out of time.
I exhale slowly, letting the tension settle just enough to move. Then I nod to Beck and Zane. “Let’s go.”
Engines hum lower, tires crunch gravel, and we begin the slow, deliberate descent toward the villa, toward the storm waiting at the top of the hill.
We hit the final curve before the villa and cut the headlights. The moon is thin tonight, barely enough light to see the terraces, but we have our night vision gear on.
Ryder’s voice comes through the earpiece, clipped and calm. “Perimeter clear. Guards are in position. Side gate for entry, you know the drill.”
I nod, though he can’t see it. Beck slings his rifle and gives me a quiet, “Ready?” Zane’s fingers hover over the tablet, scanning heat signatures through the walls.
I check my own gear one last time. Rifle loaded. Sidearm ready. Adrenaline pumping, senses sharpened. One wrong move, one misstep, and we lose the element of surprise.
We move as one toward the side gate. Beck covers the approach; Zane hacks the security feed, looping camera footage like a phantom. The gate clicks quietly, just enough for us to slip through.
The villa is eerily still. Only the faint murmur of conversation inside hints at life and danger.
A guard rounds the corner first. Beck is already there. A swift strike, precise, silent. The man crumples before he can call out. I feel my pulse spike anyway—that’s the real sound of war, heart hammering even when the fight is clean.
Another guard steps out onto the terrace. Zane has him. A taser bolt hits, electricity making the man convulse and fall. No gunfire yet—we’re ghosts tonight.
Ryder’s voice whispers over the radio. “Three inside, two on the balcony. Helicopter ETA three minutes. Move fast.”
We split. Beck and I cover the main hall, Zane loops around the second floor, radio in hand, monitoring every angle. I move up the steps, keeping low, rifle tight. Every creak of the floorboards under my boots echoes like thunder.
Then—a shot. A graze. Pain slices across my shoulder and ribs. Hot, sharp, immediate. My breath catches.
“I’m hit,” I hiss into the radio, crouching behind a wall.
“How bad?” Ryder demands, as I watch Beck take out the guard who shot me in one swift move.
“I’ll live. I’m fine. Let’s keep moving,” I answer him now that we’re clear.
Beck glances at me briefly, nods, then continues clearing the hall. Zane signals that Richard is approaching the helicopter.
I push through the adrenaline haze, forward, climbing the last set of stairs. There’s no time to think about pain. Only focus. Only the target.
We breach the room swiftly. Richard freezes, seeing the rifles aimed at him, the brothers flanking every exit, taking the guards by his side. His eyes are wide, panicked, searching for an escape. The helicopter has just landed outside, ten meters from him.
He hesitates, calculating his escape, but it’s too late. Beck intercepts, pinning him against the wall. Zane moves to secure the second exit. I step closer, my gun trained, my pulse still high, my shoulder stinging with the bullet graze.
Richard’s bravado is gone. Now there’s terror, and he realizes he’s trapped, and not by the police. By us—the men who don’t negotiate with scum.
“Who are you?” he asks, face ridden with fear.
“A family you should not have messed with,” Beck spits at him.
The world narrows to the sight of Richard Kane, once a powerful CEO, turned into a scared rat—desperate, pale, pathetic. Wind from the rotors whips through the clearing, stinging my face, but all I can see is her.
Her face when she told me how he’d hunted her, voice trembling as she begged me to let her stay hidden. Her running for her life while this coward slept easy.
Something inside me snaps.
Bridging the gap between us, I grab him by the collar before he can say anything else. My fist connects with his jaw, and the sound it makes is all bone and finality. He stumbles, spits blood, and looks up at me like he doesn’t understand how the tables have turned.
He raises his hands in surrender. “Wait, let’s talk about this. You don’t understand what’s going on here. I was—“
“Save it.” My voice comes out low, cold, and unfamiliar, even to me. “This is for her,” I growl, slamming him against the wall of the villa. “For every night she couldn’t sleep. For every time she thought you’d find her.”
He tries to speak, but I don’t let him. My arm drives into his chest, pinning him. He’s heavier than I expected, but I’ve been running on adrenaline for days. He’s nothing but weakness wrapped in a suit.
“She ran because of you,” I hiss. “She looked over her shoulder for months because you couldn’t stand being exposed.”
Each hit after that is slower, more deliberate. Not blind rage—controlled. I want him to feel the weight of every second she spent afraid.
He falls to his knees, gasping. I crouch down beside him, close enough that he can see the restraint in my eyes, the difference between punishment and vengeance.
“You don’t get to hide anymore. You’re going to tell the truth. Every crime. Every threat. Every dirty deal. And you’re going to say it on camera.”
He hesitates, trembling. Beck nudges him forward with the barrel of his rifle.
“Now.”
The words tumble out of his mouth, choked, broken, but clear enough. Zane records everything. Ryder is still in the shadows, a silent sentinel.
By the time it’s over, Richard’s shaking, his voice a rasp. I stand, chest heaving, looking down at him, not with satisfaction, but relief. For Tessa. For all her fear—that ends here with his fall.
I glance at my brothers. “Call it in,” I say. “He’s done.”
Then I step back, my knuckles throbbing, ribs aching, and yet all I can think of is Tessa, waiting, safe, alive.
My brothers decide they want a taste too, so Beck breaks his wrist, enough to immobilize him without permanent damage. Zane smashes a kneecap with the same precision. Pain, not death. Justice, not vengeance.
Richard groans, pleading, begging, his bravado evaporated. I feel my chest tighten, a mix of fury, adrenaline, and relief.
Ryder’s calm voice cuts in again. “Wrap it up. Local authorities en route.”
I glance at my brothers. Beck smirks, wiping sweat from his brow. Zane shakes his head, grinning. I take a deep breath, muscles screaming from tension and pain. This is done. Richard Kane can’t touch Tessa again. Not now. Not ever.
“Let’s move,” I mutter. “Time to get home.”
Relief washes through me, a slow tide after the adrenaline storm. The villa is quiet now. No threats remain. Just the cool night air and the distant hum of the helicopter fading.
Beck leans against the wall, smirking. “I gotta admit… that was satisfying.”
Zane shakes his head, laughing quietly. I glance around. Ryder isn’t visible anywhere, and his comms are silent. Typical Ry, ghosting us like he always does, leaving us to mop up. I shake my head with a grin. That man is impossible.
The three of us load Richard into the back of a secured van, cuffs tight, his protests now weak and pitiful. The recording device shoved into his mouth.
Justice served. Time to head home.
I check my shoulder again. The bullet graze stings, but it’s superficial—nothing I can’t handle.
Beck claps me on the shoulder. “You did good. She’s safe now, but she will have your head for that.” He points to my bloody shoulder.
I smirk, chest tightening with anticipation and guilt. “I know, but it’s worth it knowing she’s safe now.”
Zane nods. “Mission accomplished. Let’s roll.”
We leave Richard for the authorities to take care of and climb into the truck, engine rumbling, the villa shrinking behind us in the dark. The night air is still, the adrenaline ebbing but leaving a hum in our veins.
The drive back is quieter. Beck and Zane trade jokes and small quips, breaking the tension. I sit back, adjusting my shoulder strap, staring out at the hills that roll by in black and silver moonlight. Finally, the war is over. Time to go back to my woman and get the scolding of a lifetime.