Chapter 13
The lantern’s glow flickered against the paneled walls, casting elongated shadows across the map spread on the table. Bayou tributaries and hand-sketched escape routes crisscrossed in red and black ink. It was quiet—too quiet—except for the occasional rustle of branches brushing the roof.
Savvy rubbed at the ache in her temples and looked up at the men and one woman gathered around the table—McGuire, Cross, Stone, Patch, and Riven.
All of them had that same carved-from-stone expression, but none more so than Patch.
He hadn’t said a word in the last few minutes, just stared at the map like he could will the plan into place.
“Let’s stop pretending,” Savvy said. “Gunner’s close. He sent Locke and Mendoza upriver. That wasn’t an attack. It was recon. He’s waiting for intel. Intel he’s not going to get because it can’t come from Mendoza.”
“We can’t trust Mendoza,” Cross said.
“He’s not bullshitting me.” Savvy glanced up.
They’d been wargaming for hours. They were all ornery and on their last nerve.
“Locke’s the trusted man. If Gunner doesn’t hear from him, or if something happened, Gunner would know everything moving forward is one big fucking setup and we lose any leverage. ”
McGuire leaned in, arms folded. “Agreed. He’s watching. Listening. We give him silence, he gets curious. We give him noise—he reacts.” He took the tin mug that Riven handed him and sipped.
“I think it’s time I give him a personal call and something to react to,” Savvy said.
Patch’s eyes snapped to hers. “Savvy—”
She held up a hand. “I’m not reaching out to surrender. I’m calling him to let him know the game’s changed. He wanted me erased, but I’m still here. And I know who he is, what he’s done. I can burn it all down.”
“You want to provoke him,” McGuire said, voice even. “That’ll bring him here. But he won’t come alone.”
“No, he won’t,” Patch muttered. “But we’ll be ready.”
Cross exhaled, the sound heavy. “And what are you offering him, Savvy? You need a carrot to go with that stick. Something so sweet that it will reach that narcissistic brain so deep he can’t possibly refuse.”
She glanced at Patch. His jaw ticked once, but he nodded like they’d already had this conversation without speaking a word.
“Myself,” she said, quiet but firm. “And Patch.”
“What the hell?” McGuire shoved off the table, pacing. “Absolutely not—”
“Let her finish,” Patch said calmly.
Savvy met her brother’s stormy gaze. “He wants a payoff. I offer him a deal. I’ll give him his freedom.
I’ll cover up his crimes with Black Ledger.
I’ve got enough power with the 73 to make that happen, and he knows that’s true.
But the bounty on me ends. And he has to release Patch to prove he means it. ”
“Won’t work,” Cross said. “Gunner doesn’t trust anyone. He’ll smell a trap.”
“He already thinks this is a trap,” Patch added. “Let’s just make sure it becomes one.”
McGuire’s shoulders dropped a fraction, but his voice was still tight. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I’ve been living in the flames,” she said. “It’s time to burn the monster down.”
Patch stepped forward and reached for the comms device. “Let’s make the call.”
Savvy picked it up instead. “No. I’ll do it.”
Her fingers hovered over the encrypted channel they’d uncovered in Mendoza’s SATphone. “Time to end this,” she whispered, working out the message. “In the meantime, I think we need Riven to meet up with Remy. Get them in place for backup.”
“Agreed,” McGuire said. “I’ll make those arrangements.”
Savvy stared at the message, then hit send. The encrypted message disappeared into the dark ether of cyberspace, bounced off satellites and routers she could no longer trace, and aimed straight for the man who’d once been considered a brother.
Gunner.
The silence that followed was oppressive, thick with anticipation and the hum of a storm gathering outside. A ceiling fan clicked overhead, off-balance and useless. She stared at the comms device like it might hiss back at her.
Behind her, Patch hadn’t moved. Neither had her brother.
“I sent a simple message,” she said without turning. “No tricks. Just truth.”
Patch’s voice was low. “What’d you say?”
She turned then, her throat dry but her spine unshaking.
“I told him I know who he is. That the people he trusted are gone or have flipped. Locke and Mendoza are in custody. I told him it’s over.
And that I’m willing to trade. His freedom—for calling off the bounty.
No more ghosts. No more knives in the dark.
But the deal hinges on him releasing his claim on you, Patch. And leaving McGuire out of it.”
Silence followed. Then McGuire let out a long, low whistle. “You do realize that if he’s close enough, he could be watching this place already.”
“I’m counting on it.” She arched a brow. “Which is why I’m glad you contacted Remy, but that’s got to be quiet as hell.”
Patch stepped forward, hand settling gently at the small of her back. His eyes weren’t angry. Just steady. “And if he wants confirmation? If he asks to meet?”
“Then I give him a place,” she said. “And we control the terms. We make sure our backup is close enough they can come in, but far enough away they won’t spook him.”
“You’re betting everything he wants you,” McGuire said.
“Oh, he does,” Savvy answered, voice like gravel. “He wants me dead. But more than that, he wants to win. He wants to prove he’s the one holding all the cards.” She glanced down at the comms unit. “I’m going to let him think that he does.”
A sharp chirp buzzed from the encrypted device.
One new message.
No one moved.
Savvy picked it up, thumb hovering over the interface. “Either this is him… or it’s a goodbye.”
She opened the message.
It was short. Too short.
"Meet. Alone. One hour. 27.3041° N, 91.8824° W."
McGuire was already inputting the coordinates into the GPS, eyebrows shooting up. “That’s twenty minutes south. On the water.”
“Middle of the swamp,” Patch said. “Smart. No vantage points, no approach on foot. But Remy and a small team can be just south of my place. That’ll work.”
“Except for one thing,” Savvy said. “I’ll take the eastern canal. Use the fog.”
“Are you kidding me?” McGuire said flatly.
“He said alone.” She pocketed the device. “But he didn’t say unarmed, and I’ll have a weapon.”
“No,” Patch said, the word so final it echoed.
“You said yourself—we’re not waiting to get picked off in our sleep.” She glared.
“I said we bait him, not walk into his trap.” Patch shook his head.
“We are the trap,” she said. “But we won’t spring it until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
McGuire paced behind her, then stopped, facing the table again. “We set up a perimeter. Eyes on. No engagement unless she gives the signal. But we need time to set it up and get Riven downriver safely.”
Patch’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t argue.
“We’ve got an hour,” Savvy said, heading to the back room. “Somebody gas the boat.”
The others had already gone. Slipped silently into the swamp like ghosts with rifles, scattering into the dark to set the trap.
Only Patch and Savvy remained.
And Patch couldn’t help but wonder if he’d lost his mind.
Savvy stood at the edge of the dock, one hand on the mooring line, the other adjusting the small sidearm strapped beneath her jacket. She looked ready—sharp, focused, terrifyingly beautiful in a way that knocked the wind right out of his chest.
But he wasn’t ready.
Patch leaned against the post beside her, arms folded, jaw tight. “You sure you want to do this?”
“No,” she said softly. “But I have to.”
She didn’t look at him when she said it. Her gaze was on the water—moonlight rippling over the surface like silver veins. It had always calmed her, the quiet murmur of the bayou. But tonight, the silence buzzed with what-ifs.
He stepped closer. Not touching her. Not yet.
“You’ve got backup every step of the way. We’ve got eyes on every angle.”
“I know.”
Still no eye contact. Still too much distance.
“Savvy,” he said, voice low. “Look at me.”
She turned. Slowly.
And when their eyes met, something cracked open inside him. She was trying so damn hard to be invincible. Unshakable. But he saw the weight in her shoulders, the grief tucked behind her eyes.
He reached for her hand, and she didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to be steel all the time,” he murmured. “Not with me.”
Her fingers curled tighter around his. “If I’m not, someone dies.”
Patch moved in, close enough that the heat of her breath met his. “You walk into that meeting like a goddamn hurricane. But for just one second, right here, be still with me.”
Her shoulders sagged a fraction. “You always did know how to talk me down.”
“Only because I’ve been where you are.” He touched her cheek, brushing back a piece of windblown hair. “If I could take your place, I would. You know that, right?”
Her throat bobbed. “That’s why I can’t let you.”
Silence wrapped around them again, but it was a different kind of silence. Not heavy. Not threatening. Just full.
Then she leaned in. Not a kiss—just her forehead against his. Her breath against his skin.
“I love you,” he whispered. “Come back to me.”
“I will.”
Patch let the moment stretch, memorizing the feel of her in his hands, the weight of her trust.
Then he stepped back, helped her into the boat, and handed her the wheel.
She didn’t say goodbye. Neither did he.
Just a shared look.
One promise between two warriors who’d bled for this life.