Chapter 52 Logan
Logan
The motel parking lot smelled like wet asphalt and oil. I leaned against the hood of my truck, nursing a black coffee that tasted like burnt mud, and watched the team move.
Stoker’s men weren’t like anyone I’d worked with in law enforcement, or the SEALs.
They didn’t talk much, but when they did, it was clipped, efficient, like every word cost something.
Hawk limped out first, shoulder strapped tight but eyes sharp.
Russ followed, calm as stone, carrying files he must’ve scavenged from somewhere.
Blade ghosted past without a word, a knife in his hand that looked more like an extension of his arm than a weapon.
I’d worked with SEALs before, but this… this was different. These guys weren’t just disciplined. They were bonded. Tight. Unshakable. And I was the outsider trying to muscle my way in.
“Carter.” Hawk tossed a file at my chest. “Let’s see if that badge of yours is good for something.”
I caught it, flipping it open. Arrest records, patrol logs, dispatch timestamps. My stomach twisted. The backup delays were right there in black and white—but buried under bureaucratic red tape, notes scribbled by supervisors covering their asses.
I swore under my breath. “They stalled you. On purpose.”
Russ nodded once, quiet. “Question is—who gave the order?”
Blade finally spoke, voice flat. “And why?”
The file in my hands blurred. This wasn’t just corruption. This was calculated. Targeted.
I looked up, meeting Hawk’s eyes. “I can pull more. Internal memos, secure comm logs. I still know which doors to knock on.”
Hawk’s mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Then knock loud.”
For the first time since walking into that motel room, I felt it—the edge of belonging. Not trust, not yet. But a chance.
I drained the last of the bitter coffee, the taste burning down my throat. “Alright. Let’s find the bastard who tried to hang you out to dry.”