Chapter Twenty-One
The house had gone quiet.
Not empty—just thinner. Less movement, fewer voices, the kind of stillness that settled in after a team split and left everything just a little off balance.
The air felt different, too—heavier, like it had nowhere to go now that Sage was gone.
Law stood near the kitchen island, one hand braced against the edge, eyes on the darkened screens across the room. Feeds still running. Audio low. Nothing immediate was pulling his focus.
Too quiet.
Buckshot paced once across the floor, nails clicking against tile, then stopped near the front door, ears up, body angled like he was listening for something that hadn’t come through yet. After a moment, the dog circled back with a whine.
Law ran a hand over his ears.
“I know, boy,” he said quietly. “I miss him too.”
Buckshot didn’t settle.
His head stayed angled toward the door, muscles tight under his coat, attention fixed somewhere outside the house.
The silence pressed in around them, broken only by the faint hum of electronics and Buckshot’s restless movement.
Law’s phone buzzed against the counter.
Buckshot reacted first—head snapping toward the sound, body shifting, alert.
Law picked it up.
“Sir?”
Viper didn’t waste time.
“Sage is gone.”
Something in Law’s chest tightened, not panic—just pressure, immediate and controlled.
Law didn’t move.
“When?”
A beat on the other end.
“Boston said ten minutes. Maybe less.”
“Where were they?”
“In the duplex with the deceased. Sage worked the scene—fast. Then Boston says he just… vanished.”
Law’s gaze dropped briefly to the floor, already mapping it out.
His grip on the phone tightened, knuckles whitening for a second before easing again.
“I want you there. It’s an L.A. duplex. I’ll send you the address.”
Law shot Black a quick glance.
“I’ll hold the scene here,” Black said.
“Yeah, we’ve got it,” Winter added.
“Okay, let me know the minute you spot Rook,” Law ordered.
“Will do. Don’t worry.” Black nodded.
“Thanks.” Law turned toward the bedroom door, already moving, throwing things into his go-bag, phone caught between his chin and shoulder. “Did Boston say what happened?”
He moved faster now, urgent, no wasted motion.
Viper exhaled once.
“The woman was someone named Jade,” Viper said.
“Do we know who killed her?”
“No. Boston said she’s Ashley’s roommate.”
“Who’s Ashley?” Law frowned.
“I don’t know,” Viper said. “But apparently she matters to Sage.”
Law ended the call.
The door shut behind Law and the house went quiet too fast.
Not the kind of quiet that settled—this one pressed in, wrong, like something had been cut out of the middle of it.
The absence lingered, sharp enough to notice.
Black didn’t move at first.
Then his weight shifted, jaw tightening as his gaze tracked toward the door like he could still see through it.
“He’ll be fine,” Memphis said from the kitchen, voice easy, like this was just another run, another mess to clean up.
Black didn’t look at him. “He’s not the one I’m worried about.”
The words landed flat.
Winter’s attention flicked over, sharp for a second, catching the edge of it.
A beat passed.
“Micah can handle himself,” Memphis added.
“Yeah.” Black pushed off the wall, already moving, not waiting it out, not settling back into the space like the rest of them. Keys scraped off the counter as he grabbed them on the way past, the quiet breaking again—this time on purpose.
Los ángeles…
By the time Law hit the city, some seventy minutes later, the city was still wide awake. Lights stretched in every direction—neon, headlights, streetlamps bleeding together until the whole place felt too bright.
The thrum of it carried even here—distant traffic, rotor wash fading, the city never fully settling.
Viper’s chopper had cut the travel time, dropping him at an LAPD landing pad.
A cruiser was already waiting. Engine running. Lights off.
Law stepped out and headed straight for it.
The air hit warmer here, heavier than the ranch, carrying the faint mix of exhaust and city heat.
The officer behind the wheel didn’t say much—just a quick glance, a nod, and then they were moving.
The city crawled past in flashes of glare and hard shadow, traffic thick, people moving like nothing had shifted.
The vibration of the road ran steadily through the vehicle, grounding everything in motion.
He’d already worked through the parts that mattered. Sage had seen the photos, recognized the girl, and left without a word.
That wasn’t distance. Wasn’t control. That was personal, and personal changed the math fast.
He’d seen it before.
Sage didn’t ask. Didn’t share. He carried it until it broke or he did.
His jaw tightened, pressure settling in and staying there.
The dead woman and this Ashley person meant something to him. Enough that he’d walked away from the scene—and whatever he was doing now, he was doing it alone on purpose.
Law stared out at the city.
Not this time.
He stepped over the threshold and inside the small duplex.
Same layout Boston had described, same tight living room bleeding into the kitchen—but he wasn’t reading it the way Sage would’ve. Law took it in once, quickly, eyes tracking people first.
The air inside felt close, holding onto the smell of the place—stale, lived-in, something under it that didn’t belong.
Boston stood off to the side, shoulders set. Micah was quieter, watchful, something held back behind his eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Law gave them both a single nod.
“This way,” Boston said, already turning.
Law followed without hesitation, pace steady as they moved past the main room and toward the hallway.
The floor gave faintly under his weight, the house settling around them.
The smell of death carried before the sight did—faint now, but still there.
It lingered in the back of his throat, metallic, unmistakable.
Boston didn’t slow as he reached the doorway at the end. He stepped aside just enough to clear the line of sight.
Law stepped into the room.
Boston didn’t stop talking.
“You should’ve seen his face,” he said, words coming fast, almost tripping over each other. He shot a glance at Micah. “Right? He was white as a sheet when he saw the crime scene photos.”
Micah nodded in agreement.
Boston kept going. “I mean—Sage doesn’t react like that. Ever. He just—stopped. For a second. Then it was like something flipped and he went cold.”
Law didn’t look at him.
His gaze moved to a photo of two women on the wall—both young. Mid-twenties at most.
“The deceased meant something to him. But Ashley—she matters more,” Boston said, quieter now, like he couldn’t quite let it go.
Micah shifted slightly beside him, still watching Law instead of the room.
“Sage said he needed air. Then vanished.” Micah finally spoke.
Law didn’t respond.
He didn’t need to.
His gaze shifted off the photo and into the room, taking it in as a whole instead of pieces. Nothing jumped out as chaotic. It wasn’t a mess. It was controlled.
Too controlled.
Boston was still talking behind him, words running together, trying to make sense of what he’d seen. Law let it pass. The details didn’t matter as much as the result.
Sage had seen who the victim was. Recognized her. Then he’d left.
That told him everything he needed to know.
This wasn’t about the scene anymore.
It was about where Sage had gone next.
And Law was already moving to follow.
Law turned toward the door, already moving.
“Wait,” Micah said quietly, holding up his phone. “I had Syx run a trace on Sage’s phone. He did one better—found the Lyft Sage called and where it dropped him off.”
“Syx is good like that. Almost as good with tech as Sage,” Boston said, edging closer to look at the screen.
“That he is,” Law agreed, stepping in. He glanced at the address.
“Someone say my name?” A tall, good-looking man—late-twenties, stepped inside.
“When’d you get here?” Boston gaped at Syx.
“He came with me,” Rip said smoothly, stepping in behind Syx.
“You checking up on me?” Boston squinted at Rip suspiciously.
Rip snorted. “Why? You need a keeper?”
“You want the job?” Boston smirked.
“Good, you could make it,” Law gripped Rip’s offered hand, cutting off the man’s reply. If he had replied at all.
“Of course.” Rip walked through the room. “Who is she?”
“Jade,” Boston said. “The roommate.”
“Roommate?” Rip frowned.
“Ashley Voss.”
“Who’s she?” Rip flipped Law a glance.
“Don’t know,” Law murmured.
“I found her info,” Syx said as he pulled a laptop from his bag. “Ashley Voss is twenty-five. Same age as Sage. Grew up in foster care until the age of twelve when a half-brother found her and raised her until she dropped off the grid.”
“That must have been when she worked on the streets with Sage,” Boston murmured.
“Why do you say that?” Law frowned.
“It’s just a guess. I don’t know if she was a street rat like Sage and I were.” Boston tossed Micah a quick glance. “Like a lot of us were.”
“You’re not a street rat,” Rip said gruffly.
Boston held up a hand, stopping him. “Regardless of what we were, when you grow up in that environment, those are your friends. Those people become your family.”
“Sage considers her family.”
“It’s a safe bet.” Boston nodded.
“How does this Jade factor in?”
“He knew them,” Micah said.
“Why would you say that?” Law turned to Micah.
“This.” Micah held up a photo of four people. Jade. Ashley. Sage.
Law took the photo. A few years old. Before Genesis. A past he’d never shared.
“So, the location of Sage’s phone,” Micah said, interrupting his thoughts. “That’s here in Los Angeles.”
“What are we waiting for?” Syx said.
“We’re not,” Law growled and stalked toward the door.
The decision locked in—no hesitation, no second guess.
He was followed by the four assassins. They fell in at his flank like shadows of death.
He let them.
They may come in handy if Sage couldn’t handle what or whom he was after.
Because Law was fucking positive Sage went after Jade’s killer.
And Law would bet money that Sage was out for blood.