Chapter Twenty-Two
Los ángeles…
“You wanted me here, motherfucker.” Sage’s voice stayed low as he approached the building. “Well, here I am.”
The sidewalk buckled underfoot, cracked concrete lifting in uneven slabs.
He didn’t slow.
Rook’s old place had been empty. Two hours to track Voss’s current address—longer than it should’ve taken, but not long enough to matter.
No one stayed hidden from him for long.
The place came up fast—two stories, paint worn down to something that might’ve been mauve once, now just dull and forgotten. One light burned over the hallway entry, flickering just enough to catch if you were looking for it. A car idled across the street, bass thumping low, more felt than heard.
The air carried that closed-in city smell—stale, layered with old heat and something sour underneath. Oil and trash clung to it, baked into the air and not going anywhere.
He took the stairs because the elevator didn’t work on a good day. Voices drifted up from below—sharp, quick, cutting off just as fast.
The metal railing vibrated faintly under his hand as he moved. A door slammed somewhere down the hall, echoing through the thin walls.
The apartment door stood open.
Not wide. Not broken. Just cracked.
Sage didn’t hesitate.
He crossed the threshold, already reading—air, sound, the way the space held itself.
The smell hit stronger inside—stale air, sweat, and something metallic threading through it. It pressed closer here, heavier, with nowhere to go.
He slipped his knife from the sheath at his back, palming the blade as he moved.
The weight settled into his hand, familiar, grounding.
It was too quiet.
But not empty. The city noise didn’t reach this far in—cut off, swallowed by the walls.
His gaze cut down the short hallway, picking up the details toward where the makeshift office was located.
Voices.
Low. Even.
Not arguing.
Not panicked.
Talking.
The sound carried strangely in the space, too contained, like the walls were holding it in. The words didn’t travel—just sat in the room.
Sage’s pace didn’t change, but something in him tightened, sharpening further as he moved toward it.
His shoulders locked a fraction tighter, breath steady but shallow.
The doorway to the office stood half open.
Sage didn’t break stride.
He cleared the frame in one smooth pass—knife up, body angled—
—and stopped.
Ashley.
Alive.
Bound to the chair in the center of the room, wrists tied behind her back, hair pulled loose around her face like someone had dragged a hand through it one too many times.
Her eyes snapped to his the second he stepped in—sharp, aware, not broken.
It burned through his chest and vanished before he could grab hold of it.
Relief hit fast and hard—gone just as quickly as it came.
Rook stood off to the side.
Gun low. Blood already soaking through his sleeve, dark and spreading, his posture tight but strained like he was holding himself together by force. His gaze flicked to Sage, then away just as fast. His stance favored one side, subtle but there if you knew where to look.
The smell of blood was stronger here, thick enough to register with every breath. It overrode everything else, sharp and heavy in the air. Something had obviously gone down.
And then—
Voss.
Leaning back near the desk like he owned the space. Like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. Calm. Not a single wasted movement in him. Nothing about him shifted, even with the tension coiling tight around the space.
Something about the stillness around him felt odd—too deliberate, too composed for the chaos in the room.
Sage didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
Everything he needed was already in the room.
Ashley’s voice cut through the room before Sage could say a word.
“Why did you kill her? She did nothing to you.”
The words weren’t panicked. But there was heartbreak in them. And something sharp and cutting.
Sage’s attention snapped to her fully.
She wasn’t looking at him.
Her gaze locked on Voss with a kind of focus that didn’t waver, even with her hands bound behind the chair and her shoulders pulled tight from it. Her hair had come loose, strands sticking to her cheek where sweat had dried, but her eyes were clear. Steady. Rage filled.
Accusatory.
The words settled into him a second later, clicking into place with what he’d seen back at the house—Jade on the floor, the cut to her throat, the way it had been done…deliberate. Meant to send a message.
His grip tightened on the knife before easing again.
Sage didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.
Every dead man deserved some last words.
His hand eased on the knife, feeling its weight, its balance, knowing just how much force would be needed to flick it across the room. The distance measured itself in his head without effort.
Voss didn’t move.
Didn’t shift his stance or glance at the gun in his hand like it mattered.
His attention stayed on Ashley, steady and unhurried, like this was a conversation he’d already had and was just repeating for her benefit.
“She’s dead because of you.”
The words landed flat.
No anger. No edge.
Just fact.
The quiet after them felt heavier than the words themselves. It settled over the room, thick enough to feel.
The fucker used human lives as leverage.
A beat passed before Voss continued, voice just as calm.
“You stopped doing what you were told.”
His gaze flicked briefly toward Sage.
“I needed to correct you.”
He didn’t say anything else.
Didn’t need to.
Rook shifted before anyone else could speak, the movement tight, locked, like it cost him something to do it. His hand flexed once at his side, jaw working like he was biting back more than he was willing to say. The movement was small, but strained.
His breath hit unevenly once before he forced it steady again.
“You told me to kill Ashley to control—”
He cut himself off, jaw clenching. His gaze flicked toward Sage for half a second, then away again, shoulders tightening as if bracing for what was coming next.
Voss didn’t look surprised.
If anything, the interruption seemed expected.
His attention moved to Rook with slow precision, the shift deliberate enough to pull the weight of the room with it.
“You killed Jade because Rook wouldn’t kill me?” Ashley’s voice shook. “And I thought we were monsters.”
Voss ignored her, his murderous gaze on Rook. “You left the landlord alive. Your mistake was thinking I wouldn’t find out.”
Just a statement. Calm.
“You run things from here,” Rook said flatly. “I knew you’d find out.”
Voss’s eyes turned ugly.
Sage stepped forward a fraction, voice low. “So, you used Ashley to control me. I told you to leave her alone.”
“You did,” Voss said, giving a slight tip of his head. “But you stopped answering my calls.”
“So, this was your solution?”
“You two tend to think you’re better than what you are. You’re nothing but killers I designed.”
Sage felt the shift in the room register before he could stop it. It snapped tight, the moment tipping all at once.
Rook raised his gun.
Voss lifted his.
Sage flung the knife as both guns went off. Voss was already moving, so the blade only grazed his arm. Rook’s shot went wide as he dove for Ashley, tipping the chair and taking them both to the ground.
The gunshots cracked through the room, sharp and deafening in the confined space. The sound slammed off the walls and died fast, swallowed by the building.
Voss’s bullet—Sage caught the angle—hit Rook, the grunt he gave confirming it.
“No!” Ashley’s cry tore through the room.
Sage sprang after Voss, who was already diving toward the open window and the fire escape—but Ashley’s cry had him stumbling to a stop.
He snatched up his knife, pivoted, and rushed to Rook’s side. The shot had gone through his shoulder. Sage tore the bottom of Rook’s shirt and shoved it hard against the wound.
Blood soaked through fast, warm and slick against his hands. It spread quickly, darkening the fabric under his grip.
Then he turned and cut Ashley loose from the chair.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice rough.
She shook her head, but her focus never left Rook. She dropped beside him, lifting his head into her lap. Fingers carding through his hair. Her hands moved without hesitation, steady despite everything.
Sage pulled his phone and called 911, dispatching an ambulance.
“Stay with him. I’ll be right back.”
“No.” Ashley grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave us…like—”
Like last time.
Sage knew it. He glanced at Rook, who suddenly looked away.
The weight of it settled hard in his chest—old choices catching up fast. It hit deeper than the moment, dragging everything else with it.
Fuck.
Ashley was his only remaining family. The others were dead. And he’d left when Daniel Voss started making demands—forcing him to take jobs he wouldn’t touch.
They hadn’t wanted to come with him, but he still felt he should have tried harder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Sage said quietly. “So… you and Rook?”
“Yeah,” she sniffled. “If you came around more, you’d know.”
“I’m sorry.” He placed a hand on Ashley’s arm, then leaned in to help Rook keep pressure on the wound.
Sirens wailed in the distance. The sound cut through the block, growing louder with every passing second.
The sound cut through everything, growing louder, pulling the moment forward whether they were ready or not.