Chapter Twenty-Seven
The following morning…
The penthouse was already awake.
Light cut through the glass walls in long, bright lines, stretching across the floor and over bodies that had settled into motion without ever really being still.
Voices layered low over each other. Cabinet doors opened and shut. Coffee poured somewhere behind him, the smell of it mixing with grease and toast—something just shy of burned.
Law sat at the table, mug warm in his hand, chair solid beneath him. Coffee had gone a little bitter, but he didn’t set it down.
The air stayed cool, like everything else in the room.
Not chaos.
Movement.
Boston was already talking—half a sentence ahead of everyone else, hands moving with it.
Rip had taken up space on the couch, big enough that he didn’t need to move to be noticed.
Black stood off to the side, still, attention selective.
Syx shifted near the counter, a restless edge.
Memphis leaned back, watching everything and nothing.
The room ran warmer than it should have with this many bodies in it.
Micah perched on the edge of the couch.
Sage sat at the table, coffee in hand.
Two nights now.
Boston said something sharp—fast, meant to land. Rip didn’t react at first.
Then he moved.
One arm hooked out, easy as breathing, dragging Boston sideways off the couch.
Cushions shifted. A body hit the carpet. Air moved with it—brief, sharp, then gone.
“Ah!” Boston yelped and laughed before twisting to break free.
“Don’t—nope—don’t drag me into—”
Micah didn’t get to finish it.
Boston caught him on the way down, pulling him in. Rip rolled, flipped them both like it was nothing, three bodies tangling across the floor in practiced motion.
Winter laughed. “Nut jobs, man.”
“Seriously,” Memphis muttered under his breath, but clearly amused.
Syx chuckled and jumped into the pile to make matters worse.
Black didn’t move at all, other than a slight smirk.
Law took another sip of coffee.
Boston got an elbow free, tried to leverage up—Rip shut it down immediately, weight shifting just enough to pin him again. Micah twisted out halfway, breath catching on a laugh he didn’t want to give.
“Help?” Micah yelped to Black, long hair a tangled mess.
Black stepped forward and easily lifted Micah out of the fray.
The movement slowed on its own.
Boston was still grinning as Rip finally let him go, the fight bleeding out of it as fast as it had started. Syx laughed and brushed his hands down his own jeans.
The room found its balance again, easy as breathing.
But it didn’t fully settle.
Boston kept talking, but the edge shifted. Less noise, more point. Someone asked something real. Rip answered without looking up. Memphis added something that wasn’t a joke this time.
It tightened from there—no clear start, just Daniel Voss settling into the middle of it.
Rip pushed up off the floor, dragging a hand over the back of his neck as he dropped back onto the couch. “We waiting on them or starting without them?”
“Give it time,” Law said. “Mac and Noah are next door.”
Rip leaned forward, forearms on his knees now, attention shifting.
“When are they getting here?”
“Within the hour.”
Rip nodded. “Good.”
Memphis tipped his head. “We know Voss has reach. Question is—how much?”
Law glanced at Sage, who was very familiar with Voss.
“Enough to make this messy,” Sage said.
Law shot them all a look. “So, we don’t rush this.”
The men stayed busy then, cleaning weapons. Metal on cloth, quiet, steady—familiar. Boston sharpened a blade, and Micah used the whetstone when he was done.
Law turned to Sage. “Have you heard from Ashley?”
“Yeah, Rook made it through the night. It’s still touch and go. Oh, and she thanked us for having Erebus on site.”
“That’s good. I talked to Savage earlier. Erebus will stay on them until the end.”
“Thank you,” Sage said softly.
Law linked their fingers and gave a half smile.
Sage slipped his piece from his holster and started cleaning it with the kit on the table.
“Have you always carried a P365?”
“No, I kind of grew into it.” Sage eyed his Glock 19. “You?”
“Same?” Law chuckled.
The hour slipped by, and they talked quietly about weapons and preferences.
A fist knocked on the door, making Syx jump.
“The fuck?” The assassin slid both knives from his sheaths.
“It’s just Mac, Noah, and the gang,” Law said.
“The gang?” Boston asked as he edged to the side of the entrance.
They were like a bunch of wildcats.
“Relax.” Law strode to the door, placed the barrel of his gun at the peephole, and then slowly cracked the suite door open.
Rip snorted. “And he’s telling us to relax.”
“Hey, man,” Law said, tucking his weapon away.
Mac and Noah stepped inside, followed by Frost and Seth.
Law knew them all, and as far as he knew, so did most of his team—with the exception of maybe Micah, Syx, and Black.
“This is Mac, Noah—whom you met last night. That’s Frost and Seth.” Law quickly made the introductions.
Boston looked at the four new guys, then at the eight of them. “You think twelve will be enough?”
Sage tipped his head, and Law could see the wheels turning as he worked it out.
“Maybe?”
“Don’t worry. As soon as Erebus gets Ashley and Rook secured, they’ll be joining us.”
“Ah, okay.” Sage smiled. “Good.”
Later that afternoon, the energy had shifted.
The edge was still there—but it had settled into something tighter, more focused.
Savage had arrived, bringing Erebus into the fray. And the penthouse—while massive—had suddenly felt crowded. Most of the teams knew each other, so the time had been a mix of reminiscing down memory lane and finding common ground.
Pizza boxes sat open across the table, grease soaking through cardboard. Grease, heat, and stale coffee hung in the air.
Half-empty bottles, napkins, weapons pushed just out of the way but never far. Laptops were spread out between them. Voices had worn down from overlapping to deliberate, each word carrying weight now.
Law leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on the table. His gaze moved once across the room—taking them all in, making sure they were with him.
“Let’s recap.”
With their attention on him, he kept his voice low.
“Erebus takes the outskirts,” he said. “Lock it down. No movement in or out without us knowing.”
Savage gave a short nod.
“Phoenix takes the east side streets,” Law went on, flicking a glance toward Mac. “Eyes up, no engagement yet. This is to find Voss and then we’ll regroup at the location.”
Mac didn’t argue. “Got it.”
“That leaves us,” Law said, looking back to his own team. “Genesis and YA—we’ll take west.”
“How do we even know this guy is still in the area?” Noah asked, pushing his paper plate away.
“We don’t. Not one hundred percent.” Law’s gaze shifted to Sage.
Sage cleared his throat. “I know Voss. He’s not a runner. He thinks this is his territory.”
“That’s going to be his biggest regret,” Frost cut in.
“So, once we find him—are we taking him alive?” Winter asked, walking his blade through his fingers while slanting a glance at the U.S. Marshal in the room.
Mac smirked. “Dead or alive.”
“Which would you prefer?” Winter quirked an eyebrow.
“Alive, so I can get information.”
“You mean like a plea deal?” Winter squinted, anger glinting in his eyes.
“Having Voss live happily in WITSEC is not going to happen,” Sage said so quietly that it brought the murmur of voices into stillness.
“This won’t work that way,” Noah said, turning to his husband.
Mac covered Noah’s hand where it rested on the table and slid his fingers through his. “I won’t lose any sleep over whether he’s dead or alive.”
Noah turned to Sage, then sliced a look at Winter. “Satisfied.”
“Not yet,” Winter answered, squeezing his fists.
“I have a question,” Black said, tossing a glance toward the window. “What if this bleeds into daylight?”
“We don’t take it into daylight,” Law said. “We regroup here and start searching again tomorrow.”
Sage’s laptop buzzed, everything else dropped out. He lifted a hand, bringing any further comments to a halt.
“It’s the SECDEF,” Sage said.