Chapter Twenty-Nine
The main living space of the penthouse stretched wide around them—open, expensive, built for views more than comfort.
The city spread out below, lights burning through the dark.
The team filled the space without crowding it—voices low, movement steady, the muted clink of glass from the counter threading through it.
The air carried the faint bite of gun oil and something warm underneath it—too many bodies in one space, heat held in the walls.
Someone had opened the patio doors and the breeze blew through. A high, walled-off glass surrounded the balcony to dissuade jumpers.
The air shifted with it—cool brushing through the heat, not enough to change it, just enough to move it.
Law let the room move around him, his focus drifting the way it always did—touching on people, positions, the small shifts that said more than the noise ever would.
He’d positioned himself close enough to Sage to see the screen without looking directly at it.
Sage was at the counter, laptop open, fingers moving in a rhythm that didn’t need thought. Quick. Precise. Familiar. The soft tap of keys cut through the low hum without disrupting it.
The rhythm of the room held.
Then it didn’t.
Something tightened under his ribs—subtle, immediate, his focus narrowing without conscious thought.
Not all at once—just enough to pull at the edge of Law’s attention.
Sage’s fingers paused over the keys.
Law went still with him, the shift registering before the reason did.
That alone would’ve been enough.
“The hell?” Sage muttered, still looking at the screen.
The display hit the screen unevenly. The feed flickered—half the window loading, the rest hanging before it could fill in.
“What’s wrong?”
“Give me a sec.”
Sage adjusted something, tried again.
“Hmmm.”
Pressing the power button, Sage rebooted his laptop.
The room kept moving around them, unaware.
A moment later…Sage went still.
Not confused.
Reading something that Law couldn’t see.
“No internet.”
Law’s focus settled fully on the screen, the rest of the room falling away without effort. He’d learned early—trust the one who saw it first.
His breathing leveled out, slower now, without thought.
“What do you think?”
Sage didn’t look over, just flipped his laptop around. “Here.” He pointed to an app on the screen.
“We just lost comms.”
It didn’t hit loud. Just…shifted things.
Law flipped a gaze to the room where the men gathered. Someone’s phone screen blinked out, casting a brief wash of light across their face before dropping to black. The low thread of conversation thinned, the room pulling in on itself.
The space felt tighter, pressure building without anything visible to explain it.
Black’s head snapped toward the door.
A chair leg scraped once—too loud in the quiet.
Overhead, the lights flickered once.
A soft electrical tick followed.
Came back steady. Too quick.
That flicker got the attention of every man in the room.
“Where’s Micah?” Black charged to his feet.
“He went to the concierge down the hall.” Boston leaped up, but before he could rush toward the door, Rip caught hold of him.
“Stay put,” Rip growled low.
Boston glared up at him.
Black checked the clip in his Ruger and slammed it home. Striding toward the door, he kept his gun in his hand.
His pace didn’t break—too direct, too exposed.
“Black,” Law said.
“I’m going for him.”
“Watch your back,” he said with a nod.
Law didn’t try to stop him. Not now.
Just then, the door opened, and Micah appeared with an arm full of snacks. His dark eyes took them in.
“What’d I do?” he said as if half joking.
Black reached out and yanked him into his arms, snacks and all. Tight, fast, just standing silent. Relief buried in the grip.
The moment stood tense.
Law’s gaze moved—fast, sharp. Taking it in. The open entry door. The hallway beyond, dimmer than it should’ve been.
His breath paused for a fraction, body aligning before the reason caught up.
He squinted, holding up a finger. Everyone froze.
The room listened with him.
He moved to the edge of the doorway, getting a view of the elevator down the line, stainless steel catching a warped reflection of movement.
His stance shifted a fraction, weight settling into readiness.
Sage was glued to his side, eyes already tracking the same space.
Close enough that neither of them had to look to know where the other was.
“This place isn’t clean,” Boston hissed low.
“Voss has reach,” Sage murmured.
Calmly. Certain.
No hesitation. No doubt.
Law didn’t question it, he didn’t need proof. Sage was the proof.
His body was already moving with the decision, no lag between thought and action.
“Positions,” Law ordered low.
Someone cut the lights.
The group moved.
Not scrambling—placing themselves. Frost with Seth on his flank, sinking into shadows, Boston blades up out of sight, Mac checking ammo and moving to flank the other side of the doorway with Noah.
The room locked down around him, every movement precise, contained, ready.
The elevator chimed, but not on their floor.
The sound carried slightly down the hall, hollow—a muffled whomp, whomp.
Too slow. Too deliberate.
Everything in him went still, held in that split second before impact.
A second later, the front glass across their common area blew inward.
“Fuck yeah—let’s move,” Frost growled, slamming a fresh magazine into his weapon as he stepped out of the dark.
Seth slipped out beside him. “Let’s keep this clean.”
Frost’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. “Too late for that.”
“Ammo?” Law asked, already looking to Mac.
Mac gave a short shake of his head. “Not enough for a long fight.”
“Screw that,” Boston said, lifting his twin blades. “Don’t need ammo for these.”
Steel flashed once in the low light.
It was true.
Every single one of them were waiting. On edge. Primed.
This was what they did.
This was what they were designed to do.
No hesitation left in the room.
Law took them in—one glance, one measure—then nodded once.
“Go.”