Chapter Eleven #2
“Because Diaz wants his head.” Spade tapped a corner where the map highlighted a path. “Roth believes hiding will save him. Men retreat to comfort when scared. This house represents safety to him.”
“Feels strange.” My voice thinned. “Planning around him as though he’s a weather pattern.”
When he opened Jason’s notes on another screen, I saw my brother’s shorthand crawl across digital pages. The messy scrawl made Jason seem present and not stuck in prison. The sight pinched my chest.
“While our rat looks for a hole,” Spade continued, brisk as ever, “we keep working. There’s something here I want your eyes on.”
Spade muttered under his breath while cross-referencing everything with maps and databases, clearly thriving on the complexity of our puzzle. Every few minutes his eyes darted to a cluster of tiny notifications in the corner of the screen.
No alerts appeared.
My shoulders remained locked with tension whenever he checked and found nothing, my body refusing to accept even a momentary peace.
By lunchtime, my eyes throbbed and my throat felt rubbed raw. Spade shoved a sandwich into my hand without looking away from the screens.
“Eat,” he ordered. “You stop making sense when your blood sugar drops.”
I obeyed because I didn’t have the energy to argue and because he wasn’t wrong.
When Kane came to steal me later, Spade let me go with only a brief scowl.
“Keep her breathing,” he called after Kane. “I need that cyborg brain later.”
Kane’s expression darkened. “She’s not a machine.”
“She’s more reliable than my laptops,” Spade tossed back. “Upgrade.”
The range helped in the way it always did -- noise and focus and simple rules. Load. Rack. Stance. Sight picture. Breathe out. Squeeze.
Kane stood beside me, steady and quiet. He corrected my grip with a touch so gentle I never felt controlled. When I fired, each bullet ripped through the paper silhouette’s chest.
“Better,” Kane noted as we walked back, his gaze flicking to the target. “You’re not flinching at the sound anymore.”
“I still flinch at Diaz’s name.”
“That’s normal.” Kane’s hand brushed my lower back as we stepped off the range. “If you ever stop, I’ll worry.”
The afternoon slipped away in chunks. I ran a safe room drill with Casey and the kids, my heart racing when Maui’s little ones refused to hide under the desk.
Adrenaline felt different when someone else needed protection.
Solena handed me boxes while we restocked medical supplies, her fingers brushing mine whenever I reached for the gauze.
Marci put me to work chopping vegetables, tears streaming down my face until she laughed and said, “Therapy costs a fortune, but onions? Dirt cheap.”
Evening painted the sky orange and pink beyond the tree line. The sunset seemed peaceful, a beautiful lie making me forget violence waited beyond our fence.
Spade materialized in the doorway as though summoned by darkness falling.
“Showtime,” he announced.
Men poured into the common room, abandoning pool games and conversations, moving with practiced coordination born from years riding together.
Women clustered near the bar where Ace wiped glasses with unnecessary focus.
The kids disappeared into the small TV room, lured away by promises of cartoons and popcorn.
Nobody mentioned danger aloud, but tension was heavy in every breath.
Atilla leaned against the pool table, his hand resting on Solena’s shoulder. General positioned himself in the corner, angled toward the wall -- always keeping his back covered. Spade placed his tablet on the green felt, blue light from the screen illuminating grim faces.
Roth’s car filled the display. The camera angle came from a security feed near an out-of-the-way intersection, higher than a person’s view. The car turned off a main road and headed down a narrower one bordered by trees.
“Gas station at the county edge,” Spade narrated. “Fueled up. Bought smokes. Checked his phone three times. Then he took the turn toward the hideaway.”
He tapped, and the image shifted to an overhead view of the access lane. The car crawled forward, swallowed by the trees.
“He turned down the lane ten minutes ago.” Spade’s tone sharpened. “No other cars followed. No new heat signatures on the property besides his. Either he’s cocky or he thinks Diaz isn’t watching this spot.”
“Both,” General muttered.
My pulse kicked up.
Atilla’s gaze swept the room, checking faces, reading readiness. “All right,” he announced. “You know what this means. We’ve got a window. Might be small. Might close fast. We’re taking it.”
He pointed as he spoke, assigning roles like commands carved into stone. “General. Falcon. Knuckles. Rook. Primary. Raven and Cruz, backup. Two vehicles. No colors. Black clothes. Armor if you’ve got it. Spade feeds coordinates and eyes.”
His attention shifted to me, and the weight of it tightened my throat. “Jade. You stay here.”
I expected it. It still stung. My hands clenched before I could stop them.
“I want a job,” I forced out. “Something besides sitting and waiting.”
Atilla crossed his arms. “You already have one. Casey needs you. The kids need you. We practiced safe room drills for a reason. Tonight might turn real. I need you down in the basement if a call goes out.”
I gripped the edge of the table. “You believe Diaz will hit us while you’re gone.”
“I believe Diaz might test our defenses when he assumes we’re distracted.” Atilla spoke with flat practicality. “He remains unaware of our numbers. He can’t know who stays where. I won’t risk you or the kids on a gamble he’ll stay put.”
“I can fight,” I snapped. “You’ve seen me practice.”
Atilla’s gaze locked with mine, unwavering. “When they come at this fence while we’re gone, you will. Being a fighter means more than standing in the woods aiming a gun at the man who hurt you.”
I hated that he made sense. “Okay,” I managed, quieter. “Then I’ll make sure everyone you love stays breathing until you get back.”
Approval flickered in his eyes, fast as a match strike. “Good answer.”
Kane moved to my side, his fingers brushing mine in a small, grounding touch. His voice dropped low enough for only me to hear. “I’ll be careful.”
“You better.” My threat came out shaky. “I already told you I’m haunting you if you die.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “I’m coming back. We still have our date at the library.”
“You’re really going to hold me to this?”
“Absolutely.”
The men peeled off to gear up. They checked weapons, clipped radios, strapped on vests. Rook fussed over a duffel straight from a nightmare. Knuckles moved with loose, confident energy, making violence seem routine.
Kane slipped on a lightweight vest, then tugged a black hoodie over and pulled the hood up, checking how much remained hidden. Seeing him without his cut felt wrong -- as though the patch belonged to his skin and removing the leather left him vulnerable.
“Weird seeing you dressed this way,” I admitted.
“Feels weird too.” Kane adjusted his holster. “But I won’t advertise our name at Roth’s hideout.”
My hand smoothed over his chest when I stepped closer, feeling hard armor beneath fabric. The touch served as memorization rather than seduction, preserving him against my mind’s tendency to transform people into ghosts.
“You sure about this?” I asked.
“Yeah.” His hand covered mine. “You?”
“No.” I met his eyes anyway. “But I trust you.”
He dipped his head and kissed me once, quick and fierce, like he was sealing a promise into my skin. “Lockdown,” he warned. “You don’t go outside. Phone on you. Gun closer.”
“Yes, sir.” I tried to sound teasing, but it came out thin.
His eyes hardened. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” I forced my voice to grow steady. “I’m not handing you a reason to worry when you already have Roth on your plate.”
He searched my face for a second, then nodded when he found whatever answer he sought.
Atilla called everyone to move out. Engines rumbled to life outside -- a sound normally powerful and familiar around the compound, but tonight the noise carried teeth.
The gate rolled open, closed behind them with a clang.
I watched Kane’s taillights shrink to red pinpricks, then vanish down the road.
Silence fell heavy across the compound, making everything seem huge and hollow, as though someone had yanked away a crucial support beam beneath us all.
“Okay,” Casey announced briskly, clapping her hands once. “You heard the man. We’re not sitting here staring at the walls.”
Kids peeked out from the TV room, eyes wide. They didn’t know details, but they read the room the way animals did. Fear changed how adults moved, even when adults tried to fake normal.
Marci locked the front door, then checked the bar on the back entrance. Two Prospects took positions near windows, guns within reach but not in hand yet. Solena disappeared toward the med room to recheck kits, because she coped by preparing.
My phone buzzed.
A text from Spade: convoy clear. On route. 25 minutes out.
My heart kicked. I shoved the phone into my pocket like staring at it too long would invite disaster.
“Jade?” Casey’s voice softened. “You with me?”
I forced my eyes up. “I’m here.”
“Good.” She moved closer, lowering her voice. “Back half of the kids if we have to move. Same as drills. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
Waiting always felt like the cruelest part of fear. Action had rules. Waiting had imagination.
Minutes dragged. Every clink of a mug sounded too loud. Every creak of the floorboards made my muscles tighten. The kids stayed closer than normal, less running, more hovering near knees.
I knelt beside Casey’s kids and Solena’s girl, opening a box of crayons between us. The dragon on their page needed color.
“Purple,” Maui’s son insisted, pushing a crayon into my palm.
“No, green,” argued Solena’s daughter, shoving another into my other hand.