15. Razor #2
Shadow talks through timing and equipment. We’ll need to copy the laptop files, not just steal the whole thing, because Tyler will notice immediately if the laptop’s gone. Flash drive, fifteen minutes tops, in and out before anyone knows she was there.
Hawk maps out surveillance positions. He’ll be in a car down the block watching the front entrance. Shadow will cover the back near the fire escape. I’ll be mobile, ready to move if something goes wrong.
And Jade will be inside, alone, in Tyler’s apartment.
The thought makes something tighten in my chest, but I ignore it. Emotions don’t help with planning. Logic does.
I drill her on contingencies because contingencies are what keep people alive when plans fall apart.
“Tyler comes home early. What do you do?”
She doesn’t hesitate. “Play it off. Act like I came to talk, to explain where I’ve been. Tell him I want to work things out.”
“He doesn’t believe you?”
“I run. Fire escape, down the back stairs, you’re waiting at the bottom.”
“He grabs you before you can run?”
“I fight. Break his grip like you’re going to teach me. Scream so you know something’s wrong. Keep fighting until you get there.”
“Good. What if the laptop’s not where you think it is?”
“I search for five minutes maximum, then I leave. Empty-handed is better than caught or dead.”
“What if someone else is in the building? Neighbor, maintenance, someone who recognizes you?”
“I act like I still live there. Say I forgot something and came back to get it. Keep moving, don’t engage, get out fast.”
She’s quick. Doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess, just processes the scenario and adapts. Most people freeze when you throw hypotheticals at them, but Jade treats each one like a puzzle to solve instead of a threat to fear.
“She’s solid,” I tell Hawk, and I mean it.
He nods, but there’s something in his expression that says he already knew that. “We run it tomorrow night. Thursday, ten PM. In and out in fifteen minutes.”
“And then?” Jade asks.
“Then we copy the files, package them up, and send them anonymously to the Ruthless Saints’ president,” Shadow says. “Let them see exactly how much Tyler’s been stealing from them. Let them handle him internally.”
“He’ll know I took them,” Jade says quietly. “He’ll know it was me.”
“Probably,” I agree, because there’s no point lying to her. “But by the time he figures it out and comes looking, you’ll be gone. New identity, new life, far enough away that he’ll never find you.”
She’s quiet for a moment, processing. Then she nods. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
We spend another thirty minutes going over details. Shadow makes a list of equipment we’ll need. Hawk confirms communication protocols, how we’ll stay in contact during the operation. I walk Jade through the basic self-defense moves she might need if things go wrong.
By three PM, we’ve got a solid plan.
The kind of plan that could actually work if everyone does their part and luck doesn’t completely fuck us.
“Get some rest,” Hawk tells Jade, and his voice is softer when he talks to her than when he talks to us. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and you need to be sharp.”
She nods and heads upstairs without another word.
The three of us sit in silence for a while after she’s gone, each processing in our own way.
“Think it’ll work?” Shadow asks finally.
“Has to,” Hawk says, voice flat. “We’re out of other options.”
I light a cigarette and blow smoke toward the ceiling. “She’s tougher than I expected. Tougher than half our prospects.”
“Yeah,” Hawk agrees, and there’s something almost proud in his voice.
“Our prospects are soft, though,” Shadow points out with a grin. “So that’s not saying much.”
“Fair point.”
Hawk stands, scraping his chair back. “I’m doing a perimeter check. Need to clear my head.”
He’s out the door before either of us can comment, and Shadow and I watch him go.
“Something definitely happened,” Shadow says once Hawk’s out of earshot.
“Noticed that.”
“You think they?—”
“Don’t know. Don’t want to know.” I crush out my cigarette in the ashtray. “Not our business unless they make it our business.”
But it is our business, because everything about this situation is tangled together now. Jade, the club, Tyler, Hawk’s guilt about his son, all of it wrapped up in complications we can’t untangle without someone getting hurt.
I head upstairs to grab a clean shirt. Mine’s got gun oil on it from cleaning weapons all morning, and if we’re planning an operation for tomorrow, I should probably not smell like I’ve been rolling in gun parts.
The hallway upstairs is narrow and dim, lit only by the small window at the end. Three bedrooms, one bathroom, all of us living on top of each other in close quarters that are starting to feel smaller every day.
The bathroom door’s cracked open as I pass, and steam drifts out into the hallway carrying the smell of soap and shampoo.
I should keep walking.
I don’t.
I slow down as I pass the door, and I glance through the crack.
Jade’s standing in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower. Completely naked.
I pause.
Water’s still beaded on her skin, running in rivulets down her back and pooling in the small of her spine.
Her dark hair’s wet and pushed over one shoulder, exposing the curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulder.
The bathroom light catches the water droplets and makes them shine like diamonds scattered across her skin.
She’s small but not fragile. There’s strength in the line of her shoulders, in the curve of her calves.
Soft where women should be soft, curved where it matters.
Full breasts that would fit perfectly in a man’s hands, dusky nipples tight from the cold air.
Narrow waist that flares into hips designed for gripping.
Legs that go on longer than they should for someone her height.
There’s a bruise on her ribs from the crash, fading to yellow-green. Another on her thigh, probably from climbing on and off Hawk’s bike. Small imperfections that somehow make her more real, more human, more touchable.
But it’s not the bruises I’m focused on.