Chapter 84 Havoc
Havoc
Ihear them before I see them.
Engines.
Multiple.
Low. Controlled. Expensive.
Not local.
Not random.
My head turns toward the front windows.
The team feels it too.
Conversation dies instantly.
Every man in the room goes still.
Listening.
Watching.
Waiting.
Headlights cut across the Tavern windows.
Bright. Blinding.
Too deliberate.
Too confident.
I step forward slowly.
Already knowing—
This isn’t backup.
This is something else.
Aspen looks at me from across the room, her grandfather resting in the chair behind her.
“Who is it?” she asks quietly.
I don’t answer right away.
Because I already know what I’m going to say.
And I don’t like it.
“Not friends,” I mutter.
The vehicles roll to a stop outside.
Doors open.
Not rushed.
Not chaotic.
Disciplined.
That tells me everything.
Briggs moves to my side.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” he murmurs.
“Yeah.”
He exhales.
“Great.”
Boots hit the gravel.
Measured.
Controlled.
Like they own the ground they’re walking on.
I don’t like that either.
“Positions,” I say quietly.
The team shifts subtly.
Not aggressive.
But not relaxed.
No one here is handing anything over without a fight.
The front door handle twist, but it’s locked.
No knock.
Just—
Ace opens it.
And they walk in.
Five of them.
Clean.
Calm.
Unbothered.
Dressed like they belong anywhere they step.
But it’s the man in front that matters.
Late forties.
Sharp eyes.
No wasted movement.
The kind of man who doesn’t raise his voice—
Because he never needs to.
He takes one look around the Tavern.
Takes in the bodies.
The weapons.
The tension.
Then his gaze lands on me. I’m standing in front of the others.
And stays there.
“Which one of you is in charge?” he asks.
I step forward.
“We are all equal.”
His eyes flicker.
Assessing.
Measuring.
Then he nods slightly.
“Good,” he says. “That makes this easier.”
I don’t move.
Don’t relax.
“Depends what you’re here for,” I reply.
A faint smile touches his mouth.
Not friendly.
Not even close.
“We’ll be taking over from here.”
There it is.
The line.
The one that changes everything.
Silence fills the room.
Thick. Heavy.
No one moves.
No one agrees.
I tilt my head slightly.
“Will you?” I say.
His smile doesn’t change.
But something in his eyes hardens.
“This is now a federal matter.”
Behind me, I feel Aspen go still.
I don’t look at her.
Can’t.
Not right now.
Because this?
This just got complicated.
“You’re late,” I say instead.
The room tightens.
Briggs shifts slightly beside me.
The agent’s gaze sharpens.
“We got here as fast as we could.”
“Yeah?” I reply. “Because it looks like we handled it just fine without you.”
A flicker of irritation.
There it is.
Good.
Now we’re talking.
His eyes sweep the room again.
“Not all of it,” he says.
My jaw tightens.
“Meaning?”
He steps closer.
Not threatening.
Not aggressive.
But controlled in a way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You have no idea what you’re involved in,” he says quietly.
There it is.
The warning.
The line meant to put me in my place.
Doesn’t work.
“Try me,” I say.
His gaze holds mine.
Long.
Measured.
Then—
“Your friend,” he says. “Tank.”
The name hits like a shot to the chest.
Behind me, someone shifts.
Aspen inhales sharply.
And I go very, very still.
“What about him?” I ask.
The agent watches me carefully.
Like he’s deciding how much to say.
Then—
“He was in deeper than you think.”
Rage rises.
Cold.
Controlled.
Deadly.
“Careful,” I say quietly.
Because I don’t like where this is going.
Because I don’t like the implication.
Because I don’t like him saying Tank’s name like that.
The agent doesn’t back off.
“Those men you took down tonight?” he continues. “They’re part of something bigger.”
“No kidding,” I reply flatly.
Another flicker of that almost-smile.
“But what you don’t understand,” he says, “is that you’ve already crossed into territory you can’t manage.”
There it is again.
That subtle push.
That quiet command to stand down.
I don’t move.
Don’t blink.
Don’t give him anything.
“And you think you can?” I ask.
His answer is immediate.
“Yes.”
I let that sit for a second.
Then—
“No.”
The word lands hard.
Clear.
Final.
The room goes still again.
The other agents shift slightly.
Not aggressive.
But ready.
Good.
Let them be.
The man in front of me studies me.
Longer this time.
“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he says.
“And you’re asking me to trust people I don’t know,” I reply.
His head tilts slightly.
“You don’t have to trust us.”
“Good,” I say. “Because I don’t.”
That lands.
Behind me, I feel it—
The team locking in.
Backing me.
Not one of them stepping down.
Not one of them lowering their guard.
The agent exhales slowly.
Then—
“You had contact with three targets tonight,” he says. “One of them was supposed to be taken alive.”
My stomach drops.
Just slightly.
Because I already know where this is going.
“And?” I ask.
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“One of them was ours.”
Boom.
There it is.
The room shifts instantly.
Tension spikes.
Briggs mutters under his breath.
Aspen steps forward before she can stop herself.
“Ours?” she echoes. “What does that mean?”
The agent’s gaze flicks to her.
Takes her in.
Assesses.
Then back to me.
“It means,” he says calmly, “you just interfered with an active operation.”
Rage hits harder this time.
Because that confirms it.
What we already suspected.
Tank.
The hunt.
The lies.
“You mean like Tank did?” I ask, my voice low.
The agent doesn’t answer.
And that?
That’s all the answer I need.
Aspen’s voice breaks slightly behind me.
“You knew?” she asks. “You knew about them?”
The agent’s expression doesn’t change.
“We’re here now,” he says.
Not an answer.
A deflection.
Not good enough.
Not even close.
I step forward.
Just enough to make it clear—
This isn’t over.
“You don’t get to walk in here,” I say quietly, “after everything that’s happened… and tell us you’ve got it handled. Tank’s been dead for seven years.”
His eyes narrow slightly.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
I shake my head once.
“No,” I say. “That’s what you think you’re doing.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Sharp.
Then—
His voice lowers.
“You’re out of your depth.”
And I smile.
Just a little.
Cold.
“Try me.”
Behind me, I feel Aspen’s presence.
Close.
Steady.
Trusting me.
Choosing me.
And that?
That settles it.
Because I’m not handing her over.
I’m not handing Dylan over.
I’m not handing grandpa over.
And I sure as hell am not handing this over to people who might be part of the reason Tank is dead.
I hold the agent’s gaze.
Unblinking.
Unmoving.
“We’re not done here,” I say.
And neither is this.
Not even close.
Because now?
Now I don’t just have enemies in the dark.
I’ve got them standing right in front of me.
And I don’t trust a single one of them.