Page 23 of Blackwood

Nate.

He never told me which part of the alphabet soup he works for and I don’t care. Pretty sure it’s the FBI. One of their stupid embedded codes flagged me, and boom, Nate popped up like a ghost with a badge. Doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that he’s on my side. Helping me take scum off the earth one Black Book at a time.

“You’re early.”

“Plans changed. Punches were thrown. Carlos caught a knife to the gut.” I shrug. “Unfortunately, a little drywall was harmed in the making of our escape.”

Nate exhales sharp, dragging a hand down his face. “Jesus, Zeke.”

His eyes shift to Bella. “This her?”

“I have a name,” Bella says, arms crossed like she’s already over it.

Nate almost smiles. Almost. “Noted.”

His voice drops. “Carlos?”

I shake my head. “Alive. Barely. Vince too. They’ll wake up with concussions, broken ribs… maybe a collapsed trachea, and a definite need for stitches. Give or take.”

Nate raises a brow. “So merciful. You do realize he’s a fucking D.A., Zeke?”

“I was rushed.”

And then there’s Tex. Posted up by the wing, arms crossed, boots planted like the pavement owes him money. Late thirties, early forties maybe. Buzz cut dusted with silver. Built like the kind of man who doesn’t flinch when someone pulls a gun because he’s already aiming two back.

His stare’s locked on Bella. Hasn’t said a word, hasn’t moved a muscle. Just stands there radiating ex-hitman energy like it’s a goddamn cologne.

Bella notices, of course she does. “You gonna keep eye-fucking me,” she snaps, “or introduce yourself?”

“Mouth,” I growl, shooting her a look.

She rolls her eyes like I’m the one out of pocket. Teenagers. I swear to God.

“Just making sure you’re not a threat,” Tex says.

Bella steps forward, chin high. “Spoiler alert, I am.”

I wedge myself between them before Bella decides to throw hands with the human version of a damn head shot.

“Tex doesn’t talk much, Bells. Don’t take it personal.”

“I’m not,” she mutters. “I just don’t like being looked at like I’m next on the menu.”

From behind us, Nate chimes in. “He doesn’t eat people. He just eliminates them. Quietly.”

Bella raises a brow. “Wow. You surrounded yourself with really stable people.”

I nod. “Welcome to the team.”

“Yay,” she says, dripping with sarcasm. “I feel so safe.”

Nate claps his hands once. “Alright, snark squad load up. Wheels up before someone starts sniffing around. Eric, you ready?”

A voice fires back from the bottom of the stairs. “Was born ready. You’re the ones dragging ass.”

I glance over. Eric’s leaning on the rail like it’s a magazine cover shoot, full Top Gun mode. Black jeans. Scuffed boots. Faded Zeppelin tee under a leather jacket that’s seen more years than Bella. He’s got a black tattoo curling up the side of his neck, something winged and sharp, like it’d bite you back if you touched it. Aviators, of course. Because subtlety is officially dead.

Bella slows her step. “That’s our pilot?” she says not even trying to hide the judgment.