Page 274 of Fractured Allegiance

Jax adjusts his grip on the wheel, knuckles pale, the kid’s jaw clenched so tight I can hear his teeth grind from here.

I slide into the back beside Lydia. She sits between Mara and I; knife balanced on her thigh, her gaze fixed forward like the horizon’s already bleeding. Mara’s pistol sits across her lap, her eyes flicking once to Elias in the mirror before she looks down.

The car feels too small, too full of weapons and silence, every body in it carrying its own brand of tension.

The engine coughs once, then growls to life. Gravel spits under the tires as we pull onto the road.

Headlights sweep across the block behind us, one pair, then another, then two more. Shapes of men inside shadowed cars, silhouettes I don’t need introductions for. Elias’s reinforcements. They don’t honk, don’t signal, don’t draw attention, they just fall into formation behind us, a wolf pack trailing their alpha.

No one in our car speaks. Elias stares dead ahead, a loaded gun across his lap, his free hand brushing Mara’s wrist every few seconds like he’s checking she’s still there. Jax sits rigid in the driver’s seat, his breathing too fast, the kind of rhythm men get when they’re not sure if they’ll live to see the next sunrise.

Lydia sits so close her thigh presses against mine, though she doesn’t acknowledge it. Her gaze never wavers from the road. Her hand rests loose on her knife hilt, casual but ready, like she could slit throats between turns without breaking pace.

The city stretches out ahead of us—alleys narrowing, bridges looming, streets glowing faint in patches of neon. The hum of nightlife carries on as if no one else knows the war riding through its veins tonight.

And me? I sit still, pulse steady, mind sharper than it’s ever been.

No Bureau. No leash. No safety net.

All that’s left is this car, this night, this woman beside me, and the fire waiting for us at Petrov Station.

Chapter 37 – Silas - Drazen’s Net

The night is blacker than it should be. No stars, no moon. Just the city bleeding out behind us as Jax drives us toward Petrov Station. The hum of the tires eats up the road, steady and sharp, but everything else feels stretched too thin, like the whole world is holding its breath waiting for something to break.

I sit in the back, shoulder pressed against the door, eyes tracking the convoy lights behind us. Three SUVs, each loaded with men Elias called in earlier. Extra muscle, the kind of soldiers who don’t blink when the air smells like blood. They’ve been tailing us since we left the safehouse, headlights steady in the rearview, silent reminders that Elias never walks into fire alone.

Lydia is next to me, she hasn’t said much since we loaded up, not even when Elias rattled off the plan for the tenth time. But I feel her tension, sharp and taut, running down the space between us. She’s not the kind of woman who shows nerves on her face, but her silence says enough.

Elias breaks the quiet first. “When we reach Petrov, the station perimeter is ours. My men sweep first, hold the fences. We don’t step inside until I say.”

“Good,” I mutter, mostly to myself. My eyes don’t leave the rearview. The convoy is still there, steady as teeth in a grin. But it’s not comfort. It’s calculation. Numbers mean nothing if Drazen stacked his net tighter than ours.

Elias glances back at me once, eyes sharp, then returns to scanning the road. “The vault is our main target tonight. Leverage is currency. If we take it, he has nothing left to bargain with.”

“And if it’s a trap?” I ask.

He doesn’t blink. “Then we bleed our way out.”

Lydia shifts slightly, her gaze sliding toward him. Her voice is sharp, but not mocking. “Bleed out doesn’t look good on anyone’s resume.”

Elias almost smiles. Almost. “Then don’t miss when you shoot.”

Jax exhales hard, knuckles flexing on the steering wheel. “How many men do you think he has there?”

“Enough to make you piss yourself,” I answer before Elias can. Jax shoots me a look through the rearview, half-offended, half-shaken. I don’t let him off. “That’s why you’re driving. You’re not ready for what’s inside.”

He mutters under his breath, something about assholes, but grips the wheel tighter.

Mara finally speaks, her voice soft but steady. “Why am I here?”

The car goes still. Elias turns his head toward her, eyes burning with something rawer than command. “Because I don’t leave you behind.”

“Elias—”

“No.” His tone slices the word clean. “They went for you once. They’ll go for you again. I keep you where I can see you. Where I can shield you.”

She swallows, nods once, and looks back down at the gun in her lap. It’s not agreement. It’s resignation.