Page 38

TWENTY-SEVEN

Jamie

Rio was where I expected him to be, pacing at our meet point, a short distance from where Lassiter would be in less than thirty minutes.

He was bruised and had a bandage over one of his eyes.

A shadow detached itself from the edge of the warehouse wall, and I didn’t even need to look to know it was Enzo—his presence was a low thrum in the air, vibrating with tension.

He stayed back just far enough that he could watch without being seen, eyes fixed on Rio with a sharpness that promised violence. His silence wasn’t calm—it was lethal.

“You went to a fucking fight?” I said in disbelief.

Rio’s jaw was set, bruised and shadowed, his chest still rising fast from whatever adrenaline hadn’t burned off yet .

“Of course he did,” Enzo snapped, stalking toward me, muttering under his breath. His fists were clenched as if he wanted to plant one right in Rio’s face.

“You know how important this is,” Enzo snapped. “You could’ve lost and ended up unconscious in a gutter somewhere, and then what?”

Rio shrugged as though it didn’t matter. “I don’t lose.”

“You couldn’t leave it for one night? One fucking night?”

“Two, actually,” Rio shot back. “You seriously wanted me on ice for forty-eight hours while Lassiter breathed free air?”

“Don’t you fucking care what he did to Robbie?” Enzo was working his way past pissed and onto full-on temper.

“What the hell?” Rio snapped. “Of course, I fucking care.” He lifted his knife. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“That doesn’t mean shit when you went out and put yourself?—”

“Stop, both of you.” I planted a hand on each man’s chest, smaller than both of them; they could crush me like a bug, but despite Enzo’s growls and Rio’s defensiveness, they stopped and listened.

“ Seriously, now is not the time. You both know why we’re here.

We have a ten-minute clearance to get inside.

” I tapped my ear where Caleb was detailing exactly where Lassiter was. “Let’s go.”

They stared at each other a beat longer, energy crackling in the air between them before Enzo turned away with a snarl and Rio muttered something I didn’t catch. Then, Rio slumped and turned back to Enzo.

“Shit Enzo, you know I care; you know this is what I want to do. I’m sorry man, okay?”

Enzo grunted, but they at least did this bro hug thing they had between them.

The warehouse loomed behind us—a long stretch of corrugated metal and rust-stained glass, isolated enough that no one would question the noise, the power usage, or the people coming and going at odd hours.

Inside, the air was cool and dry, thick with the scent of oil and dust and old concrete.

Rows of shelving units lined the far walls, stacked with unused machinery and crates covered in tarps.

Overhead, the fluorescents buzzed, casting everything in stark white light.

I’d prepped the space as soon as we knew the information had gone out. Lassiter would be spooked. Killian had said he’d reach out. He’d been right .

In the center of the open floor, I’d cleared a wide circle and bolted a steel chair to the concrete. It wasn’t just for effect—it was necessary. The restraints hung loose for now, the cuffs on either side catching the light, and a board in front of it to hide it until Lassiter was inside.

We didn’t know how this would go. But I wasn’t taking any chances.

This was the endgame. And I could feel it—low and heavy in my chest, pressure building before the break.

This was it. One way or another, Lassiter wouldn’t walk away from this untouched.

There would be fire. There would be reckoning.

And when it was done, one more piece of Robbie’s past would be avenged.

Caleb’s signal pinged in my earpiece again. “Lassiter’s approaching. Two blocks out. You’ve got maybe three minutes.” As I’d agreed, I pocketed the device, and the Cave team was effectively cut off from what we were doing here.

I turned back to Enzo and Rio. “Let’s get into position.”

Enzo melted back into the shadows by the far shelving unit, crouched low, his hand already on his weapon. Rio headed up onto the catwalk, his bruised face half-shadowed, knife sheathed but close. I ducked behind the control panel near the back wall, the chair still covered, the room silent.

We waited.

The metal door creaked open, and there he was.

Lassiter hurried inside, looking every inch the cornered man.

His suit was wrinkled, his tie hanging loose, hair damp and plastered to his forehead.

Sweat glistened at his temples despite the cold.

From my vantage point, tucked into the shadows, I could see the panic under his skin—eyes darting, sharp and jittery.

He wasn’t here to posture. He was here because he was scared.

Good.

“McKendrick?” he called, his voice thin and anxious, echoing off the warehouse walls.

A ghostly Enzo emerged from the shadows, silent and controlled. He was behind Lassiter before the man even had time to turn. In one swift, brutal motion, he grabbed him—one arm locking around his chest, the other pinning his arms with precision.

Lassiter wriggled, cursed, and tried to break free, but it was useless. Enzo didn’t budge. He was driven by love—raw and bright—for Robbie, by hate—dark and jagged—for the man he now held. And, of course, it helped that Enzo was just fucking enormous.

“Got him,” Enzo muttered, voice low and flat.

Lassiter’s feet scraped over the concrete. “Get off me! What the fuck is this?”

I waited for the next bit. Five. Four. Three…

“Do you know who I am?”

There they were, the last words of a condemned man who thought the position he’d abused was enough to shield him from the reckoning we had planned.

Enzo didn’t answer. He and Rio moved as one—silent, swift, practiced. Enzo shoved Lassiter forward, and Rio met them at the chair. Lassiter fought, twisting and thrashing, but it didn’t matter. They had him.

His knees buckled as they forced him down, and Enzo clamped a hand on his shoulder while Rio secured his ankles into the cuffs bolted to the floor. The clink of metal echoed in the space, jarring in its finality.

Lassiter’s voice broke into desperate pleas, words tumbling over each other. “Wait—no—you don’t understand—I came here to talk?—”

He jerked sideways, but the wrist restraints closed, biting into flesh. He was sweating harder now, hair stuck to his forehead, jaw clenched in panic.

Then, I stepped in, drawing the rope across his chest and yanking it tight, looping it around the back of the chair. The cord dug into his suit jacket, pinning him in place, and still, he shook, heaved, wriggled like a man caught in a nightmare he couldn’t logic his way out of.

It was over. He just didn’t know it yet.

I gave an upnod to Enzo. You’re on.

Enzo walked with a measured calm that made my skin crawl. He crouched in front of Lassiter, elbows resting on his knees, staring as if he was looking at something he’d already broken in his mind.

“What do you want?” Lassiter demanded, his voice shaking but trying for authority. “I’m a goddamned district attorney. I have people expecting me home.”

Enzo didn’t blink. He said two words heavy with pain and anger. “Roman Lowe.”

Lassiter stiffened, panic flashing in his eyes, followed by a jolt of fear he quickly buried beneath a mask of control. “I don’t know who the fuck you’re talking about.”

Enzo stood, glanced around, and grabbed something from a nearby stack of salvage—a broken metal pole caked in dust. He brought it down fast and hard on Lassiter’s right knee.

The scream tore through the warehouse like a gunshot.

Lassiter heaved against the restraints, eyes wide, mouth slack with pain. “You fucking psycho!”

Enzo watched him, calm as ever. He was good at this—finding weapons from nothing, turning junk into justice.

“You’re going to want to try that answer again,” Enzo murmured, voice like broken glass.

“I swear,” Lassiter gasped, panting through the pain. “I don’t know anyone called Roman Lowe.”

Enzo smiled, and it was the kind of smile that meant nothing good. “But you know John Mitchell, right?”

Lassiter flinched. “Does he owe you money? I have money. I have a lot of money.” His voice cracked, desperate and uneven. “If this is about a deal, I can fix it. I can make it go away.”

Enzo chuckled, low and humorless. “You think this is about money?”

He stepped closer, the broken pole still in his hand. “You’re not buying your way out of this one. Not with cash. Not with promises. Not anymore.” Then, he slammed it on Lassiter’s other knee .

This time Lassiter shouted—a high, broken sound of panic and pain that echoed off the walls—then whimpered, shoulders shaking. “What is this? Why am I here? Where’s McKendrick?”

Enzo crouched again, dropping the metal pole with a loud clang that made Lassiter flinch. “You mean our friend Killian?” Enzo said, voice low and rough. “I expect he’s out there right now… waiting for you to die.

“What? No, he’s…” Understanding flickered in his expression. “Fuck you!”

“So, Roman Lowe.”

“I don’t know what you’re?—"

Enzo placed a finger on Lassiter’s lips, and I watched him lean in close, his expression as hard as stone.

“Let me tell you who Roman Lowe really was,” he said, his voice flat and hollow.

“He was a kid. A boy without a family, a kid in the system, someone with too many dreams and too few choices. You hurt him every time you went to Mitchell’s place.

Every single visit. You caged him. You hit him.

You fucked him. You treated him as if he was nothing—as if he didn’t bleed, didn’t scream, didn’t matter. ”

Lassiter’s mouth opened and, from where I stood, I could see recognition in his expression, but no sound came out.

I watched Lassiter shrink in the chair, and for a moment, I saw it through Robbie’s eyes.

The terror. The helplessness. The way his voice had gone small when he’d talked about being owned.