Page 14 of Lock

I walked out with one clear thought sitting heavy in my chest:

Rowan Roe had started something.

Tomorrow night, I’d make damn sure he understood that.

* * *

It was dark before I even realized the day was gone. Everything had moved too damn fast. Or maybe I’d just been ready to get it over with.

By the time I stepped out of my room, the compound was already awake and moving. Every man out there knew exactly what we were about to do, and not one of them questioned it.

Wraith stood outside the garage, talking into his comm, his rifle slung across his back in a padded case. He saw me and gave a single nod. Calm. Steady. Same as always.

Slate stood a few feet away with a tablet in his hands, going over the route one last time with two prospects who’d be blocking off the side road behind us. Fuse was crouched beside the van, tightening a bolt on something he probably didn’t need to touch again. Grim leaned against the wall across from him, arms crossed, eyes scanning the lot like he expected trouble.

This was my crew. My inner circle. The men I trusted with my life.

Wraith finished whatever he was saying and walked over. “Everyone’s set. Slate’s got the road clean. Grim will run comms from inside the van. Fuse has the breach bag ready.”

“What about the guards inside the compound?” I asked.

Wraith’s mouth twitched, a tiny ghost of a smile. “They won’t see me.”

I didn’t doubt it. If Wraith was good at anything, it was disappearing. He was the guy you sent in when you wanted a problem gone before anyone knew there was one.

Slate came up next, tucking a folded map into the inside pocket of his jacket. “Back roads are clear. Fuse will have the cameras down while we move. If anyone gets suspicious, it’ll be after we’re already gone.”

“Good,” I said.

Fuse popped to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Fence cutters, insulated gloves, rubber clips, zip ties, tranquilizer backups… all in the bag.” He flashed a quick grin. “If anything short-circuits, blows up, or tries to electrocute you, it’s not my fault.”

“It’s always your fault,” I said.

He snorted. “Yeah, but not this time.”

Grim pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “We on schedule?”

I checked my watch. “Load up.”

Somewhere near the back of the compound, somebody yelled for more salsa, and a prospect jogged across the yard holding a bowl like it was a bomb. On any other night, there’d be guys at the bar, music bleeding out of the speakers, Fuse arguing with someone over darts. Tonight, nobody even glanced at the TV inside. All that noise was on pause. All that energy pointed in one direction.

The garage door rolled open and the van eased out into the yard. Jett—our newest prospect—sat behind the wheel, gripping it like it might jump out of gear and attack him if he relaxed.

He was terrified.

Good. Fear made people careful.

Slate was already swinging onto his bike, and four patched guys mounted theirs behind him. They’d split off, take the back road, set up detour points, and keep eyes on anything that moved.

The rest of us loaded into the van—me, Wraith, Grim, Fuse. No reason to take extra bikes. More engines meant more attention.

Wraith settled beside me, checking his rifle case again. “Last chance to change your mind.”

“I’m not changing it.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Grim slid the side door shut, sealing us in. Jett started the van.