Page 63 of Severed Heart (The Ravenhood Legacy #2)

“I feel the need to stress at this point that this can’t fall into anyone else’s hands but yours,” I relay, tightening my hand on the wheel, thankful as hell that Beekman set up shop in the last twelve months in a branch in the North Carolina sector of the FBI.

His involvement is one of the reasons that Miami is so bent out of shape in wanting access to Beekman and any others like him. Access we fucking denied.

But with my favor being called in and Beekman being our inside bird to build the case, we’ll be close to out of the woods. As long as the trail on the ‘second suspected gunman’ goes ice cold, and the takedown of the military officials is enough to steal Dom’s current media spotlight.

“Don’t lose an ounce of sleep over this,” Beekman speaks up, sensing my state. In his imparting tone, I can practically hear his heavily bolded wings twitching to life. “I’ll snatch this shit from local as soon as I’m able. Just make sure you get it over state lines to make it federal.”

“Already on it,” I tell him. “Thanks, man.”

“Oh, it’s my fucking pleasure ,” he declares, equally as offended for our military brethren. “Make sure to keep a few copies in your pocket in case they have someone on the inside to cover for them.”

“Fuck,” I snap, that possible oversight stinging me. “I didn’t even think of that. Will do.”

“Well, you can’t be Superman every day ,” he jibes. “Rest easy, I’ve fucking been ready for this for too long,” he assures again. I can’t help the shared pride that this is precisely the kind of situation we’ve been breaking our fucking backs for years to position ourselves for.

“Not happy about the circumstances, but yeah,” I agree. “I’ll call you in a few.”

“Before you go, you need to know I have a few anxious friends waiting to meet you.”

“Good to know. We’ll catch up after my meeting, which is going down in twenty .

I called in a favor,” I state. Though Beekman never got the call-up for the GRS, he’s spent his time wisely by obtaining his status in the FBI.

“I’m sending you a number to the helping hand I mentioned who’s now chipping in on this bill.

He’s waiting for your call. Gentle reminder, he’s ink free . ”

“Say no more,” he clips before ending the call.

Holding my phone out to Russell, I give him my order. “Message the number I called first to the number I just hung up with.”

“On it ... and fucking genius, bro,” Russell compliments, in the know about Phillip and Beekman as I glance back in my rearview at my other most trusted.

Sean and I had decided to divide and conquer.

My team consists of Denny, Jeremy, Russell, and Peter —whose earned ink is still fresh.

All strapped and ready to do whatever it takes to protect our brother.

“Who’s got the prints?” I ask.

“I do.” Denny speaks up about the prints we extracted from the officials’ houses and transferred on some of the bullets for this purpose.

With the victimless crimes we’re about to commit in addition to Dom’s this morning, it should be just enough to get our feathered fed the green light to yank it from local police’s hands.

Our dilemma in bringing it to Beekman’s level was solved by Dom’s stunt this morning.

Something Dom knew was necessary to further our plan—the brave, brilliant motherfucker.

“Keep a few in plastic for insurance ,” I emphasize, and Denny nods.

“Listen up,” I snap as I slow to a stop outside the abandoned warehouse.

“In and out, empty every fucking clip you’ve got, and straight back to the van.

No variation,” I state as they crack open the back doors, and I turn in my seat to face them.

“Keep sharp. Every second counts, and we’re going to be at this all fucking night. You with me?”

I get collective nods and small grunts of confirmation, all of them perked up and ready.

“Go,” I order as Russell leans over with a clap on my shoulder.

“Hang in, man, we’ve got him,” Russell assures in a show of solidarity as the weight tries to settle between my shoulders. Just as quickly, I bat the notion of failure away. I’ve been prepping for this for ten years, and I’ll be fucked if we go out like this.

As I watch Dom’s brothers covertly approach the warehouse, their training evident in their movements—a swell of pride thrums through me.

More crashing into me as their collective gunfire lights the building up, making a pathetic mockery out of what’s happening in the sky.

Just as quickly, they’re back in the van, the evidence planted for Beekman, as we speed away toward our next stop.

It strikes me then that it’s Delphine’s army marching tonight.

Our strategy playing out so flawlessly because of the way she molded her soldier’s mind.

To think and act as a shield to the street soldiers she predestined we would become.

Her faith in my competence to guard them unwavering, even in the beginning.

Which continues to ring true in my head and heart throughout the night as we fly through our mission in synchronized motion.

It’s when the sun starts to light up the horizon long hours later, and as her exhausted soldiers file out of the van, that the need to go to her starts to overwhelm me. It’s only when I’m behind my own wheel that I allow my eyes to burn with the sting reflecting in my chest.

Running my finger along the ridges of my wheel, I fight myself once more to keep from racing to her door. From telling her that we became the synchronized birds we are now because once upon a time, she took in a lost, mind-fucked teenager beneath her wing and nurtured the soldier within him.

Because of her.

All because of her.