Page 100 of Made For Ruin

“Front door’s clear.” Reign’s voice comes low through the comm. “Guard’s moved to the east side. Getting into position at the rear entrance.”

I scan the windows, looking for movement. But from this angle, heavy curtains block the view inside. My jaw clenches at the thought of Lainey in there, waiting, not knowing help is coming.

Through the comm, I hear Reign’s measured breathing as he circles to the back of the house. Years of missions together mean we barely need words anymore. He knows exactly how I’ll move, where I’ll be.

“In position.” His whisper crackles through the earpiece. “On your mark.”

I take one last look at the house, remembering Lainey’s stories about summer mornings on that wraparound porch. Her father teaching her to fish off the dock. Family dinners watching the sunset.

No one gets to take those memories from her. No one gets to use her childhood sanctuary against her.

My finger settles against the trigger guard. “Moving in three...”

A door slams inside the house.

The sound bounces off the lake, sharp in the afternoon quiet. The guard on the east side turns his head, hand moving to his earpiece. His moment of distraction is all I need.

I close the distance to the front steps in six silent strides.

The guard starts to turn back, his eyes widening as he registers movement. Too late.

My boot connects with the front door. The impact shudders up my leg as wood splinters around the lock.

Two sharp cracks echo from the back of the house. Reign’s signature double-tap. I clear the entryway in a smooth sweep, my rifle moving in precise arcs as I scan for threats.

A man appears at the end of the hallway, his hand fumbling for the gun at his waistband. Amateur. The recoil of my rifle feelsfamiliar as I put a round through his shoulder. He goes down with a grunt, weapon clattering across the hardwood.

“Tango down front.”

I step over him, registering details automatically.

Expensive suit. Manicured hands. One of Castellano’s society thugs playing at being muscle.

“Moving to main room.”

“Two down back.” Reign’s voice carries the same steady calm it had in Fallujah. “No shot without risk of...”

His words fade as I focus on the closed door at the end of the hall.

The thermal imaging showed Lainey in the back room. Twenty feet of hallway suddenly feels like miles. Blood pounds in my ears, every instinct screaming to run to her. But training wins out. I maintain my pace, checking corners, staying tactical.

“Marcus.” Lainey’s voice carries through the wood, tight with fear but strong. So strong. My heart clenches at the sound. “Marcus, he’s got a gun.”

The door flies open with enough force to dent the wall.

Enzo Castellano stands behind Lainey, using her as a shield.

His arm locks around her throat while his other hand presses a pistol to her temple. Her wrists are bound in front of her with what looks like zip ties, already rubbed raw.

But when her eyes meet mine, there’s no fear. No begging. Just pure, burning rage that matches the inferno in my chest.

“Drop it.” Castellano’s voice shakes slightly, betraying his desperation. “Or I paint the walls with her blood.”

My rifle stays trained on him, seeking any opening. He’s holding her too close for a clean shot. Six years running Cooper Heights’ underworld has taught him enough to know how to use a human shield.

“It’s over, Enzo.” I keep my voice steady, watching his tells. Through my earpiece, I hear Reign moving into position. “You really think you’re walking out of here?”

“Shut up.” Sweat beads on his forehead. His finger twitches against the trigger. “Just shut up and drop the weapon.”

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