Page 98 of Made For Ruin

Every minute they waste is another minute Lainey’s in danger.

I slide into the passenger seat just as Reign ends another call.

“Just got off the phone with Rich Hunt,” Reign says. “He’s sending a crew our way and has agreed to run offsite tactical.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Hunt? Didn’t one of his guys blow up a town square back in Maine a few years ago?”

Reign nods, already tapping away at his phone.

“The very same. He’s got eyes on the traffic cams as we speak.”

“Can we trust him?”

I don’t like wildcards, especially not when Lainey’s life is on the line.

Reign looks up, his steel-gray eyes meeting mine.

“Rich and I go way back. He was with us in Kandahar.”

That’s all I need to hear. If Reign vouches for him, that’s good enough for me. Still, my fingers drum an anxious rhythm on my thigh as I process this new information.

Reign’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, then back at me.

“Rich just pulled the GPS from Enzo’s car. He’s sending coordinates now.”

The map loads on the dash display, a blinking red dot marking their location. My breath catches as the address registers. Memories of Lainey’s voice surface, soft and wistful as she told me about childhood summers spent on the water.

“That’s Lainey’s parents’ old place.” Something cold settles in my gut. “The lakehouse up by Cooper’s Ridge.”

“You sure?”

“She told me about it last week. Her father used to take them there every summer before her mom got sick.” I remember how her eyes lit up describing those memories. “They had to sell it when the medical bills started piling up.”

“Who owns it now?”

“Some investment company bought it at auction. Place has been sitting empty for years.” The pieces slot together with brutal clarity. “Perfect spot if you don’t want to be found. No neighbors, minimal traffic.”

“How well do you know the property?”

“Never been inside, but I know the layout from county records.” I close my eyes, recalling the satellite images I’dstudied after Lainey first mentioned the place. Old habits from my military days never quite fade. “Main house sits about two hundred yards back from the road. Heavy tree cover provides privacy. One access road in, backs up to the lake. Nearest neighbor is over a mile away.”

“Smart choice for what they’re planning.”

Reign reaches behind his seat, punching in a code on the hidden gun safe built into the floor. The hydraulic lid opens with a hiss.

“Castellano’s crew runs heavy. You want the M4 or the Sig?”

I pull out both weapons and check the magazines. “Both.”

We work in practiced silence, falling into a routine carved into muscle memory.

Tactical vests slide over our shoulders. Extra magazines click into place. Combat knives settle against thighs. Each piece of equipment is another step toward getting her back, another layer between Castellano and what’s mine.

Reign hands me an earpiece.

“Hunt’s patched into local frequencies. He’ll alert us if anyone approaches the property. Body armor’s fresh and rated for anything they’re likely to throw at us.”

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