Page 42 of Sinful Chains

Because there was no telling where this thing with Santari was gonna go. She couldn’t settle down with all three of us. Or, shit, maybe she could. We hadn’t had that conversation. She could very well be open to it, and we just didn’t know because we were too busy fucking to have a real discussion.

Whatever the case, I wasn’t gonna figure it out right now, so I told Mama I loved her and promised to call her later.

I reached under the rear floorboard and pulled out my toughbook. It was black, beat up, and inconspicuous, just the way I liked it. I set it on my lap and powered it up, the blue glow of the screen lighting up the shadows around me.

My fingers moved automatically, like I had muscle memory, leading me past passwords and encrypted shells. I pulled up the archive from six months ago.

Job Log: 01.16.25

Target: J Mc

Location: SmokyMountainLodgeSK64b49t

The grainy drone footage made my head hurt. I clicked through the timestamped moments, watching as McAllister’s guards arrived. A black Denali with rental plates. One guard got out and scoped the tree line. I watched the cursor blink over his ugly face.

I zoomed in.

He looked right at where Cruz had been posted up. No reaction. He just moved on.

Why didn’t he clock us?

I flipped to the thermal overlays. Nothing of note there.

I opened the audio feed from our headsets. Wind. Gravel under boots. Velcro scratching. Our jokes and shit-talking.

I navigated to the bodycam footage. I rewatched our approach, the first shot, the takedown. McAllister went out quick, no last words. No anything. Fast forward to his side bitch running his pockets. Next, the takedown of the guards. All very routine.

I blew out a sigh.

This was getting me nowhere.

But something told me to go back. I went to the approach again, studying each frame until something caught my eye.

A flicker.

To the right of the lodge, behind the trees, a figure moved away. No shots fired, no impact, just…left without a trace.

I frowned at the screen, then opened the cell tower pings from the local intercept logs. There were nine registered pings in the area from known burners. Four for us. Four for the four guards.

The last one…unaccounted for.

The unknown burner pinged ten minutes after the hit, then again thirty minutes later a mile or so north of the lodge. Same signal strength. Which only meant one thing.

Someone had been watching.

That same someone didn’t intervene. Didn’t speak. They just left.

What the fuck?

My anger surged as I slammed my laptop shut. Something was off. Way fucking off.

Mild air greeted me the second I stepped out, wind blowing lazily through the trees. The ground crunched beneath my boots asI walked toward the entrance of the lodge. Whoever the new owners were had closed it for the season, but I didn’t need to go inside to get what I came here for.

I stopped near the entrance and closed my eyes so I could feel my way to the answer. Behind my lids, I could still see the bodies of McAllister's soldiers all laid out on the ground. I could still hear us bantering over the headsets, debating McAllister's drink choices. I could hear the gunfire echoing off the trees. I saw the blood staining the fresh snow. I smelled the gunpowder in the air.

And I felt the thud of Revere’s body as he hit the ground beside me in the bunker.

I opened my eyes, turning my head to scan the tree line. We all thought it had been clear that night. We would have sworn to it.

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