Page 83 of Sacrifice
The overhead light casts harsh shadows, making everyone look older, harder.
"Sleeping beauty up?" Tor asks, sliding a mug of coffee my way.
"She's out. Exhausted." I accept the coffee, grateful for the heat and caffeine. "What've we got?"
"Doran came through." Magnus taps a photo—grainy but clear enough. "Los Coyotes are holed up at the Sunset Motor Lodge. Highway 90, about fifteen miles out."
I know the place.
Hourly rates, no questions asked, the kind of establishment that caters to those who need privacy.
Perfect for a scout team that doesn't want attention.
I've passed it a hundred times, always noting it as a potential safe house or trouble spot.
"How many?"
"Six, maybe seven. Including these two." Rio slides another photo across—security footage from the hospital. "Facial recognition matched them to known Los Coyotes associates."
My jaw tightens.
The one on the left has a neck tattoo, a spider web design.
Same one I glimpsed in the van before the bullets started flying.
The other's younger, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of dead eyes that say he's killed before and enjoyed it.
"Intel says they've been there three days," Magnus continues. "Rotating shifts, keeping a low profile. But here's the interesting part—Doran's guy saw them loading surveillance equipment. They've been tracking us."
"Then they know about our routines. Our weaknesses." I study the motel layout, memorizing entry points, potential kill zones. "We hit them tonight. Before they can report back."
"Your arm—" Rio starts.
"Is fine." It's not, but that's irrelevant. "They came for Saga. This ends now."
"Agreed." Runes emerges from the shadows, presidential authority in his voice. "But we do this smart. Clean. No witnesses, no traces back to us."
"What about the motel owner?" Bjorn asks from his spot by the wall.
"Conveniently out of town," Magnus reports. "His nephew's watching the place. Kid's half-lit most nights, won't remember shit."
"Security cameras?"
Vanir speaks up now, "System's been down for months. Owner's too cheap to fix it."
Perfect. The universe occasionally throws us a bone.
"Team?" I ask.
"You, Rio, Magnus, Tor. Dag and Bjorn for backup. Doran's providing perimeter security—his boys will handle any runners."
"Time?"
"3. Catch these fuckers sleeping."
I nod, already running through scenarios in my mind.
Six rooms at the motel, according to the layout.
