Page 25 of Forest Reed
We were about to give him one.
19
Zoe
The moon was a pale coin over Mirror Lake, silver light skating across water so still it looked like glass. Too perfect. Too quiet. My boots sank into the damp shoreline as I crouched, scanning the dark tree line for movement. Every ripple, every breeze felt staged—like even the lake knew it was being watched.
Forest knelt beside me, eyes sweeping the ridgeline. “North didn’t pick this place for nostalgia,” he muttered. “He picked it because it’s a theater, he wants.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “And tonight we’re his opening act.”
Behind us, Lane’s cruiser was hidden among the trees, engine off, deputies scattered in the shadows. Jason’s voice crackled in my ear, low and precise. “Buyers en route. Three vans, East Road. ETA five minutes.”
My stomach tightened. No backing out now. We’d lit the match—time to see if North burned with us.
Headlights cut across the ridge, engines rumbling closer. Vans rolled into the clearing, tires crunching gravel. Men spilled out, armed, jittery, their voices carrying rough in the night air.
And then I saw him.
North.
Calm as a king surveying his court, he stepped from the second van, tailored coat sharp even in the moonlight. His gaze swept the shoreline until it found me. That smile—slow, deliberate—like he knew exactly where I was hiding.
“Showtime,” I breathed.
Forest
Through the scope, North was a perfect silhouette against the lake—too perfect. He wanted us to see him. Wanted us to take the shot.
“Patience,” I muttered, steadying my breath.
Beside me, Zoe was a live wire, coiled tight. She hated waiting. I loved her for it. But tonight, one twitch too soon and the sting would turn into a funeral.
Another set of headlights swung across the clearing. Bigger. Slower.
Jason’s voice sharpened in my ear. “That’s not one of the buyers.”
I adjusted the scope. SUV. Black. Armored. No plates.
North turned toward it, smile cutting wider.
My gut went cold. He hadn’t just brought buyers. He’d brought someone else. Someone above them.
The SUV stopped, doors opening with heavy finality. A tall figure climbed out—sharp suit, shadowed face, posture that screamed money and command.
Zoe leaned closer, whisper fierce. “Who the hell is that?”
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because in that instant, I realized North wasn’t just selling weapons.
He was selling us.
20
Zoe
The man from the SUV didn’t hurry. He moved like time belonged to him, each step deliberate on the gravel. His shadow stretched long across the headlights, swallowing the ground between him and North.
When he finally spoke, his voice carried clear across the lake, smooth but heavy with an accent I couldn’t place. “You said you had product. What I see is chaos.”
