Page 28 of Vows & Violence
Her stare cuts through the mask I try to wear. “Only if you can blend in, Mercer.”
“You saying I don’t look good in a mask?”
“You look betteroutof one,” she shoots back, but her lips twitch, almost a smile. And just like that, I know we’ll be ok.
The table’s covered in maps, burner phones, empty mugs, and blood-stained gloves. No one sits. Everyone stands ready to move, even while standing still.
I clear my throat, and all eyes shift to me. “My old Chief called this morning,” I say. “Said the Hollow Sons are connected to a man named Elias Verge. Former Army Psy Ops was rumored to be dead three years ago. He’s alive. And he’s recruiting.”
Poison doesn’t blink. She just leans over the map, dragging a scarred fingertip across the coast. “Is that why he was sniffing around the docks?”
“He’s building something,” I say. “Something that looks like a cult but walks like a paramilitary.”
Scissors crosses her arms. “So we break it before it marches.”
Gypsy nods toward her laptop. “Got chatter on the textile plant north of Chalmette. Abandoned for years, but signal pings say it’s been visited three nights in a row.”
“Let’s split up,” Poison says. Her tone is sharp, final. “Wendigo, Viper, take the docks. If Verge’s people are moving shipments, I want eyes on crates and faces.”
“Scissors, Gypsy, hit the textile plant quietly. No rounds unless fired on first.”
She turns to Phoenix. “You and Ghost get masked up. You’re doing carnival recon. No hero shit unless it finds you first.”
Phoenix meets my eyes, then nods at Poison. “Understood.”
“And stay in the light,” Gypsy reminds us. “MV wasn’t kidding. Every Hollow Son operation ends the same. Someone disappears in the dark.”
I grab the masquerade flyer Gypsy hands over. The bright colors, dancing masks, and fake joy give me a headache.
Phoenix brushes past me on her way to grab her gear, her voice low enough only I can hear. “Better pick a good mask, Mercer.”
“Why?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Because tonight, we’re just another couple trying not to die.”
The sky’s turning the color of bruised peaches by the time we’re back inside. Gypsy lays out the plan like she’s reading a script she didn’t write but already memorized.
“Festival starts at sundown. It’s going to be loud and masked. No cameras are allowed, so I’ve got no pattern. Perfect place to disappear or spot someone who’s trying not to be.”
She slides us a burner with a few images. They’re grainy surveillances of a man with Hollow Sons ink and a silver raven ring. Our target.
Poison leans over her shoulder. “You’re just a couple on vacation. Drunk on beads and overpriced rum. Keep your eyes open and make sure you’re not tailed.”
Phoenix doesn’t flinch. “Got it.”
I just nod, jaw tight. Phoenix is already in motion, pulling on leather pants, sliding a blade into the sheath at her thigh like it’s second nature. Her mask is sleek silver with black feathers at the temple, sharp as the woman behind it.
Kitty walks in, tosses me a mask. It’s matte black, simple. Elegant. I raise an eyebrow. He just smirks. “Don’t lose her, Mercer. You won’t get a second shot.”
Phoenix walks past me, braiding her hair with brutal efficiency. “You done standing there looking like a cardboard cutout?”
I pull on the shirt Gypsy picked out. It’s black, tailored to fit me. I roll up the sleeves. Phoenix gives me a once slow up and down, then says nothing. The look in her eyes says everything.
We mount her bike and she kicks it into gear like it insulted her mother. I slide on behind her, hands brushing her hips before settling at her waist.
Her voice drifts back, dry and dangerous. “Try not to enjoy it too much.”
I lean in close, mouth near her ear. “Too late.”
