Page 63 of The Boss
LEIF FELTthe river before he heard it, aquiet shove of water working the pilings, the scent of tar and wet steel seeping through the chain-link like a promise.
The Trinity lay black and indifferent beyond the hulking warehouse, adark vein cutting the city. The Brand in his palm burned steady as a heart, and with each step closer to the doors it bit deeper, urging him on. It had never been this strong, not even the night it first seared him awake. Tonight it became a beacon, dragging him toward her like iron to a lodestone.
“Gate,” Titus murmured at his shoulder, voice calm as stone, but Leif caught the tightness under it. The Dantes all knew this was the edge of a blade.
Leif nodded. They moved as one, shadows slipping from the deeper dark behind the billboard. The crooked service gate hunched like a bad elbow. Titus crouched, found the hinge with quick fingers, and worked the pressure bar. The mechanism sighed. One breath. Two. The gap widened a clean inch, just enough for shadows to become men and men to become predators.
The air was heavy and Leif could taste copper already, his jaw aching from holding back the snarl that wanted loose. He motioned low with his hand. Zane slid in behind him, exactly where he’d told him to be. Alaric and Magnus peeled off toward the camera blind spot along the corrugated wall. Cade ghosted river-side, alean threat aimed at the waterline, already imagining contingencies.
No one spoke. They didn’t need to. The plan was bone-deep, rehearsed without rehearsal, ashared instinct among men bred forthis.
The Brand’s heat sharpened as Leif slipped through the gap. He kept low, aline of muscle and intent. The yard opened into a shallow parade of crates and rusted drums. Oil and river. The stink of men who thought they were clever enough to hide death here. Alight clicked somewhere inside, then died. Motion sensors failing. Good. Tomas thought the dead cameras hid him. He didn’t know what a lion could see in thedark.
Titus held the gate open just long enough. Zane came through. The others followed in sequence, soft footfalls on gravel. Leif lifted two fingers, then cut them down: spread. He took the left aisle between stacked pallets, moving fast. The Brand burned hotter. He didn’t need a map. He had thepull.
She was here.
It hit like marrow-deep certainty, atruth written in bone and blood. He felt it as cleanly as he felt breath pull in and leak out. Not superstition. Not wish.
The Brand took the guesswork and fed it to the fire. He rounded a stand of crates and saw the loading doors—two big slabs chained cheap and wrong. One chain had been cut and relooped like a lie. He pointed. Titus answered with a nod and went to it. Zane kept the angle, weapon up, sight quiet andsure.
Leif pressed his palm to the metal seam. Heat answered heat. Mariah. His chest locked, then steadied. He worked the door with Titus, each man taking a side. The chain’s catch gave with a tiny click. They let the bulk of the door ride down slow, the hinges groaning, asound that could wake ghosts.
Dark inside. And thennot.
A single work light buzzed to life over a cleared patch of concrete about twenty yards in. The cone of white fell on a chair. On rope. On a woman.
Mariah sat straight, wrists bound behind the chair back, ankles lashed to the legs. Blood stained her lip, the faint line of a bruise darkening at her cheekbone. Her chin lifted like a weapon. Her eyes found him in the doorway, fast, like she’d known exactly where he’d appear.
She didn’t smile. That would’ve been wrong. Her pulse didn’t show in her throat. That would’ve been dangerous. She just looked at him and the Brand burned so bright he wanted to peel his skin to set itfree.
Tomas stepped into the light behind her, as if he’d been made by it. Matte pistol in hand. Hair combed flat. Tie neat. His face showed nothing. It never did. Leif knew the blankness like he knew the city skyline. He’d watched it in boardrooms and funerals and at family tables where knives sat close and everyone cut steak like it owed them something.
“Boss,” Tomas said quietly, using the old title like a test. “You took your time.”
Zane moved to cover on Leif’s right, aslice of shadow. Somewhere to the left, the whisper of Magnus on catwalks. Cade went silent as water outside. Titus stalled two steps back, ananchor at the door, count held in his head, the hinge under his hand if they needed a fastout.
Leif stepped from the shadows and into the cone of light, though not all the way. Just enough. He kept his hands loose, his voice flat. “Let her go.”
Tomas tilted his head like a curious dog. “You brought friends.”
“I brought an ending.”
Tomas shifted the pistol from hand to hand. “You’ve made strange choices. Brand on your palm. Dante brothers at your back. Strays at your table.”
“Family,” Leif said. “Not only the one I was born into. But the one I chose.”
“And what is she in that definition?” Tomas asked, circling Mariah like she was aprop.
“Mine,” Leif said.
Mariah’s eyes flashed, atiny flicker of fire in the shadows. Tomas saw it too and leaned close to her ear. “Do you think he’ll trade his world for you? Idon’t.”
Her mouth firmed but she said nothing. That silence sounded louder than any scream. The pain of it stoked Leif’s fury, feeding the fire licking through his blood.
The gun tilted toward her head. Leif started the count, voice low and final. “Ten… nine…”
Each number was a hammer. Eight. Seven. He saw the twitch in Tomas’s cheek, the flicker of uncertainty that he buried under arrogance. Six. Five. Mariah’s breath slowed, awarrior’s calm despite the barrel against her hair. Four. Three…
