Page 65 of Damian
The hum of controlled chaos filled the room. But when they looked up and saw me, everything stilled for a heartbeat.
“You look like hell,” Gage muttered, though there was a grin pulling at his mouth.
I ignored him, setting my rifle down with a clatter. “Tell me what we’ve got.”
Cyclone spun the laptop around, the glow highlighting the wild grin on his face. “That data we pulled? It’s already paying off. I traced a route Luthor’s people have been using to move girls out of the city. Money, transport, handlers—all of it threads back to one hub.” He tapped the map. “A warehouse on the docks.”
Oliver leaned in, eyes sharp. “Security?”
“Light compared to what we hit last night. That’s why it stinks.” Cyclone’s voice dropped. “They want us to come. They’re betting we’ll take the bait.”
“They’re not wrong,” I said flatly.
Oliver raised a brow. “So what’s the play? Kick the door down and sort it out inside?”
“Not this time.” I grabbed a marker and circled the dockyard on the board. “We’re not walking into another trap. We’ll hit them from two sides. Cyclone, I want eyes in the system before we breach—lock down comms, doors, anything that gives them the edge. Gage, you take the high perch. Oliver, you’re with me.”
“And you?” Oliver asked, a hint of concern in his tone. “You’re bleeding through that bandage. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
I met his stare. “I’ll manage.”
The truth was, the burn in my side was nothing compared to the fire that had lodged itself in my chest. I’d left Morgan and Ruby behind in the safehouse, kissed her until the taste of her was enough to carry me through whatever hell waited next. That was all the fuel I needed.
“Damian,” Cyclone said, his tone softer than usual. “You sure about this? We could pass it up, wait for a cleaner lead.”
“No.” I capped the marker with a snap. “Every minute we wait, Luthor moves more girls, covers more tracks. We cut this line now, we start pulling the whole damn network down.”
Oliver exhaled through his teeth. “Alright then. Burn it to the ground.”
The team snapped into motion, checking weapons, swapping mags, double-checking gear. It was the rhythm we lived in, the music of men who’d walked through too many fires together to falter now.
I strapped my vest tighter, my thoughts drifting once more to the safehouse. To Morgan’s whisperedyou kept your promise,to Ruby’s hand tangled in her sister’s.
And I made myself another promise, right there in the middle of command.
I’d end this. For them.
88
Morgan
The silence after Damian left was the hardest part.
I sat at the small table by the window, watching the pines sway in the morning breeze. Ruby curled up in the chair opposite me, knees hugged to her chest, a blanket wrapped around her like armor. She hadn’t said much since he walked out with his rifle slung across his back, but her eyes hadn’t stopped following the door.
“He’ll come back,” I said softly, more for myself than for her.
Ruby’s chin tipped up, her voice quiet but sharp. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s true.” I pushed a steaming mug toward her, the smell of chamomile drifting between us. My hand lingered on the table, waiting. A beat later, she stretched out from under the blanket and slid her fingers into mine.
Her grip was tighter than I expected. Desperate. “What if this is the time he doesn’t?”
Ruby’s eyes shimmered, but she nodded, swallowing hard. Her faith in me wasn’t just faith—it was survival. And I realized then that every promise I made to her carried thesame weight as the ones Damian made to me. She was scared of someone taking her again.
Let’s set on the couch. Together we sat, listening to the quiet tick of the clock, the hum of the refrigerator, the ordinary sounds that felt foreign against the storm raging just beyond these walls.
And in the hollow of my chest, I prayed again. Not just for him to come back. But for him to end this, once and for all.
