Chapter 26

The engine was off, the car blending into the shadows at the edge of the industrial lot. We’d been waiting for nearly twenty minutes, the streetlights flickering above us like they were testing our patience.

Jack leaned back in his seat, eyes on the road ahead. I checked my gear one more time, fingers brushing the handle of my gun.

“You ever get tired of this?” I asked, voice low. “All the planning, all the running, all the… chaos?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. He just stared at the lot, expression unreadable. Finally, he said, “Some of it’s unavoidable. Some… I do because I have to.”

I tilted my head. “Because you have to? Or because you want to?”

He exhaled slowly. “A little of both. But mostly… because someone has to clean up after the mess others leave behind.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds… personal.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. “Yeah. It is.”

I leaned back, curious despite myself. “Who are we talking about?”

He hesitated, then muttered quietly, almost to himself, “Elias.”

“Elias…?” I asked quietly.

The intel we had on these people was scarce. The only reason I was here was because the agency had been keeping tabs on them—Mara, Elias, and Jack—because of how many guns were registered in their names. Judging by the amount of ammunition and firearms in the basement, something told me they were running low on funds.

Jack’s jaw tightened. “He’s my brother. When we were growing up, our dad was a gambler. One night he came home from the casino roaring drunk… I was around nine, maybe ten. Elias was fourteen. I heard arguing…”

He paused, swallowing hard. “Then yelling. My mom tried to protect us, but… she lost the fight to his .38 magnum. He then, after, took his own life. After that, Elias and I…”

He trailed off, eyes distant. The memories were raw, jagged edges he clearly hadn’t shared with anyone in years.

“…we moved in with our Aunt,” he finally said , voice low. “She had her own kids to worry about so Elias took me under his wing. He made sure we survived, made sure I didn’t end up like… him.”

I stayed quiet, letting the words sink in. The tension in the car had shifted; the mission outside still waited, but in that moment, I felt the weight of their past pressing in.

Jack’s hand brushed over his gun, snapping me back to the present. “That’s why this isn’t just another job. Every move tonight, every risk we take… it matters. It matters to me, and it matters to him.”

I nodded, keeping my voice steady. “Then we make it count. No mistakes.”

He gave me a brief, tight-lipped nod, eyes flicking to the street. “Good. Because the shipment’s almost here.”

In the distance, the faint growl of an engine cut through the night. My pulse quickened. Jack’s gaze sharpened, every muscle coiled like a predator ready to strike.

“Stay ready, Lucy,” he murmured, voice low. “After this, we get to lay low and relax. Remember—you play the woman in distress at the driver’s side door. Once they come out, I’ll take the passenger.”

I nodded once, sliding into position.

The low rumble of the truck grew louder, echoing off the warehouse walls. Streetlights flickered above us as the blacked-out vehicle eased closer, its single working headlight slicing through the shadows.

Jack slipped out of the car and crouched low, moving with silent precision. I saw him pull a small metal cylinder from his vest and twist the cap. A thin, sharp hiss filled the air.

Time to play my part.

I burst from the car, stumbling, hands shaking as I faked my panic. “Oh my God—please! Somebody help!” I waved both arms wildly, forcing my voice to tremble. “My car—it’s smoking, I think it’s about to blow!”

The truck slowed immediately, brakes squeaking as it pulled in behind our dead vehicle. Jack stayed hidden up by the front bumper, exactly where they wouldn’t look.

The driver rolled down his window, leaning out with concern. “Ma’am? Are you alright?”

I rushed up to the window, fake tears streaking down my cheeks. “Hi—thank you so much for stopping, I just—I think something’s wrong under the hood, and I have no idea what to do, and—please, can you just—can you take a look?”

The driver nodded, already unbuckling. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Hold on—let me—”

The passenger reached for the door too.

Perfect.

Behind me, the smoke grenade tucked under the hood thickened, rolling out in heavy gray curls. The illusion of an engine fire.

I stepped back just enough to give the driver room to get out—then cut behind him in a swift pivot. Before he could fully straighten, I pressed the cold muzzle of my Glock to the base of his skull.

“On your knees,” I hissed. The tears were gone; my voice was steel. “Now.”

“What—wait—” His hands shot up instinctively, heart racing loud enough I could almost hear it. But he obeyed, dropping to the pavement with a shaky exhale.

The passenger froze halfway out of the truck, eyes widening—

Jack emerged from the smoke like a ghost, grabbing him from behind, yanking his arm up between his shoulder blades. His gun clicked into place against the man’s temple.

“Don’t move,” Jack growled.

The warehouse alley went dead silent except for the hiss of the smoke and the distant hum of the truck’s engine. My driver trembled under my grip, breath hitching.

Jack gave me a quick glance. “Secure him. We gotta move.”

I forced the driver forward, kicking his legs out so he fell fully to his knees. “Hands on your head,” I ordered. “Interlace your fingers.”

He obeyed, jaw clenched, fear radiating off him.

Behind me, Jack slammed the passenger against the side of the truck with a bone-cracking thud. Before the man could even shout, Jack drove an elbow into the base of his skull—one clean, efficient strike.

The passenger crumpled.

The driver flinched at the sound, breath catching. “Please—wait—”

Jack didn’t wait.

He crossed the distance in two strides, grabbed the driver by the back of his collar, and yanked him upward just enough to expose his temple. The driver’s eyes went wide—

A swift, brutal strike from the butt of Jack’s pistol ended it.

The man collapsed sideways, completely unconscious.

Jack straightened, exhaling once as the smoke from the fake engine flare curled around him. “Truck’s ours,” he muttered, brushing soot from his sleeve.

Then he looked at me—steady, composed, all business.

“Come on, Lucy. Let’s move.”

Jack walked around to the passenger side, stepping over one of the unconscious bodies without a second glance. I slipped into the driver’s seat, the leather still warm from the men he’d just taken out.

The engine rumbled low beneath my hands. Heavy. Expensive. Exactly what we came for.

Jack slammed his door shut and checked the mirrors. “No movement. No tails,” he said quietly. “We’re good.”

I shifted into drive. “Then let’s go.”

The truck rolled forward, tires crunching over gravel as we pulled away from the warehouse row. The smoke from our staged engine flare drifted behind us, fading into the dark.

Jack leaned back, finally letting some tension bleed from his shoulders. “Clean job,” he murmured. “We hit it right on time.”

Jack leaned back, finally letting some tension bleed from his shoulders. “Clean job,” he murmured. “We hit it right on time.”

“He will,” Jack said. But there was something in his voice—something tight, almost uneasy—that made me glance over.

He avoided my look, staring out the window at the empty Oregon backroads.

The compound was fifteen minutes out. Fifteen minutes of silence thick enough to cut through.

I adjusted my grip on the wheel. “Why?”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move. “Why what?”

“Why did you kill them?” I asked quietly. “They were being complicit. They weren’t even reaching for weapons. You didn’t have to take it that far.” I let out a slow breath. “So… why?”

For a moment, all I heard was the low hum of the engine and the muted thump of the truck hitting an uneven patch of pavement.

“They saw our faces,” he said flatly. “And complicit men don’t stay complicit when they get scared. They talk. They trade information for deals. They become problems.”

He paused, thumb tapping once on the door.

“And I don’t leave problems behind me. Not anymore.”

The way he said it—anymore—landed heavy.

I took another breath, letting my eyes flick to him before returning to the road. “Shit happens, I guess.”

He paused, quieter. “And Elias doesn’t do loose ends.”

“That how he raised you?” I asked.

Jack didn’t look away this time. His eyes met mine, tired and honest in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

“That’s how he kept us alive.”

We arrived back to our warehouse—the “compound,” as Elias liked to call it. From the outside, it looked abandoned: rusted siding, flickering security light, gravel lot full of potholes. But inside… it was their kingdom. Their operation. Their rules.

I pulled the truck around to the loading bay. The big rolling door was already cracked open, like they’d been waiting for us.

Jack exhaled, the sound heavy. “Showtime.”

Before he could open his door, it slid upward with a metallic groan.

Elias stood there.

Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Eyes sharp enough to cut straight through both of us.

He didn’t look at the truck first.

He looked at me.

Then at Jack.

Then finally at the cargo.

Jack cleared his throat. “Job’s done.”

Elias’s gaze dropped to the faint splatter of soot on Jack’s sleeve, then to the scuff marks on his knuckles. His jaw flexed once, like he was doing quiet math in his head.

Jack hesitated-just a fraction of a second, but enough that Elias noticed.

Elias stepped closer. “Any issues?”

“No,” Jack said.

Elias’s eyes slid to me, slow and deliberate. “Lucy?”

I steadied my voice. “Clean pickup. No interruptions.”

Elias held my stare for a beat too long.

Then he smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Good,” he said. “Unload it and get out of here. Lay low for the next couple of weeks.”

We fired up both forklifts, the warehouse lights buzzing overhead as the metal pallets clanked against the lift arms. Jack maneuvered his like he’d been born in a loading dock; I slipped into mine and eased the forks under the first crate.

Elias stayed off to the side, hands behind his back, watching us like a pair of lab rats completing a maze. His presence crawled across my shoulders, but I kept working.

As I set the crate down with a hydraulic hiss, I caught Jack’s glance. He looked uneasy—more than before. Like unloading stolen goods was the easy part, and whatever came after was the part he dreaded.

Elias finally stepped forward.

“That’s enough,” he said, waving a hand. “My people will finish.”

Jack killed the forklift’s engine. I followed.

Elias eyed the two of us, head tilted just slightly. “You did well today. But don’t confuse success with safety.”

He took a step closer—to Jack first.

“You’re getting sloppy,” Elias murmured. “Emotional.”

Jack walked away.

Then Elias’s gaze shifted to me.

“And you,” he said, voice lowering. “You’re starting to ask questions that aren’t yours.”

I never even thought about whether Elias bugged the trucks. The warehouse. The damn office. Any of my belongings. Of course he did. Of course he would.

Elias watched the realization hit me, a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes like he’d been waiting for it.

“Curiosity,” he murmured, “is only useful when I point it somewhere.”

A chill slid down my spine, but I kept my jaw tight, my expression steady. If he smelled fear, he’d follow it like blood.

“Lucy,” he said softly, like he was giving me something precious instead of a warning wrapped in velvet. “You don’t wander. You don’t speculate. And you don’t ask about things that don’t belong to you.”

“I will find you,” he repeated, lowering his voice even further, “when it’s time for you to come back to us.”

I kept my stare locked on his, refusing to break.

“I’ll be ready,” I said, steady but not submissive. I couldn’t afford submissive. Not with someone like him.

Elias gave a single, satisfied nod—as if I had answered correctly on a test I didn’t know I was being graded on.

“Until I call for you,” he said, turning toward the door, “you’re a ghost.”

I walked to my truck, Jack was parked next to me.

“You know, Luc-” Jack started before I put my finger up to his lips.

I shook my head, pointing as if something on me was a hot mic.

Jack froze, eyes widening just a fraction—just enough for me to know he understood.

I tapped my shoulder once, twice. Bugged.

We couldn’t speak. Not here. Not now. Not with Elias listening from God-knows-where.

Jack’s jaw flexed. He lowered his voice to a whisper so thin it barely existed.

“…Drive. Follow me.”

I gave the smallest nod and slipped into my truck, shutting the door softly. My heartbeat thudded against my ribs as I started the engine.

We drove another ten minutes—winding through backroads only locals would know, roads that didn’t exist on any official GPS. Eventually, the trees thinned, revealing a small cabin tucked deep into the woods, hidden behind a curtain of firs.

Jack’s house.

I pulled in beside him, engine ticking as it cooled. Jack was already out of his truck, shoulders tense, breath sharp like he still hadn’t shaken off Elias’s words.

I stepped out quietly.

“This place bugged?” I asked.

Jack shook his head. “No.” Then, firmer, “Never.”

He led me inside—fast, controlled, like muscle memory. The interior was simple: wood walls, worn leather couch, dim lamplight. Safe. Unmonitored.

His house was beautiful—unexpectedly so. The brick meshed perfectly with the old timber beams, creating a blend of rugged and warm that didn’t match the version of Jack I saw on the job. A cozy old cabin tucked in the middle of nowhere, where the world felt quiet for once.

I stepped farther inside, taking in the soft amber glow from the lamps, the faint smell of cedar, the way the floor creaked gently under my boots. It felt lived-in. Safe. Human.

Jack closed the door behind us, locking it with a quick, practiced flick.

Then he exhaled—a long, shaky breath like he’d been holding it since the warehouse.

“What happened?” he asked, voice low but sharp at the edges. His eyes tracked my every move, searching for injuries, for signs of fear. For anything Elias might’ve left behind.

When I didn’t answer right away, he stepped forward, closing the space between us.

“Lucy,” he said more quietly, “what did he say to you?”

I looked up at him. “He knows I’ve been asking questions.”

Jack’s expression darkened. Stormed.

“What else?”

I swallowed. “He said he’d… find me. When it’s time to come back.”

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle near his ear twitched. He started pacing, one hand dragging through his hair.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I knew he was listening, but—”

He stopped abruptly, turning to me with something fierce in his eyes.

“He’s testing you,” Jack said. “Seeing if you’re loyal. Seeing if I’m loyal.”

I leaned against the arm of the couch, arms crossed, watching him move through his own kitchen like he was trying to outrun the anger simmering under his skin.

Jack twisted the caps off the beers with quick, practiced motions. But the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease—not even a little.

He handed me a bottle, forcing a crooked half-smile. “At least we get to lay low for the next couple of weeks,” he said, trying for lightness. “Care to celebrate?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t try anything, buddy.”

Jack blinked, the smile faltering—just a fraction—before he huffed out a laugh and lifted both hands in surrender.

“Whoa, whoa,” he said, grin tugging back into place. “Never said I was trying anything.”

He stepped around me, giving an exaggeratedly wide berth as he moved to drop onto the couch.

“Just offering a beer,” he added, kicking his boots up on the coffee table.

“Calm down, outlaw.”

I rolled my eyes and took a sip. “You get weird when you’re stressed.”

Jack pointed his bottle at me. “And you get paranoid when someone hands you alcohol. Interesting dynamic we’ve got here.”

We both settled on the couch watching different reality TV shows. No talking, just comfortable silence.

There was a slight competition between us of who can knock back the most beers, looks like he was winning.

I drained the last of mine, setting the empty bottle on the table with a soft clink. Jack raised an eyebrow at me, smirk tugging at his lips.

“Thought you said you didn’t drink much,” he teased, lifting his own nearly empty bottle.

“I pace myself,” I shot back, leaning into the couch cushions. “Unlike someone I know.”

I felt myself getting more and more tired, suddenly I drift asleep.

I blinked against the morning light filtering through the blinds, my head pounding just a little—not from the beer, but from sheer exhaustion. The events of the night before were a blurry haze: beers, quiet TV, Jack’s smirk, the tension that had finally eased just enough for me to… drift off.

Groaning, I sat up, hair a mess, and immediately my phone vibrated against the nightstand.

Twenty‑three missed calls.

Sixteen texts.

All from Strauss.

I snuck out, Jack still passed out on the couch. He must’ve carried me to his bed.

As I pulled in my driveway, I saw two suburbans parked outside. “I’m in trouble,” I mumbled to myself.

I opened the door, seeing Strauss sitting at my table.

“Agent L/N,” she said, voice clipped. “We have to talk.”