Chapter Seventy-One
Jackson
The SUV keeps rolling through the city like the night’s holding its breath, and I sit pressed into the seat beside Brooklyn while one of Grant’s men sits on her other side, and I keep Monroe’s lazy half grin on my face even though inside everything in me is braced tight and ready because I have one job tonight and it’s sitting right beside me trying to breathe without making a sound.
Grant keeps his eyes forward in the front seat, calm and patient, like he’s taking a quiet drive and not dragging the girl he hunted across a mountain back into his hands. He talks to the driver in low murmurs, and I listen hard, picking up anything useful, but most of it is vague and coded because Grant never wastes breath unless he wants someone to understand him. His voice is smooth enough to make the hair on the back of my neck lift.
The SUV slows at a light, and I take the chance to glance at Brooklyn. Her eyes are wide, and she’s breathing shallow, but she’s fighting to keep everything inside because she knows one sound can cost both of us everything, and I want to reach for her, but Monroe wouldn’t, so I keep my hands loose on my knees and give her the slightest nod, one meant for her alone. Her breath steadies, barely, but she sees me, and she knows she’s not alone.
My ear buzzes with the tiniest pulse of static, the kind only I can hear because the mic is hidden deep and quiet. I angle my head like I’m stretching Monroe’s neck. The voice comes through soft but clear.
“Tail secured,” Nash says. “We’re two cars back and staying dark.”
I breathe once through my nose, slow and controlled.
Grant’s man beside me doesn’t notice, and the driver doesn’t look back. Brooklyn’s eyes shift for half a second toward me, then she drops her gaze to her lap because she knows better than to react when she doesn’t know who’s listening.
Nash keeps going, voice low. “You’re not alone out there. Amriel’s tracking the plates. Creed and Enzo are coordinating backup. More units are rolling out, and they’ll hold until you give us the signal.”
I close my eyes for a moment like Monroe’s tired of the ride, but I’m actually steadying myself because knowing they’re back there gives me something to hold onto, something to anchor the part of me that wants to rip this door open and drag Brooklyn out into the street.
Morris comes onto the line next. His voice is calmer, heavier. “Stay cool. We have eyes on you. If Grant’s moving her, he’s moving her somewhere controlled. We’ll move in when you say.”
The SUV turns onto a road with fewer lights and more empty buildings, the kind that look abandoned until you get close enough to see the wrong shadows. Brooklyn’s breathing picks up again, and her fingers twitch against her thigh, not reaching for me but reaching for something familiar, something that isn’t fear.
I keep Monroe’s posture loose and bored and lean back like I’m enjoying the ride. “Thought we were going somewhere closer to the city,” I say, casual and confident. “Long trip.”
Grant turns his head just enough that I can see the edge of his profile, and he smiles like someone who’s already decided how the night ends for everyone in this car. “You’ll see the place when we get there.”
I nod slowly and easily. “Yeah. I’m looking forward to it.”
He studies me for long enough that my pulse ticks higher, but then he turns back to the front. The driver keeps going, weaving deeper into the industrial part of town where the streets are wide and empty, and the buildings get darker and quieter, and I know exactly why Grant likes places like this. There are too many places to hide people and too many places to bury them.
Brooklyn starts shaking again when the SUV slows near the loading docks. She tries to hide it, but I feel it through the seat because every breath she takes is hitched at the end. I want to touch her so bad that my fingers ache, but Monroe wouldn’t, so I don’t. I just look at her once and give her something steady to lock onto.
The SUV rolls to a stop.
Grant doesn’t move at first. He sits still and lets the silence stretch until Brooklyn’s breath gets thin and tight. Then he turns around in his seat and smiles at her like he’s welcoming her home.
“You remember this place,” he says, soft and warm in a way that should never belong to him. “You always did like to wander, little bird, and look where that got you.”
Brooklyn’s lips part like she wants to speak, but nothing comes out. Her eyes stay locked on him because looking away feels dangerous, but looking at him feels worse, and she’s stuck there with her pulse pounding in her throat.
I feel my own breath drag low.
Grant opens his door and steps out, then taps the roof of the SUV with his knuckles. The man beside Brooklyn opens her door and grabs her arm like she’s weightless, and she swallows a small gasp that almost breaks me, but she keeps her feet under her and lets them tug her out without fighting because she knows she can’t fight right now.
I slide out on the other side, taking my time and keeping Monroe’s relaxed swagger, and I follow them just close enough that Grant doesn’t think I’m backing off but far enough that no one can say I challenged him.
Nash’s voice flicks through the earpiece again. “We have eyes. We count two at the entrance, three on the roof, and thermal shows movement in the hallway. You give the word, and we hit the place hard.”
I don’t answer out loud because Grant’s men are watching and Grant himself is listening without looking at me, and I know better than to speak when the air is this thin.
Brooklyn walks in front of me with one of Grant’s men gripping her arm, and she’s shaking more now that she’s out in the cold because this is the kind of place where her past bleeds into the present, and the fear sits heavy in her lungs. She keeps glancing at the corners of the building like she remembers what it felt like to be somewhere like this before, and my chest tightens until it hurts.
Grant pushes open the metal door with one hand. It creaks loud enough that it echoes off the brick walls. He steps inside first, then gestures for Brooklyn, and when she hesitates for a single breath, he looks back at her with a grin that isn’t warm anymore but sharp and proud, like he owns the moment.
“Come on inside,” he says softly. “We have things to discuss.”
Brooklyn steps over the threshold because she has no choice.
I walk in right behind her.
Nash whispers in my ear, “We’re right behind you, brother. Say the word.”
I don’t say anything because Grant is watching my face.
But inside, I’m counting every exit, every guard, and every breath Brooklyn takes, because I’ll give that word, and when I do, this whole building is going to come down.
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