The Setup
Cade Mercer locked his sights onto Senator Victor Langston's chest. Thirty stories up, rooftop across the street—perfect angle. One shot. Easy.
The balcony doors slid open, and Langston strolled out, sipping whiskey like he didn't have a care in the world. Cade's heart pounded. This was it. He exhaled slowly, finger resting on the trigger.
Then Langston looked right at him.
And smiled.
Cade's stomach dropped.
The balcony lights flared like a stage show, blinding him. At the same time—BANG!—the rooftop door behind him exploded open. Boots thundered across the gravel.
It was a trap.
He ditched the rifle and dove behind an air-conditioning unit just as a bullet shredded the ledge where his head had been. His gun was already in his hand, safety off.
A voice rang out. "Cade Mercer. You've been expected."
Bad. They knew his name, which meant this wasn't just a takedown. They wanted him alive.
He risked a peek. Three guys in full tactical gear, moving fast. The lead operative had a comm in his ear. Probably talking to Langston. He had seconds—maybe less.
Think. Think. Think.
He was thirty stories up. No ladders, no stairs. Just a giant neon hotel sign bolted into the side of the building.
Not ideal. But better than getting shot.
Twisting, he fired two quick shots—one to make them duck, the other to kill the rooftop's maintenance light. Darkness swallowed half the space.
Then he ran.
Gunfire cracked behind him as he sprinted for the edge. His feet hit the gravel hard—one, two, three steps—JUMP.
For a terrifying half-second, he was airborne. Then—WHAM. His hands smacked against the metal frame of the neon sign. His shoulder nearly ripped from its socket, but he held on.
Above him, the operatives reached the ledge.
"Where the hell is he?" one snapped.
Cade clung to the sign, heart jackhammering. If they looked down, he was screwed. The bolts groaned under his weight. Not a great sign.
Then, from the balcony above, Langston's voice drifted down.
"Run all you want, Mercer. You're already dead."
Cade gritted his teeth. He hated this guy.
He had about three seconds before they figured out where he was. Swinging his legs, he shifted his grip lower. His fingers found the edge of a maintenance ladder bolted to the hotel's side. He gripped tight and dropped down, boots scraping metal as he slid.
Wind howled past him. Twenty stories. Fifteen. Ten.
A gunshot cracked, sparks flying as a bullet smacked the ladder above his head. They'd found him.
He pushed off the last rung, twisting midair—CRASH. He landed hard on a glass awning, which didn't break his fall so much as explode under it. He hit the pavement rolling.
Every inch of him hurt.
Staggering to his feet, legs wobbling, he glanced up. Shadows moved along the rooftop. More voices. More orders. They were coming.
Time to disappear.
Cade ducked into the first alley he saw, melting into the city's neon haze. He had no idea how Langston knew he was coming, but one thing was certain—
He wasn't done with him yet.