The Betrayal
Cade hit the alley running. His ribs ached, his shoulder screamed, and he was pretty sure he'd scraped half the skin off his hands, but stopping wasn't an option.
Behind him, sirens wailed. Langston's guys weren't just chasing him—they'd called the cops. Great. Because what he really needed right now was the entire city hunting him down.
He cut left through a narrow gap between buildings, hopping over a pile of garbage bags. Somewhere in the distance, a chopper thudded to life. A spotlight flared over the rooftops.
A helicopter? Seriously? Overkill much?
He kept moving, zigzagging through the backstreets, searching for an exit. Then—up ahead—flashing red-and-blue lights.
Cade skidded to a stop, chest heaving. Two patrol cars blocked the street. Cops in bulletproof vests crouched behind their doors, weapons raised.
A loudspeaker crackled. "Cade Mercer! Put your hands in the air!"
Nope. Not happening.
He turned to run—but tires screeched behind him. Another set of headlights flooded the alley.
Trapped.
His mind raced. He couldn't fight his way out. Not against cops. And if they caught him, he wouldn't make it to a jail cell. Langston's people would make sure of that.
He needed an exit. A fast one.
Then he spotted it.
A motorcycle, parked outside a bar, engine still warm. Some poor drunk idiot had left their ride unattended. And lucky for Cade, he knew how to hotwire.
He sprinted for it as the cops shouted—"STOP! HANDS UP!"—but he was already moving. He yanked his knife from his boot and jammed it into the ignition.
The engine roared to life just as bullets shattered the pavement around him.
He kicked off, tires screeching, and shot into traffic.
More sirens. More shouting. More bullets. But none of it mattered—he was gone.
---
Ten Minutes Later
Cade pulled into an abandoned parking garage, heart still pounding. The city glowed in the distance, sirens fading into the night. He killed the engine and exhaled, gripping the handlebars so tight his knuckles hurt.
Langston had set him up. But how?
No one was supposed to know about the hit. It was a clean contract, arranged through deep channels. He'd done everything right. So how had Langston known?
Unless…
His jaw clenched. There was only one explanation.
Somebody sold him out.
And he was going to find out who.
The night air was cool against Cade's skin, but his mind burned with one thought: Who sold him out?
He pulled his phone from his jacket. It was a burner—untraceable, supposedly—but right now, he didn't trust anything. He yanked the battery and SIM card out, then tossed them into the gutter. If Langston's people were tracking him, he just cut their leash.
Now he needed a plan.
He ran through his options. There weren't many. His safe house? Probably compromised. His usual contacts? No way—until he figured out who the rat was, he wasn't trusting anyone.
Which left exactly one person.
Cade pulled his hoodie up and swung a leg over the bike. If he was right, she'd be pissed at him. If he was wrong? She might shoot him herself.
Either way, she was his best shot.
---
30 Minutes Later – A Run-Down Auto Shop in the City's East End
Cade pulled into the lot, killed the engine, and waited. The place was dark except for the neon sign buzzing over the garage door: JORDAN'S AUTO REPAIR.
He knocked twice, waited, then knocked once more.
For a second, nothing. Then, a voice. "If you're selling something, get lost."
He smirked. Same old Jordan. "That any way to greet an old friend?"
The door swung open fast, and the next thing he knew, a gun was in his face.
Jordan Pierce—five-foot-six, all attitude, wearing a grease-stained tank top—glared at him like she was deciding whether to shoot first and ask questions never.
"You've got some nerve showing up here."
Yeah. That tracked.
Cade raised his hands. "Look, I just need—"
WHAM.
She punched him. Right in the jaw.
He stumbled back, blinking. "Okay. Ow."
Jordan wasn't impressed. "You trying to get me killed, Mercer?"
"Not on purpose."
She scowled but at least lowered the gun. "Cops are tearing up the city looking for you. What the hell did you do?"
He wiped his lip, checking for blood. "Took a job. It went bad."
Jordan crossed her arms. "Bad as in 'whoops, I tripped an alarm' or bad as in 'I tried to assassinate a sitting senator'?"
He didn't answer.
Her eyes widened. "Oh, hell no. Tell me you didn't."
"Langston was dirty."
"He's also still breathing, which means you screwed up."
"Not my fault," he snapped. "Somebody tipped him off. He knew I was coming. Had a whole team waiting."
Jordan's expression shifted, just a little. Suspicious, but not dismissive.
Cade pressed forward. "I need to know how. Who sold me out."
She sighed, rubbing her temples. "You always drag me into the worst situations, you know that?"
He grinned. "Yeah. So? You in?"
She muttered something under her breath, then waved him inside. "Close the door, Mercer. Let's find your rat."
---
The Perfect Shot (Continued)
Jordan's garage smelled like oil, rust, and old cigarettes. The kind of place where bad deals got made and worse secrets got buried.
She locked the door behind them and flicked on a single desk lamp. "You got five minutes to convince me this isn't suicide."
Cade collapsed into a chair, rubbing his jaw. "You think I'd show up here if I had another choice?"
"Probably not," she admitted. "But if Langston knew you were coming, it means someone on your side ratted you out."
"No kidding."
She ignored the sarcasm and sat across from him, booting up an old laptop. "Let's start with the job. Who gave it to you?"
He hesitated. He didn't like sharing names—even with Jordan. But right now, trust wasn't a luxury he had.
"Guy named Darius Cole," he said. "Black-market fixer. Usually solid."
Jordan's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Cole, Cole… yeah, I know him. Used to broker weapons deals before shifting to contract work. Not the kind of guy who screws over his own assets."
"That's what I thought." Cade leaned forward. "Which means someone got to him. Or someone else in my pipeline."
Jordan frowned at the screen. "There's something weird here."
Cade tensed. "What?"
She turned the laptop so he could see. "Darius Cole is dead."
He blinked. "What?"
"Shot in the head two days ago. They found his body in a warehouse outside the city."
A cold weight settled in Cade's gut. Two days ago—before he even got the job.
Jordan met his gaze. "You weren't hired to kill Langston. You were set up from the start."