Page 45 of Crusher's Illusion

The last message catches my eye. It isn’t from Bria at all. It’s from a name I’ve never seen in her contacts:Cypress Strategies Legal Team.

My chest goes ice cold. Jordan’s voice echoes in my head from the files. His warning about Syndicate front companies, the ones that bury bodies in legal briefs and PR fluff.

Bria wasn’t sloppy. She wasbought.

My hands curl into fists before I even think about it. My ears ring like someone just fired a gun beside my head.

Bria didn’t just ignore her. She sold her out. Bought off by the Syndicate to push the article live and paint a target on Nevaeh’s back. On all of us.

“Fucking hell.” My voice is low, sharp, and breaking in the middle. I slam the laptop shut.

Nevaeh didn’t betray us. She was betrayed, and I was too damn stubborn to see it. The guilt is different this time. It’s not the sharp, angry kind I can use to fuel me. It’s heavy and ugly, like a weight pressing down on my chest until I can barely breathe. Every word I ever threw at her comes back jagged and ugly, cutting deeper than anything the Syndicate could do.

I thought she was the risk, the crack in our armor. Turns out she’s been caught in the crossfire of a war that started before she even knew the battlefield existed.

Now she’s out there alone. With a target on her back the size of the damn state.

I finish getting dressed, grab my cut from the chair, shrug into it like armor, and reach for my Glock. My phone’s in my hand before I even get to the door, dialing the one person who can help.

Steel answers on the second ring. “You better have a damn good reason…”

“She’s gone,” I cut him off. My voice is flat. Dangerous.

There’s a beat of silence. “Fuck.”

“She didn’t leak anything. She tried to stop it. Bria was paid off by Cypress Strategies. Check her last bylines, there’s a pattern. She’s been laundering Syndicate intel through fluff pieces for months.”

“You have proof?”

“I have Nevaeh’s laptop.”

Another pause. “What’s your play?”

“I find her.”

“And if the Syndicate finds her first?”

“They won’t.” My voice doesn’t leave room for doubt.

“You better pray you’re right, brother,” Steel says finally. “Because if we lose her now, it’s not just her blood on your hands. It’s all of ours.”

The line clicks dead before I can answer. Sliding my Glock into the holster, my boots hit the porch hard enough to make the boards creak.

I shoot a text off to City and August, telling them what I found and asking for a ping on Nevaeh’s cell phone.

A half a beat later, City texts me.

City: Last call came from a Bria Thatcher. Her editor. I was able to tap into the call, and you’re not going to believe what she told her.

August sends me an audio link, and I click play. My heart drops to my toes.

Then August sends another text.

August: Last ping is a pay-by-the-hour motel, thirty minutes from you. Ride safe, brother.

I’m on my bike in a flash. The engine roars to life under me, vibrating through my chest.

Wherever she’s gone, whatever’s waiting on the other side of that road, I’ll burn through it. I’ll burn everything.