Page 21 of Carver’s Crusade

“Nope. Couldn’t tell anything for sure. It was just a feeling I got watching them.”

Silence hangs heavy for a second before I exhale. “We need more cameras. Cover every damn angle so this doesn’t happen again.”

Maestro huffs, not impressed. “Cameras will give us better footage, sure. But they won’t stop the thefts.”

I glance at him. “What’s your play then?”

He leans in slightly, voice turning harder. “Post prospects. Rotate ’em as guards. Let’s put some bodies out there and see if these little ghosts still feel brave enough to try it again.”

Shield nods slowly, but my mind’s already running through the logistics.

“Izzy is out of town, so that leaves Laser, Cole, Simon, and Axel,” I murmur.

“I could help,” Maestro offers.

I shake my head. “With Smoke and Izzy in Chicago, Byte needs you in the clubhouse.”

A dark look passes over Maestro’s features, but I don’t have time to deal with whatever’s bothering him.

“We haven’t had any problems with the construction sites behind the clubhouse, but these bastards have hit the mini mall twice and the hospital near Crossroads.”

“Let’s bring it up in Church and see if any of the members want to help out,” Ranch suggested.

At that moment, Dante lets out a shrill whistle and gestures for everyone to follow him. He’s starting Church. I get up and follow. When we pass the kitchen, the door opens to let Athena out. She looks upset, but she quickly hides her emotions and smiles.

“Have fun in Church, guys,” she says, offering Ranch a kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

CHAPTER 10: RAVEN

The entire drive home, I feel like I’m being watched.

It’s not paranoia. Not exactly. It’s awareness—sharp and buzzing under my skin, like a live wire. Tony Martin wrapped his hand around my throat. He whispered in my ear. He thinks I’m his prey.

Prey doesn’t get careless.

I check my rearview mirror again, slowing slightly at the light so I can study the cars behind me. A gray sedan. A pickup. A white SUV. None of them stand out, but that doesn’t mean anything. Tony isn’t stupid. If he’s watching me, he wouldn’t make it obvious.

The light turns green, but I don’t head straight home.

Instead, I take a right, then a left, then loop through a grocery store parking lot. I drive slowly between the rows, pretending to look for a spot while my eyes stay glued to the mirrors. The same cars pass by, but none linger. No one follows me through the loop.

I’m still not convinced.

I pull back onto the road and take a longer route, weaving through side streets, doubling back once just to be sure. My pulse doesn’t settle until I’m three blocks from my apartment and I haven’t identified a tail.

Even then, I hesitate.

If he already knows where I live, this won’t matter. But if he doesn’t… I’m not handing him the address gift-wrapped.

Finally, I turn into my complex and park in my usual spot. I sit there for a moment, engine idling, scanning the lot. Everything looks normal. I know looks can deceive, but I don’t feel like anyone is waiting and watching. Grabbing my bag, I head inside quickly, making sure to lock the door behind me.

As a woman living alone, I’ve learned a few tricks.

The blinds are closed tight with heavy curtains blocking the view from the street. They can’t see the light when I turn it on, so they can’t pinpoint my apartment if they were following me. I know they can’t see the light, but I still wait for several minutes before flipping the switch.

My jangled nerves need soothing. Something routine like cooking helps. I move through the motions automatically—rice into the cooker, vegetables chopped with quick, efficient strokes. Broccoli, bell peppers, carrots. The sizzle of the pan is grounding; the scent of garlic and soy sauce fills the apartment.

For a little while, I can pretend this is just another night.