Page 91 of Gatsby's Starlet
There was no other way to explain the precision of it, the way they were setting up angles and coverage, the way every man outthere moved like he knew exactly where he needed to be and what was coming next.
A voice muttered low somewhere behind me, a quiet “what the hell” that didn’t need answering because we were all seeing the same thing, all putting it together at the same time as the truth settled in deeper, they were staging for a hit.
And not a quiet one.
Mystic shifted just slightly to my left, not enough to draw attention but enough that I caught it in my peripheral, his focus locked in the same direction as mine, reading it just as fast, just as clearly, and I felt that realization hit all at once, sharp and unavoidable, that this wasn’t coincidence, wasn’t timing breaking our way.
This was about to blow.
“Circle,” he murmured, the word barely there but carrying anyway, and we didn’t argue or hesitate, just pulled back enough to stay out of their line of sight before cutting wider into the trees, moving slow and low as we worked our way around the edge of the operation, every step more careful now because getting caught between the Fire Dragons and a federal raid wasn’t a mistake you walked away from.
Branches snagged at my sleeves as we pushed through thicker brush, the ground uneven underfoot, but the farther we moved the more the sound shifted, growing louder, rougher, voices carrying through the trees in a way that didn’t match what we’d just left behind.
Laughter.
Shouting.
The Fire Dragons.
Somewhere inside that building, in the middle of all of it, I could feel it pulling at me, that need to move, to push forward, to get eyes on an entry point and find a way in before everything went to hell, but we never got the chance, because the nightexploded behind us, engines roaring to life without warning, no longer hidden or controlled as headlights tore through the trees in sharp, blinding beams and voices shouted over each other, commands snapping loud and fast—
“Federal agents! Don’t move!”
Gunfire cracked before the words even finished carrying, and everything collapsed into chaos as Mystic’s voice cut low through it—“Up”—already moving as we followed without hesitation, not running or bolting but climbing, hands grabbing bark and boots finding holds in trunks we’d barely registered seconds before, hauling ourselves up into the trees just as the clearing lit up with flashing lights and muzzle bursts, the whole place turning into a war zone in the span of a breath.
I pulled myself onto a thick branch and settled low against it, body pressed in tight as I looked down through the leaves, watching the Fire Dragons scatter, some reaching for weapons, some already firing back, while the DEA pushed in hard and fast, trained for this, cutting angles and locking down exits as screams and shouting and the crash of breaking glass tore through the night, and through all of it I searched, tracking every doorway, every window, every shift of movement, looking for her.
“Hold,” Mystic said from somewhere to my right, his voice calm even with everything going to hell below us, and I locked it down, forcing myself to stay put even as every instinct in me fought it, because dropping in now would be suicide, and it wouldn’t help her.
Movement near the front pulled my focus, a line of agents pushing forward with purpose as one of them stepped just ahead to take point, issuing orders like he owned the entire scene, his voice cutting clean through the noise with the kind of authority that made men listen whether they wanted to or not, and then Isaw his face, clear in the flashing lights, recognition hitting fast and sharp enough to tighten my grip on the branch.
No way.
“That’s—” Chain started under his breath.
“Motherfucker!” Horse snarled.
“Yeah,” I muttered, eyes still locked on him.
Tom Montgomery.
The name landed heavy, dragging up half-forgotten conversations about Brenda and the man she’d been seeing, the one I’d never paid much attention to because he’d sounded like nothing, just some guy who sold insurance, just another name, but this wasn’t that, wasn’t anything close.
This was a DEA lead running a full raid on the Fire Dragons.
Below us, Montgomery moved like he’d done this a hundred times, controlled and precise, calling shots that shifted the entire flow of the operation, and all I could think as I watched him was how deep this just got, how much bigger it was than we’d thought.
From where I was pressed into the crook of the tree, the whole scene spread out below in flashes of light and movement, the DEA pushing in hard while the Fire Dragons scrambled to answer it, and somewhere inside that chaos, somewhere behind those walls, was Evie, close enough now that it sat under my skin like something alive, something pulling me forward whether it made sense or not.
I shifted before I fully realized I was doing it, weight moving, grip tightening on the branch as I tracked the side of the building, already mapping angles, already looking for a way down that didn’t put me straight into a line of fire, because if there was even a chance, if there was a window, a blind spot, a second where no one was looking, a hand closed around my arm.
Not hard.
Didn’t need to be.
“Don’t,” Devil said low from somewhere just above and behind me, his voice carrying that authorative edge that cut through everything else without raising in volume.
I didn’t look at him right away, my focus still locked on the clubhouse, on the back entrance where two agents had just cleared through, because if they were moving that side, then maybe—
