Chapter 6

Watching From The Dark.

Sage

It was supposed to be a quiet fucking day. Ari dropped by in the morning, sharp suit, colder eyes. She handed off this week’s files like always, with clipped instructions and a pointed glance at the clock. Naomi rolled her eyes once the door shut, muttered something about Ari needing to get laid, and vanished with her folder. Mine sat untouched for a few hours while I drank bitter coffee and picked at a stale croissant. I wasn’t in the mood for contract work, not when Conner hadn’t left my head since last night. But eventually, duty won. I cracked open the files and scanned the list. Standard cleanups. A few loose ends. One name caught my attention: Leon Calder. Alias: Ghosthound. He used to run contracts on the Eastern Front, good reputation, known for clean hits, never missed a mark. I liked him. Until I saw who his new employer was. Not Yakov. Not an old council. Not even a rival crew. Conner O’Neill. My hand froze on the trackpad. No. That didn’t make sense. Conner didn’t outsource. He trusted his own men, barely. The fact that this man was running under his banner meant one thing: someone inside his organization was pulling strings. Hiring freelancers under his nose and Leon wasn’t just tailing anyone. He was tailing

Conner.

The job details were vague, just a location and a window. Warehouse 9, down by the docks. The time? Within the hour. My blood went ice-cold. I grabbed my gear without thinking. I didn’t even text Ari. I just moved. By the time I hit the rooftop of the old shipyard tower crane, the fog was already rolling in. Too thick for a summer night. Too quiet for the docks. It was like the ait was holding its breath and then I saw them. Conner’s car slipped through the shadows like it didn’t belong. Wrong place. Wrong time. Liam rode shotgun, tense as ever. Conner had one hand on the wheel and murder in his eyes. I knew that look. I’d seen it before, right before he did something reckless. I adjusted the scope and swept the perimeter. That’s when I found them. Three heat signatures tucked into the shadows. Coordinated. Suppressed rifles. Not amateurs. They were positioned for a kill box. My jaw clenched. Leon was one of them. You stupid bastard. This wasn’t just a shipment setup. This was an ambush. An execution. Someone fed them Conner’s movements down to the goddamn minute. I didn’t hesitate. The first shot tore through the lead shooter’s skull before he even clocked the reticle glare. Panic broke loose below. The second man pivoted to fire and dropped a second later, chest blooming red. Two clean shots. Precise. Controlled. Then Leon moved. I didn’t kill him. I could have. He was exposed, scrambling to retreat. But I aimed lower. The bullet punched through muscle, dropped him screaming. Non-lethal. Intentional. I wanted him to bleed. I wanted Conner to find him. I adjusted the scope again, caught a glimpse of Conner dragging Liam behind cover. Both alive. Breathing. Unaware how close they came to dying. I should’ve left then. I should’ve ghosted like always, but I couldn’t. I stayed long enough to watch Conner rise from behind the crates, mouth moving, brow furrowed, searching the shadows. He looked toward the crane like he knew and maybe he did. He didn’t see me,not fully. Just a flicker. A glint of my scope catching the moonlight. But it was enough. His hand drifted to his coat pocket, where I knew he’d find the napkin I left the night before. I backed away, slipping into the metal skeleton of the crane, feet silent on steel. The wind had picked up, tugging at the edges of my hood, but I moved like smoke, fluid, vanishing between beams and bolts and shadows. Below me, the chaos began to settle. Shouting. Footsteps. The sharp crunch of gravel as Conner’s backup rolled in late. By the time they breached the perimeter, I was gone. Just another whisper on the wind. Another ghost in the machine but I didn’t feel gone. Not really.

My heart was still there, crouched behind those crates with him. Conner. Too close. Too reckless. And this wasn’t just about a fucking file anymore. This wasn’t about Yakov’s orders or clearing a name off some blood-stained ledger. Someone was trying to kill him. And whoever they were, they knew too much. His route. His timing. His habits. That kind of intel didn’t come from the outside. That kind of intel came from inside, from someone close. Which made it my problem. Because they weren’t just targeting Conner, rising heir of the Irish syndicate. They were targeting my man and worse, if I didn’t clean this up, if my mark wasn’t dead by the end of the week, I would be the next one hunted. Yakov didn’t tolerate unfinished business. The air felt suddenly colder. Against every last whisper of reason, I pulled out the burner phone from the inner lining of my coat, the old one, the one I hadn’t touched in years. The number I hadn’t dared dial. My fingers hovered for half a second before typing, deliberate and steady.

“Kill him by the end of the week please, darling. xx”