Rico — POV
Fuck.
My pulse jackhammered in my ears as I stared at the tracker screen. The blinking dot that had been Justin's lifeline, our thread to him — just vanished.
One blink, two… then gone.
My stomach bottomed out.
"No. No, no, no, fuck!"
I scrambled, refreshing the map, punching keys, running diagnostics — maybe it was the signal, maybe a glitch. But deep down, the icy dread in my gut already knew:
They had some kind of jamming device. Military grade or worse. The kind you can't buy off the damn dark web. The kind only mad scientists and black-ops fuckers use when they really don't want to be found.
And Justin — fuck — Justin was in that van.
"Boss, what's happening?" one of the guys barked beside me, weapon half-raised, breathing hard.
"They took him," I ground out, my voice raw, almost choking on the words.
"They fucking took him — and we can't track him anymore."
The van had already peeled off before we breached the block.
