Zane's pov
The elevator doors barely shut before I pulled the gun from my shoulder holster. My phone was already buzzing again — three short vibrations. The signal.
They were here.
I stepped out into the dimly lit parking garage beneath the building, scanning the rows of sleek, black cars. The smell of oil and rainwater clung to the air. Phil's black SUV was parked two spaces from mine, its back door slightly ajar.
"They're coming from the west ramp," Phil said the moment I reached him, his voice low. "Three vehicles. All tinted. The plates are clean."
"Jake's people?" I asked.
He gave a short nod. "Has to be. The timing fits. And they're not here for small talk."
I cursed under my breath. I'd known Jake would make a move eventually — but this soon? With Tracy in the building? That was a line I couldn't afford him to cross.
"How many?" I asked.
"Six confirmed. Maybe eight."
I checked the spare clip in my coat pocket, then slid it into place. "We don't let them inside. Not tonight."
Phil smirked grimly. "Thought you'd say that."
The sound of tires screeching echoed through the garage. Headlights sliced through the shadows as the first black SUV turned the corner at speed.
"Positions," I ordered.
Phil melted into the shadows between two pillars, rifle raised. I crouched behind my car, watching the enemy vehicle roll closer.
The first man out was tall, built like a boulder. Masked. His stance screamed mercenary — not street muscle. This was Jake's doing.
I waited until the second man slid out of the passenger side before I moved.
Three steps forward. A clean double tap.
Both dropped before they'd even aimed.
The third man swung around with an automatic, spraying bullets wildly. The deafening sound tore through the garage, sparks flying where the rounds hit concrete. I dove behind a pillar, the heat of the gunfire buzzing in my ears.
Phil took the shot — one sharp crack, and the automatic clattered to the ground, its owner crumpling beside it.
The rest came fast. Boots pounding against the floor. Shadows moving between cars. I could hear them trying to flank us.
"Two right!" Phil called out.
I pivoted, firing into the dim light. One went down with a shot to the knee, the other hit center mass before he could return fire.
"Last two!" Phil yelled.
I didn't wait. I sprinted forward, vaulting over the hood of my car. The final man charged at me, knife flashing under the fluorescent light. I sidestepped, caught his wrist, and twisted until I heard the sickening crack of bone. The knife hit the ground, and my elbow drove into his jaw. He dropped.
The last one bolted toward the exit.
Not a chance.
I aimed — and put a round through the back of his thigh. He went down screaming.
Phil jogged over, rifle lowered. "Clean sweep."
I scanned the scene — bodies down, weapons scattered, the sharp tang of gunpowder thick in the air. "Burn the footage. Get rid of the vehicles. Make sure none of them crawl back to Jake."
Phil's brows rose slightly. "And the one still breathing?"
I glanced at the man groaning on the floor. "Wake him up. I'm going to ask him a few questions."
Phil grinned darkly. "Your favorite part."
But my mind wasn't on the interrogation yet. It was on the girl sitting upstairs, in my apartment, unaware that her life had just been inches from ending.
I'd told myself I wasn't going to lose myself to her. That I was only keeping her alive because she was leverage.
But seeing Jake's people come this close to touching her?
That wasn't business. That was personal.