Page 147 of King of Envy

It was Wednesday night. D-Day. I had twelve people on my team, not including myself. Half of whom were here with me. That was Team A. Team B waited less than five minutes away in case we needed backup.

Shepherd’s primary safe house occupied the end of a cul-de-sac in Jersey, about a forty-minute drive from the city. My recon team had been staking him out since Monday and reported a spike in activity over the past few days. He was moving equipment, which confirmed my decision to strike fast before he abandoned this outpost.

I’d anonymously hired a local actor to invite the other residents on the street to a free “exclusive dining experience” at one of New York’s most famous restaurants. The meal was worth over a thousand dollars per person, and getting reservations was usually impossible. The actor framed it as a special giveaway to celebrate the restaurant’s one-year anniversary. The offer was too good for anyone to turn down, so the street was empty tonight save for us.

Team A was set up at the house closest to Shepherd’s. We were able to slip in and set up after Roman drew the faction leader out of his safe house with some bullshit excuse. Thankfully, there were no other members present.

Now, Shepherd and Roman were minutes from returning, and the tension was so thick I could slice it with a knife. I was downstairs with Sean, Mav, and Bruce. The others were upstairs.

I wondered what the house’s real owners would think if they saw seven men staked out in their living room and bedrooms, bristling with weapons and computers. Probably not anything good.

If everything went according to plan, we wouldn’t need to use our weapons, but it never hurt to be prepared.

A black SUV pulled onto the street and parked in front of the safe house. I tensed. Beside me, Sean did the same.

A man with silver hair stepped out, his lean frame and stern expression belying his casual clothing. Roman followed soon after. He didn’t spare our house a single glance.

My team and I were well hidden in the shadows. Nevertheless, I waited with bated breath for the moment Shepherd turned and saw us trying to ambush him.

The moment never came.

He and Roman entered the house. Our computer feeds flickered to life, displaying black-and-white images of the two men inside. The timer we’d wired to the front door started ticking down.

Five minutes.

Shepherd and Roman stopped in the dining room. They exchanged words, their expressions calm. Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to set up an audio feed, so I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

Four minutes.

Roman gestured at the exit, his expression still calm. He walked toward the exit, but Shepherd grabbed him before he made it two steps.

“Fuck,” Sean whispered.

My heart rate sped up. The plan was for Roman to ensure Shepherd made it into the house andstayedthere until the explosives went off. He had a five-minute window to get out himself, or he’d be blown to bits along with the faction leader.

Three minutes.

Roman must’ve been convincing enough to get Shepherd to leave the house with him when the other man was already suspicious about Dexter’s disappearance. However, Roman’s sudden attempt to leave had obviously raised some red flags because Shepherd’s face twisted into a scowl.

Two minutes.

Shepherd dropped Roman’s arm. With a snakelike movement so fast I could barely track it, he pulled out his gun and pressed it straight to Roman’s temple.

“Shit.” Mav this time. “That fucker’s toast.”

“At least he’s making sure Shepherd’s inside while the house blows,” Bruce said. “That’s something.”

No one responded.

One minute.

My pulse ticked in time with the final countdown. A messy tangle of emotions knotted in my gut.

I didn’t like Roman. Barely trusted him when I didn’t have to. Would’ve happily shot him dead that day in my office if he hadn’t saved himself by the skin of his teeth.

Traitors were traitors, and even if he was on my side, his actions left a bad taste in my mouth.

However, he’d also provided invaluable help and intel in my fight against the Brotherhood. Did he have selfish motives? Yes. But he hadn’t steered me wrong yet, which was honestly more than I’d expected from him.

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