Page 126 of Redemption

The Mayhem trio burst into Victoria’s room, and she knew that this wasn’t her get-out-of-jail moment. “What’s wrong?”

Tex opened the dresser drawer and pulled out the phone, tossing it onto the bed. “Call your old man. Tell him to back down.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryder was coming to get her?

“The guns stash. The company he works for is sending a team to get them.”

Panic flooded her system. “Turn off the explosives!”

“There’s no kill switch.” He didn’t seem the least concerned. “They’re getting in the way of something they don’t understand, thinking they’re making a good play taking those weapons out of rotation—but they’re wrong.”

“No kill switch?” Her mind couldn’t fathom the recklessness. Tex sounded reasonable, almost fair, and that was flat-out terrifying. “What kind of things is Mayhem moving? Shit!”

The two men exchanged glances. “The weapons the government won’t acknowledge exist yet: magnetrons, sci-fi BS and IED-wannabe combustible crap.” Tex ran his hand into his hair as if he were in awe of their capabilities. “I’d call your man and say, ‘Back the fuckballs down,’ peaches.”

Her hands vibrated with rage and fear. Adrenaline. “Titan is going there? How do you know?”

“It’s our job to know everything,” the chain-smoker said.

“Call. Or not,” Tex added. “I don’t give a fuck. Deacon doesn’t give a fuck. But Lenora does, and that’s why you have your heads up.”

Who was Deacon? The chain-smoker? He didn’t react to the mention of the name. She shook with panic.

“Tick, tock, tick, tock,” Lenora whispered. “Don’t let them get there before kaboom.”

Shit! Victoria lunged for the phone. Not much battery left as she hit redial for Ryder.

She prayed for him to pick up.

“Don’t say anything that will tip them off. If they know what’s going to happen, no telling who they’ll tell, then this won’t end well for you.” Tex leaned close and growled then righted himself, showing the handgun tucked in his waistband. “Do I make myself clear, peaches?”

“Perfectly.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

The air conditioning rattled, and some chairs squeaked. Titan Group’s war room, this wasn’t. But Ryder didn’t care because it had everything Delta team needed: his teammates, Parker manning his keyboard, and all the technology Titan needed to set up a mobile operating center. Ryder had seen them pop up war rooms like this across the globe as often as he’d relied on an ear piece and a mic, yet his nerves were getting the better of him.

His cell phone rang, buzzing as the screen lit with an undisclosed number. With the approving eye from his boss and a go from Parker, Ryder swiped the screen and pressed the phone against his ear, praying it was Victoria with an update that Mayhem had simply released her. “Hello?”

“Hello, Ryder. It’s me.”

No such luck, he could tell by the sound of her voice that the situation was worse. Brow furrowing, Ryder ran his fingers into his hair as he shook his head, signaling to Brock no good news. “What’s wrong, love?”

Parker pointed at Ryder. They had his phone tapped and could listen in via the phone system in the conference room. Parker counted down with his fingers.Three, two, onethen he and Brock picked up handsets and listened into Ryder’s call.

Ryder focused on Victoria and the out-of-place coolness in her greeting. Whatever her issue, her fear was serious and deadly. She didn’t sound injured… but maybe trying to stifle panic.

“Listen to me. There’s no time for discussion.”

“Okay,” he agreed.

“You have to back your team away from the Mayhem weapons.”

“Wait, what?” Ryder’s mind blanked.

Brock and Parker exchanged immediate glances. No one outside of this room and Titan’s main team who was already on the move knew that they had decided to go after Mayhem’s new stash of weapons. After what they’d witnessed between the Russians and Mayhem, Jared’s decision was a simple one. No contract was needed. That was a greater good of society decision. Clean up the streets. Get the guns, the ammo, the goddamn bazookas—who knew what Mayhem purchased and planned to distribute?

Brock shook his head, cutting his hand over his neck like a knife.

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