Page 51 of Rebel

I watched their faces -- the tight lines around Viper’s eyes, the vein pulsing in Stripes’ temple.Java meant something to each of us.He’d impressed the hell out of everyone here when he’d rolled in on a customized bike.He’d been in the Army, like my Rio, except he’d lost both legs to an IED.I was also the reason he was here.

My stomach tightened.How the fuck could he have survived all that to be taken down by the Morettis now?

I also knew Viper made a good point.Didn’t mean anyone would listen to him.

Doc approached me, offering a bottle of beer I hadn’t asked for.I took it anyway.

“This waiting is killing us,” he said, eyes on the knot of officers gathered around one of the laptops.“You good?”

I nodded, though “good” wasn’t the word I’d use.Tense.Wired.Ready to explode.Those fit better.

“You know Java well,” Doc said.

“Well enough,” I said.Truth was, I didn’t think anyone really knew him.He only let people get so close.“Watched him grow up.There were times we’d go shooting together, once he was older.Said my aim was shit.”

Doc’s laugh was brief, hollow.“Sounds like him.”

The minutes stretched.I counted the weapons I could see.Counted the times Azrael checked his phone only to shake his head at whoever was watching him for reaction.

The front door swung open.We all tensed, but it was only Gator, returning from his recon.His face told us everything we needed to know before he even opened his mouth.

“Nothing,” he said.“Warehouse is clean.If they had him there, they’ve moved him.”

“Or he’s dead,” someone muttered from the back.

Scratch shot them a look that could’ve frozen hell.“We don’t know that.”

“We don’t know shit,” Gator said.“That’s the problem.”

Scratch started to respond when the rear door opened, and the energy in the room shifted instantly.Backs straightened.Conversations died.All eyes fixed on the man who entered with measured steps that conveyed more authority than any shouted command could.

Charming.

He wore the weight of three sleepless nights in the lines of his face, but his eyes were sharp, focused.His leather cut was pristine, the President’s patch a silent reminder of who called the shots.He surveyed the room, nodded once, and moved toward the center of our makeshift command post.

No one spoke.No one needed to.We all knew what three days of silence meant.We all knew the odds were stacking higher against Java with every passing hour.But none of us would say it, not until Charming did.

He stood before the whiteboard, studying it like it might reveal some secret if he stared long enough.Then, without turning: “Any word from our friends on the north side?”

Scratch shook his head.“Nothing.Their places are locked down tight.”

“The Russians?”

“Radio silence,” Viper replied.“But that could be good or bad.They’re not exactly chatty on the best days.”

Charming nodded once, a single dip of his chin that somehow made the room even tenser.He turned, faced us all, his gaze sweeping across everyone before landing on mine for just a second longer than the others.I felt the weight of that look -- assessing, calculating.

Then he said it: “I’m calling Anatoly.”

The room went still.Completely still.Like someone had hit pause on everything except our breathing.

Anatoly.The Bratva connection.Charming’s friend from back before he’d broken ties with the Bratva.The nuclear option.

Scratch was the first to move, shifting his weight from one foot to another.“You sure that’s the play?Once the Bratva are in --”

“I’m sure Java doesn’t have time for us to debate,” Charming cut him off.His voice wasn’t raised, but it carried an edge that made men back down.“Three days.If he’s alive, it’s because the Morettis are trying to get information, or possibly hoping to make a trade.”

No one argued with that.We all knew what it meant if the Morettis were interrogating Java.It meant pain.It meant names.It meant all of us were at risk.Except I didn’t think he’d crack.

---