Page 101 of Faded Rhythm

I know I must sound cold and robotic to her. I don’t mean to. That’s my default, especially when I’m surrounded by chaos and death. But I know she must think I’m a monster. And fuck it. Maybe she’s right.

I head back to the truck. We have shit to do, a body to bury, and another mission to complete.

42

Julian

I stare at Ebony,waiting for her to give me something else. Some hope, maybe. The anguish on her face matches the grief in my heart. I wish she could see how bad I feel, but I compartmentalize shit to the point where I’ve become what Sable said—a machine.

She sighs. “The doctors are optimistic, but she’s not out of the woods yet.”

I nod. “As long as there’s a chance.”

Her eyes narrow. “Where’s Brett?”

“Brett is…” I trail off, wondering how much I should share. “Brett’s not a problem anymore.”

She doesn’t respond to that.

“Where are the girls?” I ask.

“The girls aren’t your concern.”

“I know.” I scrub a hand down my face. “Are they here somewhere?”

“No.”

“If you need me to pick them up, or…if the family needs anything—“

“My family doesn’t need a damn thing from you. I think you’ve done enough,cousin. You need to go.”

As much as I hate the words she’s saying, I know I have no comeback. No leg to stand on.

A woman comes out of Sable’s room. It’s her mother. I recognize her from my research. She looks just as distraught as Ebony as she stands at the nurse’s station.

Without thinking, I walk past Ebony towards Mila. She jogs past me and stops in front of me, sticking her hand out.

“How many more times do I have to say it?” she says. “Leave. You aren’t welcome here.”

Rather than cause her any more pain, I nod and turn away, heading back toward the elevators. I shoot AJ a text letting him know it’s time for phase two.

If I make it out of there alive, I’m coming back, and I don’t give a fuck what her family says.

43

Julian

You’d think a bigass mansion would have better security, but AJ’s man slammed the front door open with a compact battering ram in under five seconds.

Sloppy.

The rest of us breach with precision. We fan out, all of us in matching head-to-toe black gear, tactical boots, and weapons. No talking, just hand signals and adrenaline.

We move through Dime’s home like shadows.

Left is clear.

Right is clear.

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