Page 168 of Carrick
Bellamy stepped forward like her legs didn’t entirely belong to her. Not hesitant, not dramatic—just… deliberate. Like her body had been waiting for permission to act. She crossed the space between us slowly, the hem of her sweatshirt brushing her knees with each step.
She didn’t look at Quinn. She looked at me.
“Carrick.”
My name in her mouth didn’t sound like a plea. It sounded like a reckoning. It was quiet and warm and carved straight from the marrow of something that had been holding her upright for too long.
“I need you to go with him.” Her voice didn’t shake, but there was tension coiled under every word. Like it was costing her something to speak, and even more to keep standing still.
I met her gaze, and the noise of everything else vanished. She wasn’t guarded or fierce—just exposed, eyes wide with a kind of raw honesty I hadn’t seen from her before. Every layer had fallen away, leaving no walls, no distance. Only the space between us, and the ticking quiet of whatever was about to come.
“I can’t be there,” she said, steady but thinner now, like the words had to fight their way up from her gut. “I know that. I know I’d blow it—Rayden would shut down, or worse. But Quinn can’t go alone. Rayden has never met him in person. He might get scared and bolt. But he’s met you, even if it was only the one time.”
She inhaled through her nose, like she was re-centering herself, then took another step toward me.
“I need you to do this for me.”
The air in the kitchen thickened, hardening with every syllable she spoke. Sully didn’t say a word. Neither did Deacon. No one interrupted. No one moved. We all knew the gravityof what was happening. This wasn’t just Bellamy asking for backup.
This was Bellamy handing over the last piece of her that hadn’t already been shredded by fear.
“I need to know he’s okay,” she went on, her voice catching just slightly before she pushed forward. “That someone is watching. That if he twitches, you’ll notice. If he runs, you’ll follow. If something goes wrong—” her voice cracked, high and sharp, just once, “—you’ll get him out safely. Or at least tell me the truth.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Because the way she looked at me—it wasn’t a request.
It was trust, laid bare and bleeding in front of everyone. And it wrecked me.
The room went still again. But it was a different now. Heavier. Full of reverence. Every person in that room understood what she’d just given me. And what I couldn’t afford to drop.
I stepped toward her, slow and unhurried, until there was no distance left. Then I lifted my hand, curled it gently around the back of her neck, and lowered my forehead to hers. Her breath hitched, barely audible.
“I’ll go,” I said. Two words. And the promise she never asked for lived between every one of them. The air caught between us—sharp and full and still. She didn’t move for a long beat. Neither did I.
Then, like she couldn’t hold it back any longer, Bellamy leaned into me. Just a breath’s worth of weight, just enough for the heat of her cheek to graze mine. Her hands stayed at her sides. Mine stayed at her neck. It wasn’t a hug or comfort. It was surrender, quiet and reluctant, like gravity had finally won.
After a moment that felt suspended in amber, she pulled back—slow and deliberate, as if each inch of space carvedbetween us took something vital with it. I felt that distance open like a wound.
Quinn cleared his throat. The sound barely rose above a murmur, but it cut clean through the moment. He reached into his bag, pulled out a folded map, its corners softened from wear, and spread it open on the kitchen island with a precision that made the air shift. He tapped twice on a shaded block near the bottom.
And just like that, the room snapped into motion. Chairs scraped. Shoulders squared. We gathered around the island, posture sharpening into habit. The grief stayed in our bones, but something colder took its place. Operational. Focused. This was the language we all understood. The one that required no translation.
“Ok. The location Rayden gave me is an old shipping yard,” Quinn said, pointing to the map. “West side. Just past the industrial corridor off Forty-Third. I was able to get an aerial photo as well as blueprints of the building. Two exits—one at the front, one through the back service door. Roof’s partially collapsed, which gives us some vertical sightlines. No power, no cameras, no traffic.” He tapped the paper again. “Line of sight from here, here, and here. Minimal civilian exposure. Surrounded by three other abandoned units and a scrap yard. It’s good cover if we need to vanish fast.”
He looked up, eyes scanning the room. “He says it’s safe. I’ll verify that tomorrow.”
Nikolai gave a sharp nod. “How much lead time do you think we have?”
“Couple days, max.” Quinn’s gaze drifted back to the map. “He didn’t give me a specific time yet, but he’s twitchy. We need to be ready to move fast. Gear packed. Routes memorized.”
Then Deacon asked the question we were all thinking. “What’s our contingency if he bolts?”
Quinn didn’t answer right away. He looked down, exhaled through his nose, then said, “If he runs, we let him. Unless we believe he’s in immediate danger, we do not pursue. He asked for this meeting. If he rabbits, that’s on him. All we can do is trust.”
The word hung there. Like a loaded weapon placed in the center of the table.
“Trust,” Sully muttered, the word tasting bitter in his mouth. “Right.”
