Page 169 of Carrick
Bellamy said nothing. She didn’t need to. I could feel her gaze on me—sharp and quiet, like a thread being pulled tight between us.
I kept my eyes on the map, even as my brain started working on all the things that could go wrong. Exit routes. Timers. Blind corners. Vehicle positions. Every possible variable that could turn a conversation into a firefight.
The meeting hadn’t even started, and already my mind was running damage control—preparing for the moment he bolted, for when it all went sideways. I didn’t notice how hard I was gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white. Releasing it slowly, I stepped back from the map like it might detonate beneath my hands.
Something in my gut twisted hard. This wasn’t going to end clean. And I knew it.
Time fractured,no longer marching forward but slipping sideways, each second dragged beneath the weight of a silence stretched too thin to hold. We moved the way we always had, bodies following instinct, but even the familiar now felt foreign. The rhythm was there, but the heart of it stuttered. We hadgone through these motions before, but never with this much at stake.
Jax sat near the coffee table, legs folded beneath him, wires coiled around his boots like vines. His fingers moved without pause, syncing channels, testing encryption, muttering softly as though the machines might sense what we couldn’t name aloud. No one responded. There was nothing to add.
Sully hunched over a notepad at the dining table, his phone lit with satellite grids and traffic overlays. He cursed quietly over blind spots and terrain, then smiled at their potential. Less coverage meant less interference. That counted as luck.
At the weapons locker, Deacon worked in silence. Each piece was laid out in order, cleaned, rechecked, handled with a care that bordered on sacred. Even my sidearm earned his full attention. He never spoke, but his focus moved like a prayer through every inch of steel. Precision was his language. And he was speaking it fluently.
The house seemed to know what we were preparing for. It held itself still. Floorboards stayed quiet beneath our feet. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath, afraid that one sound too sharp might break the threadbare peace clinging to the edges of the night.
Eventually, the stillness cracked. Jax rose with a stretch and wandered off, muttering about algorithms and adrenaline. Sully drifted toward the kitchen. Deacon disappeared, the barn door closing behind him without a sound. I stayed behind, crouched over my gear bag, adjusting the holster that would ride inside my jacket. Clean load. Minimal weight. Just enough to get me in and out if things went bad. Just enough to keep her brother alive. Or try.
I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone until I turned. Bellamy stood at the edge of the hallway, one step out of shadow. She hadn’t made a sound. Her arms hung loose, her mouth unreadable, buther eyes were locked on mine. Too wide. Too still. Everything else about her was quiet. But that gaze felt like a scream.
“You prepping already?” she asked, her voice soft enough to feel like a question aimed at the air between us.
I nodded. Didn’t speak. Just finished sliding the backup clip into my carry bag.
She hovered there for a moment, uncertain, then stepped inside. Her bare feet made no sound on the hardwood, but her presence filled the space like thunder. She moved with the wariness of someone walking into a church, or a minefield, and unsure which it was going to be.
“I used to think he was untouchable,” she said. No preamble. No apology. Just her voice. Just her truth. “Like nothing could ever stick to him. Not fear. Not guilt. Not consequence.”
I kept quiet. Let her keep talking.
“But that’s not who he is,” she continued, crossing her arms over her chest like she needed something to hold. “Not really. He’s scared. He’s angry. And I’m afraid he asked for this meeting without really thinking through all the risks, just like I did when I made you take me to my apartment.”
Her voice cracked just slightly, but she pushed through it. “He’s me,” she said. “Just worse.”
I stood slowly and crossed the space between us, stopping when there was barely a breath separating us.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’ve had practice handling you,” I said, voice low.
She huffed a sound—half laugh, half breath—but it didn’t reach her eyes. Still, something in her shoulders eased. Slightly. It was enough. “Just keep him safe, please,” she said after a moment. “But more than that?—”
Her eyes lifted to mine, wide and open and full of something that hurt to look at.
“Stay safe yourself and come back to me.”
I didn’t hesitate. “I will.” No bravado. No empty promise. Just the only thing I had left to offer her that didn’t feel like a lie.
Her hands moved before she could stop them. She reached for me—slow, tentative—and then she was pressing herself into my chest, arms wrapping around my waist like she needed an anchor. Her cheek rested over my heart. I held her. Not tightly. Not to fix her. Just… steady. The way you hold someone who’s already done the hardest part by letting themselves be held. The storm in her breathing came slow and ragged. But it settled. We didn’t speak. We didn’t move.
The silence between us wasn’t empty. It was full of everything we hadn’t said.
Eventually, she pulled back. Said nothing. Just left the room like she hadn’t fractured me in the quietest way possible.
Later, when I was alone again, I sat on the edge of the bed; the gear packed at my feet, the weight of her still lingering on my shirt. The room was dark. Outside, wind rattled the trees, but inside everything was still.
My phone buzzed once on the nightstand. I didn’t need to check the screen to know who it was.
You’ve earned every ounce of trust I’ve got. Now prove me right. No hero shit. Just finish the job and come home.—Niko
