Chapter 29 · No Crown

The gunfire stops.

Not because they're done. Because Hart's people are waiting for orders.

I'm on the ground behind a rusted conveyor belt, Locke's hand still gripping my wrist. Six tactical guys in black gear spread across the catwalk above us, rifles trained down. Vito stands at the center, flash drive dangling from his fingers like bait he never intended to give up.

"Stay down," Locke says. His voice is flat. Dead calm.

Which means he's about two seconds from doing something stupid.

"Locke—"

"I said stay."

Vito tilts his head. "Hart wants you both breathing. For now." He pockets the drive. "But if you make me work for it, I'm authorized to get creative."

One of the tactical guys shifts his aim toward me. Red dot on my chest.

Locke moves before I can breathe. He's up, gun out, firing twice at the catwalk support beam. Sparks fly. The beam groans but doesn't give. The tactical team scatters, one guy loses his footing and grabs the railing.

Vito doesn't flinch. "You're down to four rounds, cousin. I've got thirty men outside and a Bureau cleanup team inbound. Do the math."

Locke doesn't lower the gun.