Night slid in the way it always did in Middle Nolan—quiet, dirty, pretending it wasn’t hiding in his darkness, singed hearts and weary souls.

  Moraine stood at the window of the neighboring flat, the one Veronica had bought for emergencies like this. For someone who lived on the edges of the East and the West, on a borrowed identity, a ready escape was a vital lifeline.

  The lights were off. Curtains drawn just enough to leave a narrow slit. Moraine didn’t need more to read his surroundings.

  Across the street, three floors up, a man leaned against a rooftop railing, posture loose, too loose. Not a smoker. Not a tenant. The rifle case rested against the wall behind him, disguised under a rain cover that didn’t belong there.

  Found you. Moraine’s mouth curved—not a smile but recognition.

  They’d been subtle at first. One man on a corner pretending to argue into a dead phone. Another leaning too long against a lamppost that offered no warmth. Then the roof. Then the street. Like ants following sugar.

  They’d caught Jordan’s scent.

  Middle Nolan was supposed to be neutral ground. Claimed by no one, tolerated by all but East Guards had been using it as their playground to deal with all their ugly political issues.

  Moraine exhaled slowly and lifted the rifle from the case at his feet. He assembled it with the ease of habit, movements economical, unhurried. The scope clicked into place. The suppressor followed. He didn’t rush.

  Rushing was for amateurs and men who still believed in mercy. He cherished these bloody hunts.

  Through the glass, the sniper came into focus. Early thirties. East training—too clean, too precise. He’d been watching Jordan’s apartment with professional patience, waiting for orders Moraine believed.

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  They would come anytime now.

  Askai was a thorn in Moraine’s side but it was a tenacious one. It would not take him long to find out where he stood when it came to Vance. Moraine had trained Askai to one day take his place in the West and he had not chosen some dumb meat like Qurais.

  If his instincts were right, Askai would be gone with tomorrow’s first ray of dawn, making Jordan the perfect target for Vance’s rage. Moraine could see the streets crowding with men of distinct mannerism. They were closing in but they had no idea who their opponents were.

  A window of opportunity.

  Moraine shifted the curtain just a fraction more.

  The man on the roof adjusted instantly. Raised his head. Leaned forward.

  Let it be known that it was curiosity that killed him.

  The shot was soundless. The man folded forward, crumpling against the railing before sliding down out of sight like discarded clothing.

  Moraine lowered the rifle and broke it down again, calm as a man tidying up after dinner.

  One less set of eyes. It wouldn’t slow them much. East Guards were hydras—cut one head, two more appeared—but snipers were the worst of the lot. Eyes in the sky that could take you down from anywhere, anytime.

  Veronica and Kael would be halfway to the market by now. She’d insisted on the trip, said Kael needed air, said they couldn’t sit in fear like trapped animals. Moraine hadn’t stopped her.

  They weren’t the prize.

  Jordan was.

  And it would be easier for his men to take Veronica and Kael away from crowded spots. Diversions were always easiest to create there.

  Problem however, was Jordan. Too sharp, too defiant, too willing to run straight at the fire and call it bravery. Moraine had thought he had taught him better but he was always too lenient with him.

  Now Vance wanted him for leverage. One thing he would never have. Moraine wanted that beast away from his lands but Jordan was one thing he couldn’t allow him to have.

  Moraine pushed aside the case of the rifle and started loading his guns. He would need all the artillery he could get if he wanted that ungrateful bastard all to himself.

  He stepped away from the window just as the building’s elevator hummed.

  The party had finally arrived.

  “Neil, Are the boys ready?” Moraine spoke into the phone.

  “We’ll kill it, Boss.” Neil’s wolfish grin could be heard through the receiver.

  “Good” Moraine responded with a smile.