Fated in New Orleans

14

They pulled into the lot and killed the engine, boots crunching on gravel. Neon from the bar sign threw long, jaundiced streaks across the parking area. Salem and River shared a look that said you’ll want to hear this before they climbed out.

Rhea was already at the console, fingers flying. “Got him,” she said. “He’s at the bar — forty‑five minutes out. Same one Salem and I hit six years ago.”

Salem’s shoulders stiffened. “That one,” she said. The word had teeth.

Rhea’s grin split her face. “Oh, yeah. Remember when we got arrested there?” Her eyes glittered with mischief. “Salem talked me into the dress and heels, and we nearly ended up in a holding cell for fashion crimes.”

Salem made a face. “You sold it like a glamor show. It was a setup — the mark had a back room, and Pryce was there, watching. He trained us both; he knew how we moved. We walked in like civilians, and walked out in cuffs.” Her voice tightened. “He made us look sloppy on purpose so he could test reactions.”

Miles barked a laugh. “Hold on — you got arrested? In heels?” He shook his head, grinning. “This I’ve got to see.”

Beau’s chuckle came out warm. “Classic. Two ghosts of the old job, arrested for looking too good.”

River’s face stayed composed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “So Pryce was there the night you were arrested.” He watched Salem, eyes steady. “You said he trained you.”

Salem’s jaw went hard. “He did. Recruited us out of the orphanage, ran us through operations, taught extraction and suppression. He built handlers, River. He taught us how to be useful — and how to be invisible until he needed us to be seen.”

Rhea leaned forward, all teeth and threat. “He liked making us prove a point. That night he wanted to see how we handled pressure. Then he sold the technique off to whoever paid more.”

Miles rubbed his chin, trying not to grin too wide. “So you two strutted into a bar in dresses and stilettos, got arrested, and Pryce was watching the whole time? That’s straight cinematic.”

Salem shot him a look. “It wasn’t a stunt for laughs. We got played. We learned not to let him put us on a stage again.”

Beau’s tone softened. “But you walked away. Both of you.”

Rhea’s laugh was cold. “We walked away, but we didn’t forget. Pryce thinks he built us. He helped shape how we break and how we fix. Problem is, he taught us the tools he never expected us to use on him.”

River folded his arms. “Which means we need a plan that doesn’t play into his expectations. No theatrics. No bait without a net.”

Rhea tossed a look at Salem. “Cage, not fireworks. Got it. But I still want him to know who trained him — and who taught him wrong.”

Salem slid into motion, scanning live feeds. “We’re here to take him alive. We don’t need another arrest record. We need leverage.”

Miles grinned despite himself. “Less glam, more grit. Noted.”

Beau headed for the alley with a nod. “We’ll keep the exits tight.”

River turned back to Salem and Rhea, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. “You both know him. Use that. You tell me when to move.”

Rhea popped the drive into the console and already the bar’s interior lit up on the screen. “He’s at the back booth. Nursing a whiskey. Doesn’t look like he expects company.”

Salem’s reply was a flat half‑smile. “He shouldn’t. He trained us to disappear. Now he’s about to remember we can reappear on purpose.”

They squared their shoulders and moved into position: River and Miles on the exits, Beau covering the alley, Salem and Rhea slipping toward the door with the quiet precision of two people who’d once been taught how to vanish — and had learned how to come back swinging.

The bar’s hum and muted chatter faded as Pryce edged toward the back exit, his movements measured, predator-like. River, Miles, and Beau were already in position, eyes locked on the alleyway, muscles coiled for the moment.

Rhea whispered into Salem’s earpiece, “He’s moving. Back exit. Get ready.”

Salem’s jaw tightened. “Eyes sharp. He knows us, but not well enough.”

Pryce reached the alley, and the trio blocked his path. River and Miles moved subtly to seal his escape while Beau flanked the other side. Salem and Rhea watched from the doorway, tense but poised.

Suddenly, Pryce lunged, pressing a knife against Salem’s throat. “Stay. Still. One wrong move, she’s gone,” he hissed, eyes flicking between them.

Salem froze, but her mind raced. Rhea readied herself, fingers hovering near her weapon, calculating every millimeter.

Pryce’s voice dripped with pride. “I’ve been trying to take down the Alpha twins for years. And now? I find out you’ve got… eyes for one of my former coworkers? Admire her? She’s hot. I don’t blame you guys.”

Miles’s jaw clenched, fists tightening. “You think a little steel gives you power over us?”

River’s presence was cold, deliberate. “Drop the knife, Pryce. Let her go.”

Beau growled low, stepping forward. “You’ve miscalculated.”

In a sudden, brutal motion, Pryce shoved Salem down hard. She tumbled backward, and time seemed to slow. River lunged, catching her just before her head hit the concrete, his arms strong and steady, holding her against him.

Miles and Beau reacted instantly, closing in on Pryce from both sides. Beau’s arm shot out to grab his wrist, while Miles moved to flank, cutting off any angle of retreat.

Salem, pressed against River, regained her footing quickly. “He underestimates us,” she muttered, her voice calm despite the rush of adrenaline.

Rhea slid forward, eyes sharp, fingers ready on her console-triggered devices. “And that’s always his mistake.”

Pryce hissed, realizing he’d overplayed his hand. His eyes flicked to Salem, then River and Miles, calculating, cornered.

“Fine,” he spat, lowering the knife reluctantly, trying to regain composure. But Miles and Beau weren’t letting him move.

Salem straightened, gaze cutting, voice cold. “Lesson one: never threaten anyone in this pack. Lesson two: never underestimate the ghosts you trained.”

Rhea’s grin was sharp. “And lesson three: we don’t forget.”

River’s eyes stayed locked on Pryce. “You thought you controlled the hunters. You didn’t see the pack behind them.”

Beau smirked, hands still ready on Pryce’s arms. “Wrong side of the hunt, cher.”

Pryce’s smirk faltered. The man who trained them both now realized just how lethal the pack was when they moved as one—and that he’d misjudged the ghosts he helped create.