Ronan and Garrick took both men down before either of them reached the barn door, a fast, brutal efficiency that told me, watching from the small window, exactly how much restraint they’d both been exercising in every fight I’d witnessed since the parking structure. There was no restraint needed here — only speed, and the particular controlled violence of two men who understood exactly what these strangers had come intending to do.
“Alive,” Ronan called out, once both men were subdued, zip-tied and disarmed on the gravel drive. “We need them able to talk.”
Garrick hauled the nearer man up by his collar, patting him down with brisk efficiency and producing a phone, a small case similar to the one Callum had carried, and a folded photograph that made my stomach drop the instant I recognize
