Hank
The shop fills fast.
Within twenty minutes, every member of the crew is here—some still pulling on jackets, others looking like they rolled straight out of bed. Bobbie's on the phone coordinating with our law enforcement contacts. Marcus is pulling up maps on his tablet. Ray's checking weapons inventory.
I stand at the center of it all, my mind moving through the operation like a checklist.
We don't have time for careful planning. We don't have time for contingencies. Brennan's already moving—already liquidating his operation, already disposing of loose ends.
If we wait, we lose him.
And we lose every girl he's marked for disposal.
"Listen up," I call out, and the shop goes quiet. Every face turns toward me. "We've got new intel. Carl Brennan operates on a five-year cycle. He's
