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Today is the day.
The day we are one step closer to finding my piece of shit father.
I call Lana down, and we’re all sitting in my backyard. If you look at us, you’d think we're a group of friends talking about what our plans are for the weekend. Not that we are discussing how to execute multiple homicides.
“Noa, how are we going to do this?” Josh asks me as he puts an arm around Oliver. Despite how much he claims to hate Oliver’s public displays of affection, he loves him deeply. They’ve been inseparable since they were teenagers, and that’s not going to change.
“I propose that you and Oliver get stationed at the back, while Lana, Sara and I stake out at the back of the restaurant. Adam will be on lookout, and Hana is going to be our eyes and ears from afar. We’ll need to take the outer guards out first and quietly. After that, we’ll go inside the house.”
There’s a resounding yes from them until Lana asks an important question.
“Who’s going to apprehend Evan and Lucas?”
I want to give her an answer, but Adam beats me to it.
“I’ll take care of Lucas, and whoever gets to Evan first, they’ll apprehend him.”
“That’s right.”
“What are the weapons of choice?” Lana asks us, like she doesn’t know that already. We look at her with an "are you serious?" look, and she holds up her hands.
“Fine, I know, but I thought I’d ask.”
Everybody laughs, but Sara stays serious. Some grudges can’t go unchecked, and Sara’s making sure Lana knows it. But my ex is holding her own, not giving Sara any ammunition to start a fight.
“Where will you get your gear?” Oliver asks Lana.
“Someone from my team will deliver it in about an hour,” she responds, and he acknowledges it with a nod.
The rest of the next two hours go by smoothly, and we actually enjoy each other’s company.
This is how easy life can be. But it will never be.
Chapter thirty-six
Noa
When our, I mean, my guests left, Lana and I hit the gym and took a long shower, separately, much to my dismay.
It has been really hard to keep that visible line of professionalism. I can’t fight that urge to stop thinking about her, even though she has been here right with me. The reason for keeping her with me is far more selfish than I led on to believe. I forced her to stay with me because deep down, I don’t want her to go.
Which is why it’s going to be hard when all of this is over.
I try not to think about it while I’m gearing up for one of the biggest fights of my life.
I’m wearing a charcoal techwear combat suit—ripstop cargo pants and a compression combat shirt. I paired that with a lightweight Kevlar coat and gloves. My weapons of choice are, as always, my cleaver and a gun. The cleaver is secured between my shoulder blades in an open-top, Kydex friction-lock sheath. My primary gun is strapped to my dominant thigh, featuring a thumb-break retention strap. Good for getting that fucker out quickly. I top it all off with treated leather boots with deep-lugged treads.
I look at myself one more time in the mirror and decide that I look fine.
“Noa?” I turn around to look at Lana, and my mouth drops open.
I look fine, but she looks…mesmerizing.
Her hair is pulled back into tactical braids, and her eyes are sharp, cold, and calculating—the kind of intense gaze that’ll anchor me mid-chaos.
Unlike my bulky, armored layers, she wears a streamlined, reinforced deep crimson bodysuit. It is built from high-mobility, puncture-resistant tech-fabric that allows her to move with fluid, acrobatic speed she’s so used to. I’ve seen her in action, and if I were Dario or any of his men, I would shoot myself in the head.
I also notice she’s wearing a sleek tactical harness that crosses her torso, cinching her waist and emphasizing her silhouette. A knife is strapped to her outer thigh. The sheath is integrated directly into a thick, textured garter band, and her handgun is buckled directly across her chest on her tactical harness. She has thought about everything as her AK-12 has a strap anchored near the front barrel and the rear buttstock.
