“Yes,” I say. “On our ground.”
Beau crosses his arms again. “If we seed movement and leak location noise, I can track who commits first. The aggressive ones will show themselves.”
“And the careful ones,” Travis adds, “will follow.”
I nod. “Which means we choose the place, the timing, and the exits.”
Brooke’s voice is calm. “Okay, they want to hunt me.”
She lifts her eyes. “Let them come.”
I squeeze her hand once. “We should feel honored, The Collective has to send killers for us.”
Brooke smirks. “Then we collect their fucking heads.”
Kristie’s bounty pool is exactly what you would expect from a desperate politician with too much money and not enough patience.
Half the names Travis pulls up aren't professionals. They are amateurs who have managed to kill someone once and decide that qualifies them to start calling themselves hunters. A few are repeat offenders who have been caught before and somehow slip through the system again. Most of them have records thick enough to choke a prosecutor and are dumb enough to leave evidence behind every time they pull the trigger. They aren't careful. They aren't disciplined. Some of them have not even bothered to hide their last body.
It almost feels insulting.
Two million dollars on my head and this is the talent pool she pulls from.
Not a single legitimate hitman in sight.
Travis is combing through the Collective’s archived security footage when he finds the first one worth mentioning. He rewinds the clip and turns the laptop so Beau and I can see the screen.
The man wanders through the frame like the cameras don't exist. Crooked grin, cheap leather jacket hanging off his shoulders, and a lazy uneven walk that looks less like an injury and more like a man who has never bothered learning how to move with control.
Professional killers scan their surroundings.
This idiot looks like he would forget his own name if someone doesn't remind him.
I lean closer to the screen and study his face for another second.
His name is Don.
Joe is always with him.
Don and Joe aren't professionals. They come as a pair. The Collective uses men like them when they want bodies without investing real resources. They are sloppy and impulsive, violent in ways that feel personal instead of controlled. They move between perimeter work, intimidation jobs, and cleanup when someone else doesn't want blood directly on their hands.
Both of them were seen with Grant.
They're close enough to feel important and close enough to think they are untouchable.
They aren't.
We don't hunt them. We let them come to us.
Brooke goes out alone with no disguise and no visible backup. She chooses a public place with lights on and people everywhere. She doesn't act unaware. She moves through the world like she has not already been marked.
Don notices Brooke first. Joe follows his gaze. They trail her from a nightclub near the edge of town. Joe stares too long. Don never checks his mirrors. They peel off behind a liquor store, laughing like the night already belongs to them.
Their dumbasses never even check the car.
They climb in, still talking, still laughing.
I'm already in the back seat.
