God left without a word and went into the bedroom.
He unzipped his duffle and dug inside the inner lining beneath the false bottom.
His fingers closed around the black phone.
It was heavier than it appeared.
No apps or contacts list.
One device that’d access one number.
One man.
God stared at the blank screen for half a heartbeat while the sounds from the other room bled through the walls—Cassidy’s rough breathing, Xander’s panic, Free’s live feed as men circled them like vultures waiting on the kill, his brother’s fiancé bound and bleeding.
He powered the phone on.
The screen glowed black with a white flashing curser.
He typed one sentence the man on the other end would understand.
I need your kind of help.
He hit send.
The message marked as delivered.
A couple of seconds later, it marked as read.
No reply came.
A chill ran through him, as if something in the dark had turned its head towards him.
God closed his hand around the phone.
What the fuck did I just do?
He’d invited the devil to Los Angeles…
…and he was on his way.
God
By 2 a.m., God had learned that patience was a lot harder to fake when every man in the room was watching him.
Five fucking hours since the panic alarm had gone off in their ears. Five hours of watching four people God loved and had sworn to protect sit zip-tied on a warehouse floor while nine armed men paced around them with guns, greed, and an appetite for revenge.
God stood staring out of the window of the suite because sitting was impossible.
But he also didn’t pace.
Pacing fueled panic. Pacing told the room the man everyone looked to for answers didn’t know what to do with his own body. So he stood still and let the storm rage around him.
Everyone else was close to losing their minds.
Genesis wanted Curtis back in his arms, it wracked every inch of him. He sat forward on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his hands locked together so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
Cassidy hadn’t sat down once. Not once in five hours.