Page 125 of Priest

“And now?” I asked.

“Now he either rushes the transfer to prove he can or holds her separate to bait you into breaking formation.”

“He wants me emotional.”

“He wants you reckless,” Archangel corrected.

He wasn’t wrong.

The photo of the factory stayed under my hand, but all I saw was Blue. Her hand over mine on her belly that morning. Her sleepy laugh. Our baby kicking against my palm like the future had been brave enough to answer me.

Joker had spoken about her like she was a thing already priced and packaged.

Blue was not merchandise. She was not leverage. She was not a message he got to send through my bones.

“Over my dead body,” I said.

Archangel studied me for a moment, and whatever he saw must’ve satisfied him because he gave one short nod. “Good. Because if we hit that building, we clear it. Your Old Lady comes out, and so does everyone else they’ve got locked inside.”

Ink’s voice cut in, sharp and controlled. “You thought we’d walk away from the rest?”

“I don’t know you,” Archangel replied. “I know your reputation. Those aren’t always the same thing.”

The room went hard.

Archangel didn’t flinch from it. “I’m not here to insult your club. I’m here to keep you from storming a trafficking site like it’s only a kidnapping. You go in blind for one person, you risk losing everyone in that building.”

That landed where it needed to, even if none of us liked the shape of it.

Saints of Retribution didn’t deal in flesh. We didn’t traffic. We didn’t look the other way when it happened on our streets. We’d broken smaller rings before and buried what needed burying afterward, but nothing at this scale had ever sat this close to our door.

“We don’t deal in flesh,” I said, meeting Archangel’s stare. “And we don’t allow anyone to deal in flesh in our town.”

A faint nod from him. Respect, stripped clean of theatrics. “Then we’re aligned.”

Ledger leaned over the map, eyes moving fast. “How many on site?”

“Rotating between twelve and fifteen. Armed.” Archangel pointed to the north wall. “Perimeter watchers here and here. Interior guards near the back offices. Main floor is open, but the holding rooms are partitioned. South entrance has the weakest visibility from the road, which makes it tempting. That’s why they’ll expect pressure there.”

Rook’s gaze lifted. “You got eyes inside?”

“Not anymore.”

That answer told its own story.

A muscle jumped in Graves’s cheek. “You lose someone?”

Archangel closed the file halfway, not enough to hide anything, just enough to end that line of questioning. “We lost access.”

There it was. A door shut without slamming.

I leaned over the map, tracing the outline of the building with my eyes. Loading dock on the west side. Side entrance along the north wall. Narrow access road cutting in from the highway. The south side looked easier from a distance, which meant it was bait or incompetence. I wasn’t betting Blue’s life on incompetence.

“We go coordinated,” I said. “Saints take south and east pressure. Fallen Angels take west and north. We cut them from both sides and keep them from pushing anyone out the back.”

Archangel’s eyes sharpened slightly. “My shooters cover exterior movement. Yours keep the south loud enough to pull attention without turning it into a street war before we breach.”

Nomad leaned in, already seeing the road. “Communication stays tight. No open channel chatter.”