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“Copy,” Wit chided. “Fucking copy.”
“Get him to Watermark. We’ll lead them away,” Cane said.
Wit thrust his fist against the back of the seat next to him over and over in frustration. He ran his hands down his face, then gripped handfuls of his own hair as some sort of distraction while his leg tremored with anxiety.
“Aye?” Rip said, glancing at Wit through the mirror again, noting his distress. “You good over there, lady?”
“You know it,” she said. “Keep him safe or I’ll ruin your life.”
Wit couldn’t help but chuckle as a lone tear stained his cheek. Her voice was exactly what he needed to hear along with her feisty attitude. He looked back at Rip in the mirror, and the men gave each other a knowing look.
Rip pulled his comm briefly. “You know they got this, bro. Right?”
Before Wit could respond, more activity came through.
“Picked up another,” Cane said. “They know we have something they want.”
Wit begged through gritted teeth. “Rip?”
“Lose your comm, Wit,” Declan demanded.
“Not a chance boss,” he fired back.
Declan yelled, “Then kill your fucking mic and stop distracting your team before you get someone killed.”
Dillon turned to face him with a raised brow, and he knew exactly what she was looking for. Compliance. Wit shut off the mic but left his earpiece in and smiled weakly at her just as he lost his shit.
“He’s off,” she said for the team to hear. “We’re four minutes out with the package.”
“We’re coming up your tail, Cane,” Ryker said. “I see three potential marks on your ass.”
“Let’s box them in,” Dace interrupted. “We’re picking you up here in a minute. Blow by me, and I’ll get in their way.”
“I’m headed your way.” Finn jumped in. “Keep it chill until we get there, or you’re going to lose control and make a mess around town.”
Rip pulled into the underground parking garage at Watermark Tower. Before he could park, Wit was out of the car and pacing, staring at the steel door that hadn’t shut yet.
Dillon raced to his side and grabbed his arm. “Don’t do it. Don’t you dare run out there.”
Wit held his head in his hands as his pacing quickened and the path narrowed.
Rip moved toward him with fierce intention and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along as he made his way to a nearby bank of lockers and a bench.
“Sit,” Rip demanded. “Now.”
Wit hesitated a moment and finally collapsed on the bench and rested his chin against his fisted arm, which was perched on one knee, while the other knee bounced ferociously in anticipation. Rip sat next to him and patted his back, staring at the entrance to the garage right along with Wit in solidarity.
“We’re about to engage,” Ryker said. “Let’s do this quick and get them away from civilians.”
“Copy,” Killion could be heard saying. “Get them out of town and on the backroads. We’ll take the freeway and head away from you.”
“I’m coming in to take your spot and block them in,” Finn added. “Get Ayelish the hell out of here as soon as I move. That’s who they’re after.”
Wit looked at Rip as if he could help the situation, but he just looked away, calm and collected. Wit tried to match his demeanor but couldn’t. He stood to pace again, but he was met by Dillon and Rip pulling him back down, and Dillon did the pacing for him. Rip and Dillon shared a look, and each turned off their mics.
“You good, Wit?” she asked, and he nodded.
“Listen. You know how this shit works. Stop looking at this like a fucking victim and look at it as an operator. Put yourself in their seats and play it through your head. What would you do?” Rip waited, but Wit ignored him. “What would you fucking do?”
