Page 33 of Steel Vengeance

His eyes stayed glued to the coffee shop across the road. “Yeah.”

“Is that when it happened?”

His pulse quickened and he shot her a sharp glance. “When what happened?”

She couldn’t possibly know.

“Whatever it was that Omari did to you.”

He exhaled slowly. She didn’t know. She was just reading him again, something she was annoyingly good at.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not trying to pry. It’s just... you were incredible with Fatima yesterday. I can’t figure out why you’d want to throw that away.”

He frowned. “What makes you think I’m throwing anything away?”

She glanced toward the coffee shop. “Omari.”

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation rising. The last thing he needed was her in his head. Not now, when he was this close.

“Look, my business with Omari is just that—my business. It’s got nothing to do with you. I don’t want you involved.”

“Except I am involved,” she said quietly. “Omari’s my target. Whatever happens to him, I have to report it.”

He shrugged. “Do what you gotta do.”

It wouldn’t matter then.

“I will,” she said. “But I’d rather not have to report that Omari was assassinated by a U.S. Marine, or whoever you are, who got himself arrested—or more likely, gunned down by Omari’s bodyguards.”

He stayed quiet, his focus locked on the café across the street.

“I can feel it coming off you,” she said, getting to her feet. “Tension. Anger. It’s almost suffocating.”

“You don’t have to stick around. Your shift’s over.” His voice was hard.

She slung her bag over her shoulder. “You’re right, I don’t. I’m leaving. Just remember, whatever you do, there’ll be consequences. Maybe you won’t be around to face them, but others will. His kids. His wife. Me.”

He kept his gaze forward, refusing to look at her.

She sighed softly. “Good luck, Stitch.”

And she walked away.

By the timeOmari and his family finally left the coffee shop, Stitch was in the tobacconist next door. His plan was simple: wait for the kids to get in the vehicle, then step out and take the shot. If everything went smoothly amidst the chaos, he’d slip out the back into the parallel street where his motorcycle was parked.

The escape route was clear. The back door was already open, providing an easy exit to the street behind. Plus, the store itself gave him cover. He could stay hidden while lining up the perfect shot.

He only needed one.

A blacked-out SUV pulled up outside the café. Stitch’s hand slid into his pocket. No need to pull his weapon just yet—no sense in spooking the customers inside the shop. If they panicked, it could blow his whole chance.

The door opened, and two security guards stepped out, scanning the street. Stitch pretended to be checking out a hookah on display out front.

The guards signaled for the family to come out.

The kids came first, running out, all hyper from cake and sugar. The driver opened the back door, but they didn’t hop in. Instead, they ran up and down the sidewalk, pushing and shoving each other.

“Come on,” he muttered under his breath. “Get in the damn car.”