Chapter 127: Calculating the Catch 1

Damon’s POV

When I say my captain is the coolest bastard in the entire world, I actually mean it.

I couldn’t fathom how his brain worked. Most people think two minutes ahead, maybe an hour ahead if they’re smart. Noah Miller thought three entire years into the future. The guy didn’t just play chess; he rigged the board, poisoned the opponent’s drink, and bought the building the tournament was hosted in before the game even started.

A few minutes ago, when we pulled up near the perimeter of Jenson University’s athletic expansion site, the place looked dead. It was an unfinished concrete skeleton surrounded by overgrown weeds and rusted chain-link fences. Completely calm. Completely silent. There wasn’t a single living soul in sight.

I killed the engine of my red sports car right beside Noah’s black sedan. The dust kicked up by our tires hadn’t even settled before Noah stepped out, his face completely expressionless.

He stared at the hollow building, his eyes scanning every window and every exposed pillar.

"Remember what I told you back at the mall," Noah said, not bothering to look at me.

"About not leaving anyone alive?" I asked, leaning against the hood of my car with a faint grin.

Noah’s lips pulled into a thin, wicked smirk.

Oh, I loved making him do that. Breaking that saintly Golden Boy mask was my absolute favorite sport.

"At least you were listening," Noah said, finally turning his icy blue eyes on me. "But change of plans. I’m positive there are about four or five men in there. I can handle every single one of them by myself. So I’m giving you a different assignment."

I rolled my eyes, letting out an exaggerated groan. "Please tell me I don’t have to clear the bodies. My clothes cost more than this entire construction lot, Captain. I’m not dragging bloody corpses through the mud."

"Be quiet, Silver!" Noah snapped, his frown deepening into a vicious scowl. "Your job is to save Micah. I don’t care how you do it, but you make sure he gets out of there in one piece."

I stopped joking. My chest tightened. "What do you mean?"

"They brought him to an unfinished upper level," Noah said, his voice dropping into a flat, deadly tone. "They know who we are. They know they can’t beat us in a fair fight. If they panic, they might throw him off that building. You have to save him. If they pull a gun to shoot him, you have to save him. If they draw a blade to stab him, you get in the way and save him."

A sharp spike of fear shot straight through my stomach. "Wait, what? Shoot or stab? There’s no way those college athletes have the guts to pull that kind of crap, right?"

"I don’t deal in hope, Damon. I deal in worst-case scenarios," Noah said coldly, stepping closer until he was invading my personal space. His eyes locked onto mine like two loaded barrels. "I’m telling you how critical your job is. Save Micah. If there is a single scratch on my brother’s body when this is over, I will skin you alive myself."

I looked at him, feeling a sudden, bitter ache behind my ribs. "You really don’t give a damn about me at all, do you?"

Noah didn’t answer. The selfish bastard didn’t even blink. He just turned on his heel and started walking with heavy, purposeful strides toward the main entrance of the concrete shell.

I hated how much I admired him in that moment. I hated that he was right. My guilt from the mall was still eating me alive from the inside out. I had looked right into Micah’s terrified eyes, turned my back, and denied knowing him. I did it to keep my cover with Jenny, but seeing the pure heartbreak on Micah’s pale face had made me feel like the lowest piece of filth on earth. If anyone owed Micah their life today, it was me.

Suddenly, as if the men inside had sensed our presence, the heavy metal door at the front entrance was kicked open from the inside.

Three guys in dark hoodies burst out into the dirt courtyard. They weren’t holding bats or small knives. They were holding thick, heavy pieces of construction lumber.... four-foot-long wooden beams studded with rusty nails.

"Noah Miller!" one of them yelled, his voice shaking with false bravado. "You should have stayed home, you bastard!"

Noah didn’t even slow down.

"Go!" Noah commanded me under his breath. "Find a way around back and get up there!"

I broke into a sprint, veering hard to the left toward the unfinished scaffolding on the blind side of the building. But as I ran, I couldn’t resist looking over my shoulder to watch him.

The first guy charged Noah, swinging a wooden beam with enough force to take off a man’s head.

Noah didn’t duck. He stepped directly into the swing, closing the distance before the wood could reach him. Noah caught the guy’s forearm with his left palm, stopping the strike cold, and drove the heel of his right hand directly upward into the guy’s chin.

CRACK.

The sickening sound of teeth shattering rang across the open dirt. The guy’s head snapped back, his eyes rolling into his skull as he collapsed like a sack of rocks.

The other two froze for a split second, horrified by how effortlessly their friend was neutralized. But they were already committed. The second guy lunged forward, trying to thrust the jagged, nailed end of his beam straight into Noah’s gut.

Noah twisted his torso by a few inches, letting the wood scrape past his jacket harmlessly. In the same fluid breath, Noah trapped the beam under his armpit, grabbed the guy by the collar of his jacket, and slammed his forehead violently into the thug’s nose.

Blood sprayed. The guy shrieked in agony, dropping his weapon and clutching his ruined face. Noah didn’t let him fall. He grabbed the guy by his hair, dragged him down, and brought his knee up hard into his sternum. The crack of breaking ribs was loud enough to make my own chest ache. Noah shoved the limp body aside, letting him drop face-first into the dirt.

The third guy backed up, trembling, holding his piece of wood with both hands like a baseball bat.

"Stay back, man! Stay the fuck back!" he screamed, tears of panic streaming down his face.