The Sunset Job (The Rainbow's Seven 1)

The elevator doors opened into a mirror-encrusted lobby, with sleek furniture and potted palm trees flanking the front desk. Walking through the decadent space never failed to give Roman a flush of gratitude, briefly reminding him of the trailer park days that he had dug himself out of.

Sure, his money may not have been the cleanest, but it all worked the same once the cash was deposited.

Mustang was waiting in a neon pink Audi, the engine purring even as it idled. Roman jumped in the passenger seat, and Mustang was off seconds later, tires screeching as they searched for tread on the smooth pavement. Phantom leaned forward, hands on the seat, his smile reflected back at him through the rearview mirror. He wore a blue Marlins shirt and a matching blue cap flipped backward.

“Where we headed?” Mustang asked.

Roman rubbed his chin, calculating about a dozen different answers to her question. Only one of them made the most sense to him. “Drive toward Wynwood. Let’s go to Wyatt’s place. I want to check up on him.”

“Got it.”

Mustang had tailed Wyatt earlier in the day after Roman asked her to keep an eye on him. She had reported that all was quiet by him, but things changed at a second’s notice, and he didn’t want to take any chances.

He’s not going to be happy when I knock on his door.

Roman couldn’t quite believe they were racing down a Miami highway heading toward the home of a man he thought he’d never see again. A man he couldn’t get out of his dreams (and sometimes nightmares), someone whose memory was surrounded by what-ifs and “why us.”

If Leonidas did anything to you…

Mustang swerved out of an exit and maneuvered down tight city streets, made even more compact by the cars parked alongside the road. The sidewalks were equally packed, with people walking up and down the art-filled street, the bars and restaurants filled to the brim.

As they continued to speed west, the restaurants and tattoo shops morphed into single-family homes with overgrown lawns, sandwiched between apartment buildings that desperately needed a fresh coat of paint and a full safety inspection. Roman remembered coming here almost every evening, hanging out with Wyatt after their high school classes, playing basketball in the driveway or Resident Evil on the PlayStation.

As they turned onto the familiar street, Roman was flooded with even more emotion. He wondered if Wyatt held on to the same memories, with the same golden glow around the edges. Or were his memories veiled in trauma and pain, covered by a curtain of red.

He wouldn’t blame him, not at all.

That’s when he spotted him. Wyatt, looking absolutely scared shitless as he was being tossed into the back of a black town car by two men—both of them wearing lion claw necklaces.

Roman’s blood boiled, his entire body flushing with heat as the town car sped forward. Roman pulled his gun from the holster, not even needing to give Mustang a command. She slammed on the pedal and launched them forward.

The driver of the town car spotted them, making a sudden left and accelerating in an effort to race ahead.

This checkup had not just turned into a full-blown car chase.

“Don’t lose them,” Roman said as they bounced off the curb, turning onto a dirt road that cut through someone’s backyard. The town car tore through the fence, a wooden stake flying past Roman’s head as he leaned out the window, gun raised and heart slamming against his ribs. He didn’t have a clear shot, the tints on the car an impenetrable black.

“Get me next to them,” he shouted at Mustang over the roaring wind.

“Hold on to your dicks, boys.” She reached for the red switch on the dash and flipped it. The car turned into a rocket, the acceleration forcing Roman back into his seat and rattling his skull.

I’m coming for you, Wyatt. I won’t let you get hurt again. Ever.

Chapter 5

Wyatt Hernandez

Wyatt had never felt this kind of raw and unfiltered fear before. His shoulders were shaking uncontrollably as he was shoved into the back of a car, falling facedown with his hands tied behind his back. He rolled onto the car’s floor as they sped forward, the men shouting commands around him as they raced ahead. Wyatt tried getting up but was thrown back down as they made a sharp turn, slamming his forehead against the driver’s seat.

The sharp pain brought with it dark black stars that twinkled around the edges of Wyatt’s vision. He gripped onto his consciousness with everything he had, knowing that passing out now would likely be a massive mistake.

“Where are you taking me?” he cried out from the floor.

His answer was a kick to the ribs. “That car is gaining on us,” the man said, ignoring a whimpering Wyatt and cocking his gun.