Here we go. Half past midnight. Not exactly the ideal time to ring someone's doorbell. About three meters away, a car was parked at the side of the road. Behind it, Happy and Nash crouched in the shadows. Happy was there as backup, Nash for moral support—though Foss didn't feel particularly comforted at the moment. Still, knowing they were there helped.

The rest of the crew, along with his mom, would be working their way through the trees on the far side of the property, trying to scale the fence.

Foss reached for the intercom, mounted at chest height on the iron gate. It was a sleek metal plate with a gold-rimmed button, a tiny camera above it, and a grille for the microphone. He pressed the button.

And then remembered he was supposed to be angry. Keeping the button pressed, he imagined the old hag sitting bolt upright in bed, satin sheets sliding to the floor as one hand clutched her chest. 

Bring it on, you miserable witch.

Or, maybe she'd just unplug the thing and go back to sleep. That was starting to seem more likely.

Oh—wait. A light flickered on. Downstairs. Then upstairs.

He released the button. Waited a beat. Then pressed it again, for good measure. Finally, a click.

Putting on his best furious glare, Foss leaned into the camera. "Open up, you bitch!" he growled.

No response.

For a second, he considered pulling out his gun and shooting the intercom to pieces. But no—that would make him look unhinged. If anything, that would make her less likely to come out.

"Hey!" he yelled instead. "Hana, right? I know what you've done! What you forced my mom to do!"

This time, a soft laugh came through the intercom. Her voice followed, calm and sweet. "Forced? I haven't forced your mother to do anything. Don't tell me you've fallen for her lies so easily."

Foss gritted his teeth. "Where's my brother?" He jabbed a finger at the camera. "If you don't tell me where he is, I'll break every brittle bone in that miserable body of yours!"

As long as he kept her talking, it was fine. He just needed to buy time for the others to sneak in.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, boy. But I suggest you mind your tone—and your actions. From what I see, you look like someone on the brink of a meltdown. All I have to do is snap my fingers, and you'll be in a padded cell before sunrise."

Her words were smooth, her tone maddeningly composed. Foss could practically hear her using the same voice to manipulate his mother.

"You turned her into a killer," he spat, his hands balling into fists.

"I simply helped her discover talents she already possessed," she said lightly.

Foss let out a sharp breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement in the garden—shadows flitting around the house. He refocused on the camera, keeping her attention.

"Leave her alone," he demanded. "She's worked for you long enough."

"I see no reason to release a skilled employee. I pay her well."

Pay her? Was his mom actually being paid for all this? Or was Hana referring to keeping Alec alive as her so-called payment?

"Then pay me instead," Foss snapped.

A mocking laugh crackled through the speaker. "Show me you're worth it first."

"Let me in, and I'll prove it right now."

"It's midnight, and you've been pounding my doorbell like an imbecile. You don't exactly scream discipline. That's of no use to me."

It was clear she wasn't coming outside. And she wasn't about to let him in. Foss had done his part; he'd distracted her long enough.

Without another word, he turned and strode back to the car, where his father and best friend were waiting.

"Well, that got us nowhere," he grumbled. "But the others are on the property. I saw them."

"Then it's our turn," Happy said, pulling a bulky package from a bag.

Foss froze, his stomach sinking. "Is that an explosive?"

Happy grinned. "If she won't open the gate, we'll blow it off its hinges."

"Won't that alert her guards?"

Happy shrugged. "There are only three of them. We'll drag them out of the house either way. Might as well make some noise in the process. Besides, Tig put this together, so who knows if it'll even work."

That didn't stop him from placing the device by the gate. Foss crouched behind the car, his pulse hammering in his ears. He clamped his hands over his head and braced for the worst.

A thunderous explosion ripped through the air. Foss curled into a ball as dirt, metal, and shards of tile rained down on the car. When the debris finally settled, he risked a look. The gate hung crookedly from its hinges, steel bars bent like cheap wire. A small crater marred the spot where the explosive had been.

Happy shoved the gate open, gun already in hand. "Let's go. Don't wanna miss the fun."

Foss glanced back at Nash, who had also gotten up. He was rubbing his ear, as if he hadn't covered it properly. "Have fun. I'll call as soon as the cops show up. And be careful," he added. "I don't have enough friends to lose one."

Foss smirked and hurried after his father.

A small crowd had gathered near the front door. A smart move, because the door swung open, and a man rushed out, likely to assess the situation.

He was immediately slammed to the ground.

Well, that was easy. Was his conversation with Hana to blame for this recklessness? While he'd initially felt the discussion had led nowhere, he now realized it had served as a kind of smokescreen.

Hana had probably assumed he'd storm off in anger and start breaking things.

Together with Happy, he reached the door. Muffled cries echoed from somewhere deeper in the house. Something shattered. Gunshots followed.

Foss moved further down the hallway and stepped into the living room. A vase lay in pieces on the floor. A coffee table was overturned, with a man lying face-down beside it.

A few Sons stood upright, as if completely unbothered.

Foss quickly made his way into the adjoining room. While he knew his mother could hold her own, accidents happened easily, especially when emotions were running high—and this situation clearly weighed heavily on her.

A loud thud sounded from upstairs.

The kitchen was empty. The faucet was running. A blond guy, no older than Foss himself, stood rinsing blood off his hands before pressing a wad of paper towels to his bleeding nose.

"They're upstairs," the guy muttered.

And so they went back down the hallway and up the stairs. At the top, a group of men stood outside a closed door. Kozik was throwing his weight against it.

Cursing, he rubbed his shoulder. "That thing's steel."

Foss suspected he was right. Dents marred the surface, and spent bullets littered the floor. The wood varnish had chipped away in spots.

"Then we'll just punch a hole through the wall," Happy said. "I've got a sledgehammer in the back of my van. I was planning to introduce it to her fingers." He fished a keyring from his pocket and tossed it to Foss. Apparently, Foss had just been degraded to errand boy. Oh well. It wasn't like anyone else here was going to do anything besides wait.

Foss headed back down the stairs and through the hallway. A man lay on the floor, his hands tied behind his back. He figured this was the guy who'd been knocked out the moment he'd opened the door.

Foss hurried past and left the front door ajar. Shadows blanketed the yard; no one else was around. The warped gate screeched as he nudged it open and stepped through.

Nash pushed off the car he'd been leaning against. "It's a miracle no one's come to check things out yet." Looking visibly uneasy, he scanned the street. "Maybe everyone thinks that bitch deserves it."

Foss turned right, away from a car with paving stones on its roof. Nash fell into step beside him.

"Where are you going? Isn't it going as planned?"

"Hana locked herself in her bedroom. Apparently, the door's steel. Happy says there's a sledgehammer in his van." Foss jingled the keys.

"A sledgehammer. Of course. Why wouldn't you bring one everywhere you go?"

Foss smirked. He stopped at the van, popped the back open, and climbed in to retrieve the tool. Hauling it out, he realized the thing stood as tall as his hip. He couldn't help but wonder if it had ever taken down walls or if Happy had only used it as a torture device.

"So, uh, I heard gunshots," Nash said as they walked back to the gate. "Anyone hurt?"

Foss shook his head. "That was them trying to open the door. Two of the three guys are down and tied up. The third one's probably with Hana."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

Foss knew Nash worried about everyone inside, whether he knew them or not. That concern was one of the few glimpses of humanity Foss had seen in this mess—something he rarely got from Naomi or Happy. It brought balance to his world, and for that, he was grateful. Foss placed a hand on Nash's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll be right back."

"Be careful."

Foss nodded, let his hand fall, and shifted the sledgehammer to his other hand. Stretching the fingers of his left, he stepped out of the streetlight's glow and back into the shadowed yard of the mansion.

The door was still ajar. He slipped inside and climbed the stairs. No progress had been made up there. Happy grabbed the tool from him and disappeared into the adjacent room. Foss followed.

Feeling around, he found a light switch, flooding the room with a yellowish glow. They were in a bedroom, though it didn't look used—no folded clothes, no stray shoes, no personal belongings. The curtains were open, but the trees surrounding the house blocked most of the moonlight.

Happy yanked a mirror off the wall and tossed it onto the bed. The rest of the wall was lined with an antique wardrobe, so it was the only spot he could punch through to the next room. Hopefully, it was drywall or wood. Even if it wasn't, he'd get through eventually. This didn't seem like a modern house—but then again, he hadn't expected a steel door either.

The first swing sent vibrations through the laminate floor. Happy had already busted through part of the drywall. Chunks of plaster rained down. By the second hit, there was a football-sized hole in the wall. Behind it was a wooden frame with more drywall on the other side. The gap was stuffed with fiberglass insulation, which Happy knocked loose with the next swing.

When the opening was wide enough, he held back on the next strike, creating only a small hole. Tossing the hammer aside, he shoved his gun through and fired.

Gunshots immediately came in response.

Foss dove for cover beside the bed, knowing those thin walls wouldn't stop bullets. Happy hadn't wanted to fire blindly, but their opponent clearly had no such qualms.

More shots rang out, followed by a heavy thud in the next room.

"You're outnumbered, Hana. You're alone now. Put down your—" Happy's words were interrupted by an angry growl. 

A bullet struck the bed frame. Realizing his presence here was pointless, Foss ducked out of the line of fire and back into the hallway.

"Hana! I just want to know where my son is!" Naomi shouted.

There was a faint reply, followed quickly by a pained cry.

"Stubborn bitch," Happy muttered. "Drop your weapon, or I'll put a bullet through your other knee too."

A tense silence followed.

"Open the damn door. If I have to come in there, I swear you'll regret it."

Shuffling footsteps and soft whimpering moved closer. Moments later, the door swung open.

It wasn't a defeated old woman standing there, but a proud one, her gaze blazing with fury. Blood streamed from a gunshot wound just above her knee, and she leaned heavily on the doorframe for support.

"You'll regret this," she hissed at Naomi.

Foss's mother smashed her pistol's butt into Hana's forehead. Hana staggered and collapsed.

Foss exhaled in relief. They'd done it. They'd caught her. Now they just had to make her talk.