Riley sat at the kitchen table, her brothers on either side of her, each of them focused on the game of cards they'd been playing for the past hour. The room was filled with the soft rustle of cards and the occasional curse from Kyle when he lost a hand. It was almost... normal. Or it would've been, if the situation hadn't been as twisted as it was.

She was three months deep into this undercover nightmare, and the lines between family and the job were harder to keep straight every day. Despite everything, she couldn't help but enjoy these quiet moments with her brothers—moments that made her feel like maybe, just maybe, they were the people she used to know. But that illusion shattered the second Carl walked in the door.

He had that familiar sleazy grin on his face, like he always did, and immediately the tension in the room spiked. Riley could feel it in the way Mike and Kyle shifted in their seats, the way the conversation suddenly died. Carl wasn't a friend—he was a necessary evil. But today, there was something different in his posture, something darker in his eyes.

"Got some news," Carl announced, helping himself to a beer from the fridge before dragging a chair over and plopping himself down at the table. He looked around the room, then settled his eyes on Riley. "You're gonna want to hear this one, doll."

Riley set her cards down, a chill creeping over her skin as Carl leaned forward. She forced herself to stay calm, her face impassive, but her pulse quickened.

"We've got a big one coming in," Carl said, glancing at Mike and Kyle before looking back at her. "Full auto weapons. Serious firepower. All going to one buyer."

Riley's stomach dropped. Full automatic weapons? She kept her expression neutral, but her mind raced. That wasn't just business as usual—this was huge.

"When?" Mike asked, his voice low and guarded.

"Next week," Carl replied, his grin widening. "At the port. Sinclair himself is gonna be there to oversee the deal, so it's big. He wants you three there to supervise."

Riley's blood ran cold at the mention of Sinclair. She hadn't crossed paths with him yet, and now she was about to be at the same deal? That many guns going to one buyer meant something serious. Whatever group was getting them was planning something devastating. She didn't need to be told to know that.

Carl leaned back in his chair, looking satisfied with himself. "It's all set up. The buyer'll pick up at the port, and we make sure everything goes smooth."

Riley's mind raced, panic bubbling under the surface. This wasn't just another deal—this was catastrophic. Full automatics meant the potential for mass casualties, maybe even something bigger than what she'd anticipated. She couldn't let this go down. But how the hell was she going to stop it without blowing her cover?

Kyle shot a look at Riley, then back at Carl. "And we're sure this buyer's legit? One guy, all those guns? Feels risky."

Carl shrugged, unconcerned. "Sinclair's got it covered. You're just there to make sure nobody fucks with it."

Riley felt like her chest was tightening. Her heart pounded, but she kept it hidden behind a calm, cool exterior. "Got it," she said, keeping her voice steady. "We'll be ready."

Carl stood, satisfied. "Good. I'll keep you posted." He threw a wink in her direction before strolling out the door, leaving Riley to simmer in her thoughts.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Mike and Kyle turned to her. "You okay with this?" Mike asked, his voice filled with concern. "You can sit this one out, if you want." He reached over and gave her arm a gentle squeeze.

Riley shook her head, though her mind was screaming otherwise. "I'm good. We've handled worse." But she didn't believe her own words, and she doubted they did either.

_____________________________________________________

Riley sat across from Detective Jackson in the dimly lit back room of a rundown diner, the kind of place no one would look twice at two people having a quiet conversation. She'd been here before—Jackson always picked places like this when they needed to go over critical information. The air smelled faintly of grease and burnt coffee, the background chatter muted by her own racing thoughts.

Jackson leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, his expression as unreadable as ever. "This is it, Torres," he said, his voice calm but firm. "The perfect time to move in on Sinclair. That shipment coming in next week? That's our chance to nail him."

Riley tried to swallow the lump in her throat. It was almost over. The endless tension, the double life, the suffocating lies—everything was coming to a head. But with that relief came a crushing weight of guilt.

"And what about my brothers?" she asked, her voice quieter than she intended. She tried to keep her tone neutral, but Jackson didn't miss a beat. His sharp eyes flicked to her, narrowing slightly.

"They're in just as deep as Sinclair's other lackeys," Jackson said flatly. "You knew that going in."

Riley shifted in her seat, trying to push down the rising panic. "I did, but... they're my brothers. They didn't force me into this life—they were just trying to survive. I need to know if there's a way to—"

Jackson laughed, cutting her off, his amusement cold and sharp. "You think you get to rewrite the rules now? Make new deals? Because you've been playing the part so well?" He shook his head, a cruel smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Listen, just because you've spent the last few months pretending to be a criminal doesn't mean you can walk in here and start acting like you run the precinct."

Riley's face flushed with anger and embarrassment, but she bit her tongue. He wasn't wrong. She was deep undercover, and the line between right and wrong had become so blurred that she sometimes forgot her place. But this—this wasn't just some job. This was her family.

"I'm not trying to run anything," she said, her voice hardening. "I'm just asking if there's a way to get them a lighter sentence. They're not the worst players in this."

Jackson's smirk faded, and his gaze turned cold again. "No. That wasn't the deal. Your brothers are part of the operation, and they go down with Sinclair."

Riley clenched her fists under the table, trying to keep her temper in check. She knew she was losing this fight, and Jackson had all the power. But the thought of Mike and Kyle getting thrown in prison for God knows how long made her sick.

Jackson leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Just focus on playing your part. Feed me the information I need, and I'll take care of the rest. You've done good work so far. Don't screw it up by getting emotional now."

Riley bit her lip, feeling the weight of his words. She'd gotten herself into this, but now it felt like the walls were closing in on her. She nodded silently, knowing she had no other choice. Jackson gave her one last pointed look before dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

---

Later that day, Riley was back in uniform, patrolling the city with Tim. The weight of the day hung heavily on her, and she could barely concentrate as Tim rambled on about his weekend plans. Her mind kept drifting back to what Jackson had said, how he'd so easily dismissed her concerns about her brothers.

Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. "Disturbance in progress, requesting two units near Grand and Wellington," the dispatcher's voice rang out.

Riley's heart skipped a beat. That's where Mike and Kyle were supposed to be today.

Tim glanced over at her as he flipped the switch on the radio. "We're on it. Let's roll."

They sped toward the address, but Riley's hands were already shaking as she pulled out her phone under the dashboard. She quickly texted Mike, her fingers trembling as she typed.

Get out of there. Now. Cops are on the way.

She shoved the phone back into her pocket, heart pounding, and hoped that Mike and Kyle would take her seriously. It was the only thing she could do without blowing her cover or raising suspicion with Tim.

---

That night, when Riley got home, she was met with a text from Mike.

**Thanks. We owe you one.**

She stared at the message, her gut twisting. Her brothers were grateful—they thought she was on their side. They had no idea she was the one feeding the police all the intel, that every single move they made was being tracked and monitored because of her.

Riley tossed her phone onto the couch and sank down, burying her face in her hands. The relief she felt from knowing she'd kept them safe today was immediately overshadowed by the realization that she couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't keep walking this tightrope, pretending that she wasn't betraying her brothers every single day.

The worst part was, even after months of this, part of her still wanted to believe she could save them. That somehow, when it was all over, she wouldn't lose everything. But deep down, she knew that wasn't true.

She was already losing herself.

****************

Author Note:

STAY WITH ME I promise we'll be getting more of Luke soon!

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