WHEN THE DEVIL KNOCKS.

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Chapter 50 – When the Devil Knocks.

Vincent didn't sleep that night.

Neither did Zane.

Not because of the tension in the air. Not because of the unspoken weight of what they were about to do.

But because, somewhere out there, Lancaster was already making his next move.

And if they didn't move first?

They wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

Cain leaned back against the couch, twirling a knife between his fingers. "So, what's the plan, fearless leader?"

Vincent didn't answer immediately. He was staring at the map spread across the table, eyes sharp, calculating.

Zane crossed his arms. "Vincent."

Vincent exhaled, finally meeting his gaze. "We don't have time to be reckless."

Cain snorted. "Since when?"

Vincent ignored him. "Lancaster is expecting retaliation. If we go after him now, he'll be ready."

Zane frowned. "Then what do we do? Just sit here and wait for him to come knocking?"

As if on cue—

A single knock echoed through the apartment.

Slow. Deliberate.

The three of them froze.

Cain let out a low chuckle. "Well, shit."

Vincent's gun was in his hand before Zane could blink. Cain moved just as fast, stepping toward the door with an almost amused expression.

Zane's pulse pounded. This was bad.

Vincent held up a hand, silencing them. He moved carefully, pressing his back against the wall as he reached for the handle. Then—

He yanked the door open.

No one was there.

Silence stretched.

Then—

A phone rang.

Not theirs.

Vincent's eyes flicked downward. A single burner phone sat in the hallway, screen glowing with an unknown number.

Zane's stomach twisted.

Cain grinned. "Well, that's not ominous at all."

Vincent picked it up, pressing it to his ear. "Who is this?"

A low, familiar voice answered.

"Hello, Vincent."

Zane felt the blood drain from his face.

Lancaster.

Vincent's expression didn't change. "If you wanted to talk, you could've knocked like a normal person."

Lancaster chuckled. "I did."

Zane's breath caught.

Vincent's grip tightened on the phone. "What do you want?"

A pause.

Then—

"I want you to run."

The words sent a chill through the air.

Cain's smirk faded. Zane's fingers curled into fists.

Vincent stayed silent.

Lancaster sighed. "You had your fun, Vincent. You made things difficult. I can respect that." A beat of quiet. Then, softly—almost gently—"But it's over."

Zane's chest ached.

Lancaster wasn't warning Vincent.

He was mourning him.

Vincent's voice was steady when he spoke. "I'm not running."

"I know," Lancaster said. "That's why I'll see you soon."

Then the line went dead.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Cain exhaled, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Well." He grinned, sharp and dangerous. "That's one way to start the night."

Zane barely heard him. His focus was on Vincent—on the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.

Vincent was preparing for war.

And so was Lancaster.

Zane exhaled slowly.

It didn't matter anymore who struck first.

Because the moment Vincent opened that door—

The countdown had already begun.

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