Butcher walked out the door, and the faint smile vanished from his face.
The promises that old fox Edgar made were cheaper than a streetwalker's declarations of true love. Their so-called cooperation probably meant a rope looped around his neck. Once they used him to snatch Ryan away, those suited bastards could stab him in the back at any moment. If he staked his life and everything he had on Edgar's credibility, not even bone fragments would remain.
But Butcher couldn't wait any longer.
Becca grew more despondent by the day. She never mentioned Ryan, but she would always sit by the window, staring at the door. Whenever she heard them return, she stood up to see whether Ryan would appear, then sat back down in disappointment. Before Vought even came after them, she would break herself.
Butcher got into the car, pulled up the coordinates Edgar had sent for Ryan, then swiped to another photograph.
It had been taken at a private training ground. A-Train, dressed in an athletic tank top, was doing sprint training with his brother.
His leg had healed.
This was the second safeguard Butcher had prepared.
Lucian had agreed to deal with Stormfront, but a verbal promise was too flimsy even to wipe his ass with. If he changed his mind at the last minute, if he refused to antagonize Homelander as well, or if he simply wasn't a match for Stormfront, The Boys Team still needed someone who could help them evacuate quickly.
"Hughie, put on something inconspicuous."
Once the call connected, Butcher gave him the address straight away.
"What are you up to now?"
"Catching up with an old friend of yours."
"What old friend?"
"Does A-Train count?"
Only breathing remained on the other end.
Half an hour later, Hughie climbed into the