They sweep each room, neutralizing resistance. Bodies of Jax’s men litter the facility, but something feels wrong.
“Hunter,” Blaze calls, his voice tight. “This room’s been staged.”
I join him in what appears to be a holding cell. Two chairs sit in the center, restraints hanging loose. A discarded black evening gown—identical to the one Aurora wore—lies crumpled in the corner.
“It’s theater,” I snarl, kicking one of the chairs across the room. “They were never here.”
“Boss.” Grayson’s voice comes through my comm. “Security office, northeast corner. You need to see this.”
I find him staring at a monitor, its blue light reflecting off his grim expression. On screen, Jax King smiles directly into the camera.
“Hello, Hunter,” he says, looking amused. “Enjoying our little game of hide and seek? I’ve left breadcrumbs at each location. Some might call it a wild goose chase, but I prefer to think of it as... foreplay.”
Behind him, I glimpse a wall I recognize from another facility.
“He’s been recording these in advance,” Grayson says. “Leading us exactly where he wants us to go.”
I stare at Jax’s smug face on the monitor, everything clicking into place. The trip wires. The breadcrumbs. The staged cells. The perfectly timed video messages.
“He’s playing with us,” I say, my voice unnaturally calm. “This isn’t about eliminating a threat—it’s about breaking me first.”
Penn exchanges glances with Grayson. “Hunter?—”
“We need to regroup,” I cut him off, turning away from the screen. “This is the third location tonight. Three more failures and we’re no closer to finding them.”
Something inside me fractures.
With a primal sound that barely resembles a human voice, I slam my fist into the concrete. Pain explodes through my hand, bright and clarifying. I hit it again. And again. Blood smears across the gray surface as my knuckles split open.
I welcome the agony, relish it. Each impact sends shocks of pain through my arm, cutting through the fog of rage and fear clouding my mind. The physical suffering anchors me to reality when nothing else can.
Blood drips between my fingers, pooling on the floor. I breathe heavily, finding strange comfort in my self-destruction.
This is what Jax doesn’t understand. Pain doesn’t break me—it focuses me.
10
AURORA
The concrete walls feel closer now than when we arrived, our prison shrinking with each passing hour. We’ve been taken out one by one to shower and returned immediately after. And they’ve given us a fresh nightgown. I’ve regained control of my limbs since the drugging incident, but being able to move freely in a locked cell feels like its own special torture.
“Water delivery,” a guard announces, sliding two bottles through the meal slot. The routine never changes—breakfast at seven, water at ten and three, dinner at six. Like clockwork in hell.
Olivia sits on her cot, knees pulled to her chest. She hasn’t met my eyes properly since that night. Since what Jax did. Since what I saw.
“Liv,” I say softly. “You need to drink something.”
She shakes her head almost imperceptibly. Dark circles rim her eyes, her once-perfect blonde hair hanging limply around her face.
The electronic lock disengages with its familiar mechanical whine. My stomach tightens instantly—it’s not a scheduled mealtime. That means only one thing.
Jax enters, immaculate as always in a black tailored suit. Two-armed guards flank the doorway behind him.
“Good morning, ladies.” His voice carries that unsettling blend of politeness and menace. “Day five of our little arrangement. How are we feeling?”
Neither of us responds. I’ve learned that silence infuriates him more than defiance.
“Not talkative today?” He crosses to Liv’s cot, standing too close. “That’s a shame. I so enjoy our conversations.”
