The electronic lock disengages again. Footsteps cross the concrete floor—Jax’s heavy tread and the guard’s boots behind him. The door opens, then closes with a final-sounding clang.
Silence descends. I can hear Liv’s ragged breathing from across the room, but I don’t turn around. I can’t. How could she respond to him like that? Was it all an act? It couldn’t have been. No one’s that good an actress.
The cot across from mine squeaks. Fabric rustles as she adjusts her clothing.
“Aurora,” she whispers.
I curl tighter into myself, pressing my forehead against my knees. I can’t talk to her right now. Can’t face her. Can’t process what I’ve just witnessed.
“Aurora, please,” she tries again.
I remain frozen, every muscle locked in place. The shock is too raw, the shame of not being able to stop Jax too overwhelming.
The silence stretches between us, thick with unspoken words.
13
HUNTER
Something yanks me from oblivion—a persistent, shrill sound cutting through darkness. My eyes snap open, disoriented, mind struggling to place myself.
My phone. It’s my fucking phone.
I grab it from the nightstand, squinting at the screen. 6:17 PM. Jesus Christ. I’ve been out for over six hours.
“What?” I bark into the phone, rage bubbling through me. Six goddamn hours wasted while Aurora is still out there.
“Hunter.” It’s Ari’s voice, tense but controlled. “I think we found them.”
Those words hit me like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. I’m already on my feet, moving.
“Where?” I demand, glancing down to see I’m still fully dressed—jeans, black T-shirt, boots. I slept in my fucking clothes.
“The old Blackwell psychiatric facility,” Ari says. “The one that shut down three years ago. Grayson intercepted communications between two of Jax’s lieutenants. They mentioned transferringthe packageto the east wing’s secure area.”
I grab my gun from the bedside table, checking the magazine. “How solid is this intel?”
“It’s the first real lead we’ve had. The timing of activity there matches up with their disappearance, and Blaze confirmed unusual power consumption at the facility over the past week.”
“I’m on my way. Have everyone ready to move in thirty.” I’m already striding toward the door, grabbing my jacket. “And Ari—if this is another fucking dead end?—”
“It’s not,” he cuts me off. “Penn’s drone picked up heat signatures in the lower level. Multiple bodies, consistent with guard rotations.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
I end the call, shoving the phone in my pocket as I head for the elevator.
This time, I’m coming for her. And I’m burning everything in my path.
The tension in my penthouse is electric as we gather around the holographic display. Grayson manipulates the 3D rendering of the Blackwell psychiatric facility, highlighting security positions in red.
“Three guard rotations, eight-hour shifts,” he explains, zooming in on the perimeter. “External cameras cover every approach with minimal blind spots. Motion sensors throughout the grounds.”
“What about access points?” I ask as I study the building’s layout. My patience is razor-thin after days of false leads.
Blaze points to a maintenance tunnel. “Underground service entrance here. It’s monitored, but their power grid has a vulnerability. We can create a three-minute window by triggering a surge in the north sector.”
Penn circles the table, tapping his combat knife against his palm. “Those three minutes won’t be enough to extract two hostages through hostile territory.”
