The first guard doesn’t even have time to shout before my bullet finds his throat. The second manages to trigger an alarm before dropping. Red emergency lights bathe the corridor in crimson as sirens wail.
“Brace!” Blaze shouts, his rifle chattering as he provides covering fire.
I move without hesitation, each step, each shot, mechanical in its precision. A guard emerges from a side room—dead before he fully clears the doorway. Two more appear at the end of the hall—three rapid shots, two bodies dropping.
“East wing secure,” Penn’s voice crackles through comms.
“West wing, heavy resistance,” Grayson reports, gunfire punctuating his words.
I advance toward the stairwell leading to the lower levels. A bullet tears through my left shoulder, spinning me half around. White-hot pain flares, then immediately recedes behind the wall of adrenaline and purpose.
“Hunter, you’re hit,” Blaze says, moving to cover me.
“Irrelevant.” I switch my weapon to my right hand, continuing forward without breaking stride. Blood soaks mytactical vest, warm against my skin. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except finding Aurora.
We push toward the basement access, encountering a barricade of Jax’s men. Their desperate fire speaks volumes—we’re close. We must be close.
“Covering fire,” Blaze calls, unleashing a barrage.
I move during the suppression, flanking their position with cold efficiency. Five men. Five shots. Five bodies.
The stairwell to the lower level appears ahead, heavy security door partially open. Blood trails down my arm, dripping from my fingertips as we push deeper into the compound, following the path of bodies we’ve left behind.
The basement level is silent—too silent. Bodies of Jax’s men litter our path, but there’s no sign of prisoners. My wound throbs with each heartbeat, but I barely register the pain as I push forward.
“Clear these rooms,” I order, gesturing to Blaze and his team. “Find them.”
Electronic locks line a corridor of eight cells. I approach the first, pulse hammering in my ears louder than the alarm still wailing above us. Empty.
Second cell. Empty.
Third. Empty.
With each vacant cell, desperation claws deeper into my chest. What if we’re too late? What if this is another of Jax’s games?
The fourth and fifth cells hold nothing but darkness. My breathing becomes ragged, not from exertion but from the growing fear that we’ve failed again. That I’ve failed her again.
Then I reach the last cell. Through the small, reinforced window, I see her.
Aurora.
She’s chained to a metal cot, wrists secured with heavy restraints. Her once-vibrant form looks diminished, cheekbones too sharp under her skin, dark shadows beneath her eyes. But she’s breathing. She’s alive.
For one perfect moment, everything else falls away—the pain, the exhaustion, the war I’ve waged across the city. None of it matters because I’ve found her.
Her eyes meet mine, widening with shock. Recognition flares in those azure depths, followed by something I don’t expect—something that turns my blood to ice. Her gaze hardens, lips pulling back in a snarl of pure hatred.
She knows.
I blast the electronic lock with a single shot and kick the door open. “Aurora?—”
She moves with unexpected speed, lunging from the cot, being pulled back by the chains. I still go to her, and her body slams into mine, fists pounding against my chest and wounded shoulder, sending shards of pain through my body.
“You knew!” she screams, voice raw. “You knew what he did to my father, and you never told me!”
Her nails rake across my face as she attacks with every ounce of strength her weakened body possesses. I don’t defend myself. I don’t try to stop her. Each blow is deserved.
“You watched him die,” she sobs, still striking me. “You watched, and you said nothing!”
