His mouth curves into a wolfish grin. “Neither are you.”
I shove a foot inside the lift to jam the doors, needing him to leave so I can get the hell out of here before the alarms sound.
My nerves spike, aware of the seconds ticking past, pressure building in the vaults rock foundation.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“The one who’s about to make your night a hell of a lot worse.” He tilts his head, studying me.
“I don’t have time for this.” I draw my gun, aim it at his chest, and step into the elevator anyway. “Get out.”
He doesn’t move to unstrap his weapon and seems unbothered by the barrel aimed at his heart. Instead, his gaze lowers as if he’s cataloguing my stats before returning to my face.
“No can do.” He taps the machine gun and shrugs.
This guy looks like he’s cosplaying cartel muscle, all black, and heavy hardware, but none of the Tribunal’s discipline, which means he’s oblivious to the fact that the program I used to stall my interference is about to expire, and when it does, both he and I will be trapped down here… and executed.
“You’ve got something I want.”
When the steel doors slide shut behind me, I punch the button and press my back to the inner wall.
“Doubt it,” I say, keeping cool.
The space shrinks around the bulk of him and his strong posture. With his full attention directed at me, I grit my teeth as an unwanted awareness curls lowin my stomach, irritating and ill-timed, even as I keep my aim steady while my pulse goes wild in my throat.
The elevator jerks upward, and my stomach drops with it.
I track his reflection in the mirrored panel as the lift climbs, noting how he doesn’t sway or even brace.
“You going to hand over the information you just drained from the vault?” he asks, voice rough and gravel-deep in a way that would have me swooning if I didn’t have a boyfriend waiting back in Ireland.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I flash him a bright, fake smile. “I’m maintenance. Fixed a server. Heading home for dinner.”
The first alarm hits, the light blinks, and the elevator judders.
“Shit,” I mutter, poking the buttons over and over.
A light bursts on from the corner and bathes the elevator in red. The lift stutters again, then continues upward at a slower pace, grinding like it’s thinking about stopping altogether.
His smile doesn’t die. Rather it dimples his cheek and spreads as if he has all the time in the world, and I’m the one on the clock.
“It’s a long way home to Ireland, Tierney Blake, and I’m not letting you out of this elevator until you hand it over.”
2
BRONX
TWENTY MINUTES EARLIER…
I've done a lot of stupid shit in my life. Ask my brothers, they'll give you a list. But stuffed into a tiny Fiat that smells like cold shawarma and stale beer while the Bucharest sky goes black? This might be a new personal low.
Six hours. Six hours in this fucking car. Kingston said observe and report, and I've been a good soldier - watching, waiting, cataloging every guard rotation, every camera angle, every single movement around a warehouse that doesn't exist on any map. It’s the home of the Blood Vault, basically a digital fortress where the Red Tribunal keeps every dirty secret they've ever stolen, locked down and impenetrable by outsiders.
Including enough dirt on my family to bury us six feet under.
I take a long drag of my cigarette and blow smoke rings at the laptop balanced on my dash. The security feed I hackedthree hours ago loops on the screen. Two guards at the main entrance, rotating every four minutes like clockwork. Two more inside, patrolling the maze of hallways. It’s boring and predictable. The kind of security that makes me think that the real protection is invisible to anyone looking for it.
My phone buzzes on the seat next to me and my brother Reign’s name flashes across the screen. I let out a deep sigh, shift in my seat, and stab the Accept button.
