I grab my gun, shove the laptop into a go-bag, and kill the lights. By the time the first bullet shatters the front window, I’m already out the side door. Concrete dust rains down as I sprint toward the alley.
The next shot misses by inches, sparking off the metal doorframe. I return fire once, quick and precise, just to buy space. Then I’m on the bike, engine roaring to life.
The chase is short, brutal, and loud. I cut hard through side streets I’ve known by heart for years, pushing my bike faster until their headlights vanish from my mirrors. My pulse doesn’t slow until the skyline reappears.
Normally, I’d vanish. New burner, new ID, new coast. But Alex’s name on that file, and Rebel’s face when I lied to her, won’t let me run. The Vultures are here. And if I’m right, they’ve already breached the one place that shouldn’t exist on paper.
The Royal Harlots’ network.
I turn the bike north.
By the time I reach the compound, evening has burned itself out. The gate looms ahead, all steel teeth and humming sensors. The Royal Harlots crest glows gold and scarlet under the floodlights.
I kill the engine and wait.
An intercom buzzes. A woman’s voice, smooth and dangerous, slides through the speaker. “You brought a tail, soldier. Not a great first impression.”
“Didn’t have a choice,” I answer. “They found me.”
“Yeah,” Divine’s voice purrs, “I can see that. Next timeyou decide to ghost my firewall, maybe try not to drag a kill team behind you.”
Before I can answer, the gate hisses open. Two women in cuts step out, rifles at ease but eyes sharp. One smirks as she looks me over. “Are you Carter Bishop?”
“Unfortunately.”
She grins. “Rebel’s got interesting taste.”
“Rebel exaggerates.”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
They motion me through, closing the gate behind. The place is alive now with engines starting, voices echoing, and lights flaring to full alert.
Divine’s waiting for me on the porch. Tall, lethal, tablet in hand. The kind of calm that could flay you alive with a smile.
“You tripped my system,” she says, not looking up. “Then you brought a convoy to my front door.”
“Not intentionally.”
“Funny, that’s what hackers say right before the explosion.”
“I’m not a hacker.”
“Clearly. You left footprints big enough to GPS from space.”
I bite back a retort as alarms start pulsing through the compound. Floodlights sweep the perimeter. Boots hit asphalt, leather flashes under light. No panic, just purpose. The women move fast, falling into formation. This isn’t a bar or a clubhouse anymore. It’s a military outpost in lipstick and leather.
Divine scans her tablet, frowning. “They’re pinging our outer network. Digital and physical breach attempts.”
I step closer. “Show me.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve got three data signatures rotating on a fixed loop. They’re probing your sandbox for lag response. They’re not just scouting. They’re mapping your power grid.”
She shoots me a look. “And you know that how?”
“Because I used to be the one writing the maps.” I know exactly how much damage they can cause once they finish drawing them.
