Page 66 of Dark Soul

What did you get into, baby?

Dark’s head throbbed. They didn’t have eyes or ears in the room. The exchange could be happening as they spoke, and they’d have no idea. Or those men could be hurting Alexia.

“What do you want me to do, Dark?” Rogue asked. And Dark recognized his teammate’s willingness to run into danger. But this wasn’t his battle.

“Hold your position, Rogue,” Dark said. He looked out the window at the candle-filled yard outside. If the floor plan he’d studied had been right, he was standing right below Kvyat’s corner office. And he wished there were fewer candles, and a bit more darkness. Wished he had better shoes, as well. But he’d have to make do.

“I need eyes on the south side of the house,” Dark said. “Let me know when the security guards are coming. I’m going to climb up to them.”

“Are you nuts?”

Maybe.

Probably.

He pushed the thought of Alexia in danger to the back of his mind, and waited for Griffin and Slate to give him the okay.

“Guard just walked by. You have maybe sixty seconds before the next one comes around, Dark,” Slate said.

Sixty seconds is more than enough.

Dark opened the window and sat on the windowsill. He grabbed on to the top of the window, pulling his upper body up and out, and began climbing.

An icy wind blew on him, but Dark wasn’t worried. He’d be back inside long before the cold could do any damage.

Every few feet, he slipped. His dress shoes were the worst possible choice for this exercise. But he wasn’t going to fall. He couldn’t fall.

“You’ve got thirty seconds,” Slate said, his voice calm and steady.

For this next part, Dark gave up trying to find purchase with his feet and pulled himself up on the strength of his arms alone. Finally, he could see into the office window. He held the pull-up, keeping himself immobile, knowing any movement coming from the window would be easily detected from inside.

There were two men in the room—he recognized Kvyat. The other one, looking young, handsome and jaded in his tux, had to be Lemercier.

As Dark watched, a thin, ugly smile played on Lemercier’s lips. He said something to Kvyat that made the large man recoil. He moved closer to his desk, standing protectively next to a hard-shelled silver briefcase.

“Don’t move,” Slate’s voice whispered in his ear. “The guard’s right beneath you.”

Dark’s arms were beginning to cramp, his shoulder still achy from when he’d hurt it in the incident with the sled, but he forced himself still until Slate told him he could move again.

Even then, he didn’t let himself move.

He had to get his hands on that briefcase.

And then, his eyes were drawn away from the briefcase, and away from the two men.

When Dark had first looked into the room, his eyes had glanced past the Japanese screen in the corner. Now, something made him look again. Because from where he was, he could see the dark corner behind the screen—and the small figure huddling behind.

Alexia.

The blood froze in Dark’s veins.

She’s no innocent.

And yet, she was hiding from the two men, her slim body shaking. Even from outside the room, Dark could sense her fear, potent enough that he wondered how the two men hadn’t realized she was there.

It was only a matter of time until they did.

And the briefcase, which had been top of his mind moments earlier, all but disappeared from his radar.