Page 91 of Take Me Darkly

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hi, you’ve reached Serena, please leave a message⁠—”

I ended the call instantly, my jaw locking, and hit redial.

Again, it went straight to voicemail. I choked back a curse, knowing she couldn’t answer if she was handling molten glass, and shoved the phone away just as the heavy security door behind me hissed open.

Hale Fulton stepped into the command center first, his massive frame instantly dominating the room. Built like a brick fortress, with cropped gray hair and the flat, unbothered eyes of a man who had seen every horror the world had to offer, he exuded lethal authority. Greyson Hughes entered directly at his shoulder—shorter, leaner, built for fluid speed. Sandy hair cropped tight, a faint white scar cutting through his left eyebrow, his sharp gaze was already sweeping the monitor wall, mapping the exits before the door had even sealed behind them.

Both carried the same grim, silent expression, skipping formalities and ready for war.

I’d met them once before, when a threat from Krystina Stone’s past had surfaced. Alexander Stone trusted only Fulton’s team with his wife’s life. I’d given them the run of my club while it played out, and I’d watched them work. When it was over, I’d offered them both a permanent place on my payroll, but they’d turned me down without a second’s thought. They belonged to Stone, and men like that didn’t divide their loyalty. I respected that and would never forget what these two men looked like in action. It was the exact thing I needed now.

I extended a hand, exchanging swift, hard grips with both of them. “Thank you for getting here so fast.”

“Zeke said it was a code red. When I told Mr. Stone, he didn’t have a moment of hesitation. We’re here for as long as you need us,” Hale said, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the servers. “My men are already establishing a perimeter outside. Still no FBI involvement?”

I hesitated. “For now, no.”

“Got it. What are we dealing with?”

“A direct threat from the Serpent’s Disciples. If we weren’t sure about them before, we are now. They know she’s in New York, and they know she’s with me,” I said, turning back toward the wall of monitors. “I want the entirety of Club O locked down. Every exit sealed, every member screened before they leave, and no one else gets through the gates. I just tried calling Serena, but she didn’t answer. She went down to the glass studio. The ventilation blowers run hot and loud, and she probably can’t hear her phone.”

Zeke froze, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He slowly turned his head, a sudden, sharp look of confusion clouding his dark features. “Wait. Anton... that doesn’t track. I’m looking at her active GPS signal from the necklace right now. It says she’s upstairs in the apartment.”

A cold, heavy bead of sweat traced a path down my spine.

“That’s impossible,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. “She left the apartment a half hour ago. I watched her walk out.”

“Boss, I’m pinging her right now,” he insisted, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes darted across the secondary monitor. “The tracking chip is showing zero movement, registering your master bedroom.”

As Zeke’s fingers flew across the console to refresh the grid, my mind tripped backward, visualizing Serena when she left the apartment. She’d been standing by the door, her voice cool and her posture distant. I remembered the soft drape of her cotton shirt, the way her hair fell over her shoulder, the smooth expanse of her collarbone⁠—

The air left my lungs all at once.

The custom-cut pendant. The necklace I’d forced her to wear every single day, hiding the military-grade beacon beneath an amethyst gemstone—it hadn’t been around her neck. The sheer, terrifying horror of that realization slammed into my chest like a physical blow, turning my blood to liquid ice. Without a single word to Fulton or Zeke, I spun on my heel and charged out of the command center.

“Anton!” Zeke’s shout echoed behind me, but I was already gone.

I sprinted down the stone corridor, my boots skidding violently against the polished floor as I threw myself around the corner at a reckless, dangerous clip. Pure, unadulterated panic surged through my system, shattering the rigid, calculated control I had spent my entire life perfecting.

I threw my weight against the heavy push-bar of the rear exit, bursting through the double doors and into the crisp morning air of the rectory courtyard. My heart was hammering violently against my ribs as I sprinted across the cobblestones toward the heavy wood doors of the converted garage.

Images of Serena from last night flashed behind my eyes in agonizing, jagged bursts. Serena, sitting on the sofa, her ocean-blue eyes wide and swimming with tears as I laid my sins at her feet. Serena, looking at me not with revulsion, but with a profound, breaking love. I had unburdened my soul to her because I couldn’t bear the weight of my secrets any longer. She had offered me her heart, and I had responded like a coward.

I had withheld the only truth that actually mattered.

I should have told her I loved her.

The realization tore through me, heavy with a sudden, suffocating regret. I had been too proud. Too terrified of the vulnerability. I had let her walk out this morning thinking God knows what, instead of telling her she was the very center of my existence.

“Serena!”

My roar echoed off the surrounding buildings as I reached the garage, my hands slamming into the hand-forged iron handles. I threw my entire weight against the heavy double doors, throwing them open so violently they crashed back against the exterior wall.