Page 41 of The Cousins and the Brunette

Sebastian nodded, his eyes reflecting a deft understanding that words were superfluous. Joel clapped a firm hand on my shoulder, a grounding presence despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins. Braxton flashed a grin, and his attempt at lightheartedness was appreciated all the same.

I swallowed hard, trying to quell the rebellion in my stomach. But I knew we’d never truly be free until Shoemaker was exposed.

“Remember, in and out like shadows,” Joel continued, slipping into the concealed entrance Elizabeth had divulged.

The tunnels below were suffocating, the darkness almost tangible, as if we waded through ink. Braxton had a flashlight and led the group. Sebastian’s steady breathing kept me tethered to the mission when every instinct shrieked at me to flee the claustrophobic confines.

My skin crawled as we crept through the damp passageways. I’d explored plenty of abandoned buildings, but this was different.

“Watch your step,” Braxton said.

The cousins led us through the serpentine paths, while my heart hammered in my chest. The sensation of being watched prickled my skin, even though logic told me we were alone.

Emerging from the earthen bowels through a storm drain, the cool night air was a balm to my frayed nerves. We were inside the fortress and standing in a dark section of the property.

I took a shaky breath, trying to center myself. We’d made it this far - now came the truly dangerous part.

“Braxton, you’re up,” Sebastian said, nodding toward the direction of the security hub.

“Time to work my magic!” Braxton grinned before disappearing into the yard’s darkness.

Joel caught my gaze, his own hardening with resolve. “I’ll circle back. Keep an eye out.”

“Stay safe.” I nodded. A lump formed in my throat.

Sebastian placed a hand on my arm. “Ready, babe?”

“I, yeah, I think so.” My voice wavered more than I liked.

As Joel started to move away, the sound of approaching footsteps halted us. Sebastian and I froze and ducked down behind a thick hedge. His instincts kicking in, I saw Joel press himself against the property wall, merging with the shadows. Two guards strolled the perimeter of the estate, chatting idly about the latest sports scores. My breath caught in my throat.

Well, this wasn’t exactly how I’d planned to spend my evening. Crouching behind shrubbery like some deranged garden gnome, praying these guards were as observant as a brick wall. But hey, who doesn’t love a little impromptu hide-and-seek?

Joel sprang into action, his movements a blur as he dispatched them with swift precision. He lunged at the first guard, a powerful jab to the jaw silencing him mid-sentence. Before the second guard could react, Joel delivered a spinning kick to his midsection, sending him crashing into the wall. The first guard, recovering slightly, swung his baton at Joel, but Joel blocked it effortlessly with his forearm and countered with a series of rapid punches, each one landing with pinpoint accuracy.

The second guard staggered to his feet, reaching for his radio. Joel didn’t give him a chance; he closed the distance with a lightning-fast roundhouse kick, knocking the radio from the guard’s hand. The guard tried to retaliate, throwing a wild punch, but Joel ducked under it and struck with an uppercut, lifting the guard off his feet and sending him to the ground, unconscious.

Breathing heavily but unharmed, Joel stood over the fallen guards, his eyes scanning the corridor for any more threats.

If violence were an art form, he’d be the Picasso of punching. Still, a nagging voice in my head wondered if I should be more concerned about how easily he took down those guards. But then again, in this world, having a one-man wrecking crew on your side wasn’t exactly a disadvantage.

“Nice moves,” I whispered when it was clear.

“Comes with the family name.” Joel grunted, a hint of pride lacing his words before he vanished once more into the maze of corridors. He turned back to me, a flicker of concern in his gaze. “You need to move, now,” he whispered urgently.

Sebastian and I continued on alone and slipped past the unconscious guards. We advanced toward the mansion. The lock on the side entrance yielded to my tools with a satisfying click, and we slipped inside, ghosts haunting the halls of our adversary. Every creak of the floor, every distant murmur of conversation was a potential threat, but together we moved with singular purpose.

“Left here,” I instructed, recalling the blueprints etched in my memory.

My hands trembled—a fact I’d never admit—aware that we drew closer to our goal with each passing moment. The Nant-bots, Shoemaker’s prized possession and our hope of turning the tides.

“Let’s hope these bots are worth the trouble.”

“They will be,” he assured me. And I believed him.

As we crept through the dimly lit corridors, I had the uneasy feeling that we were walking straight into the predator’s den. If life had taught me anything, it was that the most valuable things were often guarded by the sharpest teeth. And right now, those Nant-bots were looking like the grand prize in this warped game of cat and mouse.

Just another crappy day in the life of Brynn Soto, professional troublemaker and reluctant hero. I’d trade it all for a warm bed and a slice of pizza, but beggars can’t be choosers when the fate of the world hangs in the balance.

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