Page 19 of Toxic

“Boss,” Daniel’s voice cuts through the haze of violence. “That’s enough. We still need him alive if we’re going to get the name of who asked him to drug you.”

I step back, chest heaving, adrenaline coursing through my veins. As the red mist clears from my vision, I realize I’ve gone too far. The waiter is barely conscious, teetering on the edge of death.

“Clean this up,” I order Daniel, my voice hoarse. “Keep him alive. I’m not done with him yet.”

As I turn to leave, my bloody hands clenched at my sides, a face flashes in my mind. Devin. Her green eyes, sharp and knowing, seem to pierce through me, judging me for what I’ve done.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the image. Why am I thinking of her now in this moment of brutality?

Back in my penthouse, I stand under the scalding spray of the shower, watching as the water turns pink with blood—the waiter’s and my own. The events of the day swirl in my mind like a toxic whirlpool: Sphinx’s interference, Regina’s veiled threats, Devin’s possible involvement.

As I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist, I catch sight of my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. My eyes are cold, empty. The face of a man who will do anything to protect what’s his.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes for a moment. The weight of my empire presses down on me, a constant reminder of what I stand to lose if I make one wrong move. Like trusting people. I trust only myself.

“Who can I rely on?” I whisper to my reflection.

The thought of reaching out to Devin crosses my mind, but I hesitate. If she is involved in all of this, approaching her directly could tip my hand. And if she’s not... well, that presents its own set of complications.

I dress quickly, my mind made up. It’s time to take a more active role in this investigation. If Sphinx wants to play games, I’ll show them just how dangerous a player I can be.

As the night wears on, I find myself unable to focus. The screens before me blur, the data meaningless in the face of my growing obsession. Devin’s face haunts me, her green eyes seeming to mock my efforts to unravel this mystery.

I slam my laptop shut, frustration boiling over. This is ridiculous. I’m Hawk Rivers. I don’t get distracted. I don’t lose control.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m in the elevator, descending to the private garage where my Aston Martin waits. The engine purrs to life, a sound that usually calms me. Tonight, it only fuels my urgency.

The city streaks by in a blur of neon and shadow as I navigate the late-night streets. I know where I’m going, though I’ve never been there myself. The dossier on Devin included her address—a high-end apartment in a renovated industrial building. The kind of place that values privacy and discretion.

I park a block away, my heart pounding with an unfamiliar rhythm. Is it anticipation? Fear? I’m not used to this uncertainty, and I don’t like it.

The lobby is deserted at this hour, the night concierge barely glancing up as I stride past. The elevator ride to her floor feels interminable. With each passing second, I question my decision to come here. I can’t stay away from her. Every second feels like a fucking eternity and I’m not sure

But it’s too late to turn back now. I’m standing in front of her door, my hand raised to knock. For a moment, I hesitate.

I knock, three sharp raps that echo in the quiet hallway.

Seconds stretch into eternity. I’m about to turn away, cursing myself for this moment of weakness, when I hear movement inside. The soft padding of bare feet on hardwood. A pause.

The door opens, and there she is. Devin, dressed in silk pajamas, her dark hair tousled as if she’d been tossing and turning in bed. She’s fucking perfect. The anger and frustration from the day disappear as I stare at her. Her eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with something that might be suspicion... or interest.

“Hawk.” My name sounds so fucking good coming out of her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

Devin studies me for a long moment, her gaze so penetrating I feel exposed in a way I never have before. Then, without a word, she steps back, opening the door wider.

And even if I don’t want to admit it, she’s in control tonight.

NINE

The city pulses around me, a living, breathing entity of concrete and steel. But tonight, its familiar rhythm feels off, discordant. Something’s wrong. I can feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seem to lengthen and reach for me as I approach my apartment building.

The lobby is deserted, the usual security guard conspicuously absent. My heart rate quickens, instincts honed by years of living on the edge screaming danger. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, my footsteps silent on the concrete steps.

Five floors up, I reach my door and freeze. It’s ajar, the frame splintered around the lock. Ice floods my veins, but my mind remains crystal clear. They’ve found me. Not as Sphinx—that identity is still secure—but as a suspected member of the Hacker Alliance. Viktor Kazanov, in his paranoid fury, is casting a wide net. Bastard. He just can’t handle that I was able to dismantle a leg of his organization without even trying.

I push the door open, wincing at the soft creak. The sight that greets me turns my stomach, even as my face remains impassive. My sanctuary, my carefully ordered world, lies in ruins. Furniture overturned, glass shattered, and my precious tech—my lifeline—reduced to sparking, broken husks.

“Amateurs,” I mutter, eyes scanning for any remaining threats. The destruction is thorough but sloppy. They were looking for something specific—probably proof of my connection to the Alliance—but they clearly don’t know what they’re dealing with.

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