Page 20 of Toxic

No time to mourn the loss. I move swiftly, gathering essentials. A concealed laptop, untouched by the destruction. Encrypted flash drives. A stash of cash and passports hidden behind a loose baseboard. My fingers brush cool metal, and I pull out a compact firearm, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency.

There’s one more thing, the most dangerous of all. I pry up a floorboard, revealing a small black box. Inside lies enough information to bring Viktor’s entire operation crashing down. It’s my insurance policy, my leverage. And now, possibly, my death sentence.

A creak outside the door sends adrenaline surging through me. I glance at my smartwatch, a custom piece that links to the building’s security feeds. Multiple unidentified figures, converging on my location.

“Showtime,” I whisper, a grim smile playing on my lips. I may be outnumbered, but I’m far from outmatched.

As I step into the hallway, four men block my path, their expressions cold and predatory. I recognize the look in their eyes—the dead-eyed stare of men who kill without remorse.

“Going somewhere?” one sneers, his jacket shifting to reveal the gleam of a weapon.

I assess my options in a heartbeat. Four against one. Narrow hallway. Emergency exit at the far end, if I can reach it. My mind calculates trajectories, angles, weak points.

“Boys,” I say, my voice dripping with false sweetness, “I don’t suppose you’d believe I ordered a pizza?”

They don’t waste time on banter. The first one lunges, all brute force and no finesse. I sidestep, using his momentum to send him crashing into the wall. His head connects with a sickening crack, and he crumples.

The second comes at me with a knife, the blade whistling through the air. I duck under his swing, grabbing his wrist and twisting sharply. The knife clatters to the floor as he howls in pain. A quick jab to his solar plexus, and he’s down, gasping for air.

“Come on,” I taunt the remaining two, falling into a fighting stance. “I thought Viktor only hired the best.”

They attack in tandem, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. But I’m in my element now, my body moving on pure instinct and years of training. I weave and dodge, my fists and feet finding vulnerable points with surgical precision. Ribs crack, joints dislocate, and bodies hit the floor.

For a moment, I allow myself a flicker of satisfaction. Four highly trained killers, neutralized in under a minute. Not bad for a night’s work.

But then more appear from the stairwell, and suddenly the odds shift dramatically. I’m good, but even I have limits. A heavy blow catches me in the side, and I stagger, gasping for breath.

Rough hands grab me, twisting my arm behind my back. Another goon moves to restrain my legs. For a moment, real fear grips me. This is it. This is how I die, in a dingy hallway at the hands of faceless thugs.

And then, like an avenging angel straight out of hell, Hawk appears.

“How dare you touch my woman,” he snarls, his voice colder than I’ve ever heard it. The words send a jolt through me—equal parts shock, indignation, and... something else. Something I’m not ready to examine too closely.

But there’s no time to dwell on it. Hawk moves like a force of nature, all coiled power and lethal precision. I watch in awe as he systematically dismantles my attackers, each blow calculated for maximum damage. Bones crack, bodies crumple, and all the while, Hawk’s expression remains chillingly calm.

One man pulls a gun, but Hawk is faster. He grabs the thug’s wrist, twisting until the bones snap audibly. The gun falls, and Hawk catches it midair, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes without hesitation.

His brutality should horrify me. Instead, I feel a dark thrill. This is Hawk unleashed, raw and primal. And God help me, it’s intoxicating.

I snap out of my daze, using the distraction to break free from my captors. Hawk and I fall into sync without a word, covering each other’s blind spots, our movements a deadly dance. It feels right in a way I can’t explain, as if we’ve been fighting side by side our whole lives.

“Behind you!” I shout, dropping low as Hawk spins, his elbow connecting with an attacker’s throat. The man goes down, clutching his crushed windpipe.

I sweep the legs out from under another, following through with a brutal stomp to his knee. The crack of bone is oddly satisfying.

When it’s over, the hallway is littered with groaning, unconscious bodies—and a few that will never move again. Hawk turns to me, concern flickering in his steel-gray eyes. “Are you hurt?”

I wipe blood from my split lip, suddenly aware of the various aches blossoming across my body. “Nothing I can’t handle,” I reply, aiming for nonchalance. “Though I had it under control before you crashed the party.”

Hawk’s lips twitch in what might be amusement. “Of course, you did. But they touched what’s mine. That demands a response.”

Irritation flares, warring with the part of me that wants to collapse into his arms. “I’m not yours,” I snap, even as a traitorous part of me thrills at the possessiveness in his voice.

“Aren’t you?” Hawk steps closer, his eyes burning with an intensity that steals my breath. “You’re coming with me. It’s not safe here.”

I want to argue, to assert my independence. But the rational part of my brain knows he’s right. I’m in over my head, and my sanctuary is compromised. “Fine,” I concede, hating how small my voice sounds. “But this doesn’t change anything. I don’t need a protector.”

Hawk’s expression softens fractionally. “Maybe not. But even the strongest warriors need allies, Devin.”

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