Page 76 of Temptation and Tyranny

Through the van’s tinted windows, I watched as a wave of darkness swept across the industrial district. Streetlights flickered and died, buildings faded into blackness. In the distance, I could just make out our target—the warehouse where Cooper was being held.

“Blackout successful,” Zara’s voice crackled in my ear. “You have approximately five minutes before emergency systems kick in.”

“Murphy, you’re up,” Steele commanded.

Barely a minute later, the night erupted in chaos. Explosions rocked the eastern side of the warehouse, accompanied by the staccato of gunfire. Even from our position, I could see Rousseau’s men scrambling to respond to the perceived threat.

“That’s our cue,” Steele said, sliding open the van door. “Move out.”

We slipped into the night, using the darkness and confusion to our advantage. Steele led the way, moving with a fluid grace. I followed close behind, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure it would give us away.

As we approached the warehouse from the west, I could see two guards by a side entrance, looking agitated and distracted by the commotion on the other side of the building.

Steele held up a hand, signaling us to stop. Then, faster than I could follow, he was moving. In a matter of seconds, both guards were down, unconscious before they even realized we were there.

“Impressive,” I whispered as we reached the door.

Steele just grunted in response, his focus entirely on the task at hand. He made quick work of the lock, and then we were inside.

The interior of the warehouse was chaos. Emergency lights cast an eerie red glow over everything, and I could hear shouting and gunfire from the far side of the building. Steele led us through the shadows, avoiding the main areas where my father’s men were congregating.

“Where was Cooper when you last saw him?” Steele whispered.

I pointed towards the center of the warehouse. “There was a chair, under a spotlight. That’s where...” I trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Steele nodded, understanding in his eyes. “Mario, cover us. Miss Prescott, stay close.”

We moved deeper into the warehouse, winding around abandoned machinery and huge crates, every step filled with tension. As we neared the center, I saw it—the chair where I’d been tied, now empty. But beside it…

“Cooper!” I gasped, spotting his prone form on the concrete floor.

Steele’s hand on my arm stopped me from rushing forward. “Wait,” he hissed. “It could be a trap.”

He scanned the area, his face tightening with vigilance. After a moment, he nodded to Mario, who moved forward cautiously. I held my breath as he checked Cooper.

“He’s alive,” Mario reported, his voice low. “But barely. We need to move him, now.”

Relief flooded through me, so intense I felt my knees go weak. Cooper was alive. We weren’t too late.

Steele was already moving, helping Mario lift Cooper’s unconscious form. “Miss Prescott, take the lead. Remember the way we came in?”

I nodded, forcing myself to focus. We had Cooper, but we weren’t safe yet.

We retraced our steps, moving as quickly and quietly as we could with Cooper’s dead weight between Steele and Mario. My eyes darted everywhere, searching for threats in the red-tinged shadows.

We were almost at the exit when a voice rang out, stopping us in our tracks.

“Leaving so soon?” My father’s smooth tone senta chill down my spine. “And here I thought we were just getting reacquainted, Allegra.”

I turned slowly to see him standing on a catwalk above us, a gun trained on our group. A dozen of his men materialized from the shadows, surrounding us.

“It’s over, Rousseau,” Steele called out, his voice steady despite the dire situation. “Let us leave, and we can all walk away from this.”

My father laughed, the sound echoing through the warehouse. “Oh, Steele. Always the optimist. But I’m afraid I can’t let you take my leverage. You see, Mr. Moreau and I have unfinished business.”

“He’ll die if he doesn’t get medical attention,” I pleaded, taking a step forward. “Please, Father. You’ve made your point. Let him go.”

For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something—regret? compassion?—in my father’s eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by cold determination.

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