Page 87 of Bonds of Obsession

“The patrol,” Atlas whispers.

“How many?” I ask.

“Two sets of steps. Coming from the east wing.”

I press myself against the wall with my knife ready. Atlas mirrors me on the other side of the hallway. Nico and Killian crouch in the shadows, ready to back us up.

The guards are in mid-conversation when they come around the corner. “—said the boss wants hourly checks now?—”

I strike before he can finish. My blade finds the sweet spot between his ribs while Atlas takes his target down with impressive efficiency. A wet gurgle, then silence.

“Fuck,” Killian mutters. “Now there’s blood on the carpet.”

“Arturo’s gonna have a hell of a cleaning bill.” Nico smirks in the darkness. “Good thing he’s dying tonight too. Get these guys in with the others.”

My hands are slick with blood by the time we’re finished hiding the bodies. It’s far from the first time I’ve killed, and it definitely won’t be the last. But this wasn’t ever supposed to be my fight.

“They chose this life,” Atlas says quietly, reading my expression. “They chose to work for a monster.”

It’s the one small consolation I can take with me tonight. The guys we’re killing are the lowest of the low, and the world will be a better place without them. And their boss.

“I know.” I wipe my blade clean. “Their blood is on their own hands as much as mine.”

“The hallway is clear,” Killian reports. “But we need to move. That check-in they mentioned—someone’s going to notice they missed it.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” I say. “Ready?”

My men nod, and we move toward the penthouse doors.

The penthouse door opens silently—thank fuck for well-maintained hinges in expensive hotels. The whole place is dark, but there’s enough moonlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that we can easily navigate around the furniture.

Killian gives the hand signal that we’re clear on the left, and Nico does the same for the right.

“Should we split up?” Atlas asks.

I shake my head. “It’s too risky. We stick together.”

“Let’s check the kitchen first,” Nico suggests. “Most people run there for weapons.”

We move together, checking corners and doorways. The kitchen is empty, except for a handful of gleaming appliances and an expanse of marble countertop long enough to land a fucking plane.

“Christ,” Atlas mutters. “Look at this place.”

“Blood money buys nice things,” I say. Everything here was paid for by human trafficking.

“Movement,” Killian hisses suddenly. “From the main bedroom.”

We freeze, listening. Nothing but silence follows.

“It could be the target,” Nico says.

“Or a trap,” I counter. “Does everyone have eyes on the exits?”

“Two windows,” Killian reports. “And the fire escape is on the left.”

“The door on the right leads to the bathroom,” Nico says.

“The master closet will be straight ahead once we’re inside the bedroom,” Atlas adds.

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