Page 121 of Desperate Actions

Fuck. This is not good.

I watch as a group of men—six, maybe seven—dressed in tactical black gear move silently and efficiently toward the back entrance.

The time stamp reads between four and five in the morning.

They knew what they were doing. Knew exactly when to strike—assuming I am right and this all took place during the shift swap, when security is most vulnerable.

Even with that, it shouldn’t have been this easy.

My jaw tightens. The men move like ghosts, slipping through the shadows, hitting their marks with lethal precision.

There’s a flash from the doorway.

A muffled pop—the unmistakable sound of a silenced gunshot.

My gut goes cold.

“Dead?” I ask, my voice sharp.

Connor nods once.

I inhale deeply, trying to suppress the fury bubbling inside me. I don’t like this. I hand the tablet back to Balor.

“Alright,” I say, controlled. “I watched. Now explain.”

Balor’s lips press together. “We haven’t identified this crew yet, but from the way they move? They’re professionals. Mercs at the very least. Possibly ex-military.”

“Where’d they hit?”

“Your new Daddy’s office,” Connor growls.

I know he is feeling salty. And I think I know why. See, Connor’s security company was recently acquired by Sigma International. The firm run by Josef Aziz, working for Volkov International, who also frequently swaps men with the Vipers.

I exhale slowly.

“Your man the one who died?”

Connor nods sharply.

Oh yeah. This is fucking bad.

The Vipers’ Den is not an easy target.

Anyone trying to take from the Vipers, from Angel fucking Fury himself, surely has a death wish.

“They went in and came out clean?” I ask, voice low.

Connor’s expression darkens. “Not a fucking scratch.”

“And what did they take?”

Balor doesn’t hesitate. “A thumb drive.”

My spine straightens.

“From?”

“Angel Fury’s office.”

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