Page 33 of Rusty's Command

“Stay close,” he growled at Sienna. “And if I say run, you fucking run.”

“Got it.” She swept her hair back, chin lifted with courage he prayed wasn’t false bravado.

Clenching his jaw, he led them into the passage, and Soda’s nails clicked softly against the polished concrete floor. Everytime Sienna brushed against him in the narrow space, his skin sizzled. Bad fucking timing for that distraction.

They moved like shadows with Soda rigid at point, her tail straight and ears locked forward like a four-legged radar system scanning for trouble. Behind him, Sienna matched his pace with a grace that spoke of hard-learned lessons. No rookie stumbling or nervous whispers, just measured breaths and careful steps that told their own story.

He’d seen that kind of controlled movement before in people who’d learned the hard way that survival sometimes meant risking everything. The thought of what might have taught her those skills made his blood simmer. Yet her combined strength and vulnerability still pulled at something deep in his chest.

The further they went in the underground passage, the more his gut screamed that they were heading into a trap.

Soda’s increasing tension confirmed it too.

A doorway appeared on their right, standing wide open. He raised his fist in a silent halt signal. Without hesitation, Sienna pressed herself against the wall behind him while Soda’s muscles bunched, her nose working overtime. Something about this place had his K9 on edge—a warning he never ignored. The silence screamed louder than any alarm.

Easing forward, he peered around the doorway and into a luxury suite that seemed ripped from another world. Plush furnishings filled the room, and precision lighting cast a golden glow, painting warm sepia radiance across the walls.What the hell?Did we just stumble into an underground section of one of the luxury resorts that dotted the coastline?

He racked his brain, trying to work out which resort it could be. But he had no idea how far they’d traveled or which direction they’d gone.

In the corner, a private bar gleamed with bottles worth more than most locals earned in a month. Every surface shone and every detail screamed excess.

Luxury wasn’t the right word for it—this wasfuck-you moneyon full display.

Weapon ready, he edged forward. A massage table dominated the back wall, but it wasn’t the table that made his teeth grind. Mirrors lined the walls at calculated angles, and beside rows of innocent-looking lotions hung equipment that belonged in a dungeon.

His father’s FBI briefing last month echoed in his skull. High-end trafficking rings were infesting Hawaii like parasites, servicing wealthy bastards who paid top dollar to keep their appetites private.

Operations like that needed hidden facilities. Staff. Victims. Muscle.

And privileged fucks with deep pockets.

Sienna’s sharp intake of breath hit his ears as she pressed closer. “What is this place?” Her whisper was tight with tension.

“Some rich bastards’ sick playground.” His jaw ached from clenching.

“The body I saw them burying—do you think it came from here?” Her voice caught.

“Yep.” He fought the urge to shield her. She’d hate the protective gesture, but something primitive in him screamed to get her away from these rooms and the evil they were about to stumble into.

Combat was his addiction, his comfort zone. But having Sienna at his six rewired everything, making threats multiply in every corner. Silence pressed in like a physical weight, broken only by Soda’s active sniffing, and his pulse fired like a machine gun. When Soda’s hackles lifted, and she angled towardsomething deeper in the room, every combat-honed instinct he had lit up like a Christmas tree.

This place was dead silent, and the word ‘trap’ crashed through his mind like a wrecking ball.

“Where is everyone?” Sienna’s whisper cut through the silence, sharp with tension.

“Don’t know. Time to move.” He grabbed her hand, leading her back to the doorway, his instincts firing on full alert. After confirming the passage was clear, he signaled for Soda to take point.

They moved in silence, following the strip lighting along the floor, and they came across room after room. Each one was vacant, yet they were all a fresh testament to calculated evil.

Money. Power. Corruption. This luxury resort was a cog in a sadistic machine, meticulously designed to turn human suffering into profit.

In every room, he searched for clues: emblems, signs, anything that might betray which resort they were in. But he didn’t find any logos or markings. No doubt deliberate, to keep the women forced to work there in the dark.

Their footsteps echoed through the deserted halls. Each empty room ratcheted up the wrongness clawing at his gut. No guards. No captives. No sadistic bastards. Just pristine rooms set up for things that he did not want to think of. Like a theater before the curtain rises.

And they were walking straight into the show.

The silence shattered with the sounds of boots pounding against the floor, accompanied by sharp, barking orders that he couldn’t decipher.

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