Page 84 of Imperfect Desires

Every beat of my heart is a drum in my ears. Every breath I take burns with the image of her—frightened, alone, waiting.

I don’t even know what condition she’s in. But I know she’s here.

And that’s enough to turn my blood cold.

I turn to Anton.

“We go in silently. No mistakes,” I murmur. “I don’t want our arrival quickly noticed. This operation needs to be as quiet as possible.”

Anton nods once. No questions. That’s why he’s here.

Behind us, our men shift into position. Black clothing. Suppressed weapons. Each one handpicked for loyalty and precision. No hotheads. No ego. Just operators.

I glance back at the compound one last time.

They don’t know what’s coming.

But they will.

I pull my blade from its sheath and check the edge. Razor sharp. My pistol is already loaded, tucked close to my side. Every movement I make is practiced. Efficient.

This isn’t emotion anymore.

This is mission.

This is war.

“Move on my signal,” I say quietly.

Anton slips into the darkness like a shadow, and I follow, every nerve in my body humming with deadly purpose.

She’s close.

And I’m not leaving without her.

The night swallows us whole.

Black-clad and silent, we move through the treeline like smoke—no words, no wasted movement. My men fan out behind me, each step calculated. They know the drill. In this kind of mission, sound is your enemy. Hesitation is a bullet to the head.

Anton keeps pace at my side, rifle drawn. His eyes sweep the area as mine fix on the first checkpoint ahead.

A security camera mounted just above the fence line. Old model. Vulnerable.

I raise a fist. Everyone stops.

From a pouch at my hip, I pull a signal disruptor—custom made, short range, just enough to loop the feed without tripping an alert. I press it against the transmitter box, hold it for five seconds, then nod to Anton.

“Camera’s blind,” I whisper.

Anton doesn’t speak. He moves.

Together, we close in on the first wall—twelve feet of reinforced concrete laced with barbed wire. But I know walls. I’ve scaled worse.

We move to the access point I scoped earlier—an old utility ladder partially hidden behind a collapsed tool shed. Anton boosts me up first, and I scale the ladder with barely a sound, the cold rungs biting into my gloves.

At the top, I swing a leg over and drop into a crouch, landing like a shadow on the other side.

Anton follows.

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