Page 39 of Hawk

The entryway glittered with opulence—crystal chandeliers and marble floors. A grand staircase rose through the center. Music played somewhere—jazzy and hollow, trying too hard to feel expensive. It was paired with the low murmur of conversation and clinking glasses. A party, but not the kind that deserved to end with dessert.

“Can’t see him on camera this second,” Deviant said over the comms. “But he was in the kitchen five minutes ago and hasn’t popped up on any other camera since.”

We moved like a unit. Maverick swept left. Wrecker peeled right. Storm and I made a beeline for the kitchen.

I stalked down the hall with a predator’s calm, the weight of my knife and Glock as natural as the leather cut on my back. Suddenly, a man stepped out of a room and turned our way.

There he was. Darren. The vile excuse for a human.

Before he realized what was happening, Storm quickly stalked over and pressed his gun firmly to the bastard’s temple. I followed more slowly, my boots silent on the tile, and my rage coiled tight.

“Move,” I snarled at the little shit.

Storm shoved his gun harder into Darren’s head and herded him toward the kitchen.

Darren’s eyes were wide, and my nostrils flared at the smell of the anxiety bleeding off him.

The kitchen was all sleek steel and gleaming granite. Cold. Sterile.

Thanks to the blueprints of the mansion Deviant had acquired, we went straight to a hidden set of doors behind a stainless steel cabinet. They led to a small corridor, and the elevator was recessed in marble at the end of it.

A sleek keypad blinked beside it, next to a biotech scanner.

“Retinal scanner,” I told Storm as I examined the device.

Darren froze and stammered, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Storm leaned in, breath hot on the back of his neck. “Scan your damn eye. Or I’ll take it out of your skull.”

Darren whimpered and pressed his face to the scanner. The panel beeped, turning green. Then he just stood there as if he was waiting for instruction.

“Now the code,” I said, low and deadly.

“No,” Darren spat. “I’m not?—”

“Eight. Three. Seven. Four. Two,” a calm female voice interrupted.

All heads snapped toward the entrance to the hall.

A woman stood in the archway in a red dress cut down to her navel. Flawless makeup. Glittering jewels. Stilettos. But her face was like marble. Her eyes…they were dead. Except when she looked at Darren. Then loathing practically lit her up from the inside.

“He gave it to me once. Thought it made him important,” she said coolly. Then she looked at Storm. “Don’t let him die quickly and make it damn painful.”

Before anyone could respond, she vanished.

Storm shoved Darren against the wall. “You heard the lady.”

His face twisted with anger, Darren punched in the code and the elevator doors opened.

Maverick and Wrecker appeared then, both wearing furious expressions, their hands gripped tightly around their Glocks.

Maverick motioned to Storm. “You stay up here. We’ll see what’s on the other side.”

Wrecker cracked his knuckles. “About time.”

I stepped in last, and the door closed as a soft mechanical hum began. As we descended, the air turned colder. When the doors opened, a hallway unfurled in front of us. Pale concrete under harsh fluorescents. Long, curved, and lined with identical black, narrow doors. A chill crawled down my spine.

“What the hell is this,” Maverick muttered, jaw tight.

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