Page 40 of Axle
“Dammit,” she muttered.
“Exactly.” I swung my legs over the side of the bed and started pulling on my jeans. She watched me, still bristling but not quite as fierce now.
When I stood to grab my cut, I bent over her and pressed my mouth to hers. “Be a good girl, and I’ll be back soon.”
Her fingers curled in my shirt like she wanted to keep me there, but she didn’t say anything. I straightened, gave her one last look—hair tangled, wearing my T-shirt, my seed still probably dripping out of her from round…I’d lost count—and felt that possessive, primal urge to stay.
But Elias was the key to ending this shit. And once it was done, I could lock myself up with Ashlynn for as long as I wanted without the world trying to kick in our door.
So I left before I could change my mind.
16
AXLE
Our destination was fifteen miles past the last place anyone sensible would want to stop. As we neared the property, the road narrowed and the scrub thickened into a tangle of pine and saw palmetto. We rolled in silent—four bikes, lights killed, and engines idled down to a purr. The moon threw silver across our tanks, and the night air carried a bite of iron and damp concrete.
We cut our engines and coasted the last fifty yards until the tree line swallowed the busted chain-link fence. Beyond it was a small concrete building. No signage or exterior cameras were visible. A single rusted steel door and a low concrete lip suggested a stairwell beneath.
The decommissioned server farm had the charm of a grave. Somewhere under our boots, a generator hummed—old, steady, and tired.
Kane swung off his bike first, boots soundless on the packed sand. Like the rest of us, he wore black—dark tee, dark jeans, and his cut snug to his back. Edge joined him, flipping his knife open and shut as he looked around. It was a tic instead of a threat.
“Think I’ll get to kill a motherfucker tonight?” he drawled.
Nitro’s mouth tugged in that crooked line he got when he wanted someone to give him a reason to be dangerous.
I adjusted my gloves as my mind wandered—ridiculous timing—to Ashlynn’s swollen mouth when she’d fallen asleep this afternoon after one of our many rounds of celebrating. The way she’d murmured my name against my throat before her breathing leveled out would probably live in my bones until I died.
My woman. My baby.
For fuck’s sake. Focus, Novak.
Edge leaned in to examine the keyed pad beside the steel door and slid a pick from a leather sleeve. Jax had texted the manufacturer earlier—third-party, installed by Helix when they still claimed the place. Not networked. Local power only.
Nitro snorted softly. “How ’bout I ask it nice first?”
Wanting to blow shit up right off the bat wasn’t surprising coming from our sergeant at arms. Nitro was an explosives expert, which was how he’d gotten his road name. He could be unpredictable and volatile.
“You blow that latch,” Kane murmured, “and the whole fucking county’s gonna hear the echo. Let him work.”
Nitro shrugged, clearly disappointed, but accepting the necessity of going in quietly.
I eased to the corner, and my gaze swept around. The pines rustled in the wind. An owl stitched a dark line from one tree to another. I rolled my shoulders once, cleared my mind, let my breath sink low, and listened for anything besides the generator and our heartbeats.
Edge got the pad to chirp in under thirty seconds. The lock clicked, and Kane gestured for me to go first. My hand landed on the steel, pressed, and the door sighed inward on old hinges thathadn’t been properly oiled since before I could walk, the screech making me wince. It wasn’t exactly helping us to remain stealth.
The hot, muggy August air shifted to cool and damp as we entered the concrete stairwell. LEDs under wire cages lined the walls every third step, most were burned out, but a few were dim and flickering. Stale air lifted up. This place would make a killing as the set of a horror flick.
I went first, gun low, shoulders angled so the stair’s inner curve didn’t crowd my swing. At the bottom, the room opened, and the hum got louder. Rows of server racks filled a bay behind a mesh cage. Half the machines were gutted, and the ones still alive showed their age in the blink pattern—slow and irregular, not the crisp rhythm of modern stacks. To the right, a narrow corridor cut toward the back of the bunker.
Kane flicked two fingers at Nitro, who followed the cage’s mesh fence line to check the far door. Edge slid along the racks, eyes cutting through the gaps. I took the corridor.
The third door on the left had been jimmy-barred from the inside. Someone had screwed a steel plate across the frame and then lag-bolted it to the wall, a poor man’s reinforcement. I rapped my knuckles lightly—once, twice—but the hum swallowed the sound. I was about to try again when a voice, dry and hoarse, came from behind the steel.
“No deliveries.” The words scraped like a person who hadn’t spoken in a long time. “No visitors. No tours.”
Edge had drifted up behind me. He mouthedLeek?
