Page 33 of The Kings
“Hey,” Raphael murmurs, gesturing to his identical face.
“Sorry, baby, that scar is downright bad boy.”
He snickers, and I smile, genuine and slightly girly, like a chump. His midnight confession has eased the tension that was building, and now it’s like we’ve been doing this forever.
“You better not fuck this up,” Raphael warns, but there’s a hint of jest in his tone.
“Don’t I always deliver?” Tarquin shoots back, winking at me.
I nod, satisfied, and stand. “James, you’re on lookout with that Blackthorne eagle eye. Raph and Ollie, you’re with me. Okay, everyone knows their role. We move out in fifteen. Gear up and meet by the back door.”
“Raph,” Raphael murmurs, giving me a lazy grin.
“Your name is pretty, but it’s a fucking mouthful.”
“Insert joke here,” Ollie chuckles, making me laugh.
They scatter like well-trained soldiers, each to their own quarters to collect what they need for the job ahead. I head back to my room and open up the bag stashed in the wardrobe. If I’m going into that snake pit, I need more than Flick. Pulling out a compact Glock with a suppressor—I slide it into the back of mypants and check my reflection in the mirror as I shrug into my leather jacket.
Badass bitch? Check.
Back downstairs, with everyone geared up and ready, we file out silently through the back door and into the cool night air. Oliver slips me an earpiece before we pile into two separate vehicles—me with Raphael and Tarquin, James and Oliver in another, in case we need to split up. “Sync your comms,” Oliver instructs through the earpiece as he gets behind the wheel of his car.
We do a quick radio check before Raphael revs up the engine and peels out onto the street. The tension is thick, anticipation coiling in my gut as we approach Ryan Scott’s HQ.
Tarquin and I are in the backseat, rechecking our weapons with practised ease, while Raphael’s hands grip the wheel like it’s an extension of his own body. Half an hour later, we’re heading through the city where Scott’s HQ is, and it all becomes clear. I was closest. That’s why Dad contacted me, not because I’m the best woman for the job.
Well, baptism by fire and I are no strangers so here goes nothing, I guess.
We move through the city, the buildings passing by in a blur. Ollie’s voice crackles in our ears, keeping us updated on their position.
“Turning onto Clyde,” he mutters. “No sign of tails.”
The car slows as we approach an industrial area—warehouses and dark alleys spill shadows across our path. Raphael parks a block away from our target, killing the engine and the lights at the same time.
“We walk from here,” he says quietly as we slip out of the car.
Three of us move forward while Tarq and James slide into the darkness to deal with their jobs. My heart hammers againstmy ribs like it wants to break free. But it’s excitement that courses through my veins—not fear. This is what I live for.
Ollie holds up a sleek black device no bigger than a deck of cards. “Signal jammer’s set,” he whispers. “Five minutes and counting.”
Without another word. Raphael, Oliver, and I head towards the back entrance of the building, every step deliberate, our movements silent. Even in the dark night, my eyes adjust quickly.
The warehouse is an imposing structure of grey concrete and steel. But every fortress has a way in.
“And out,” I mutter.
Raphael takes point. He signals to a security camera above the door, its red light blinking rhythmically.
“On it,” Ollie murmurs.
Seconds tick by before the light on the camera goes dim.
“That’s our cue,” I breathe out.
Raphael picks the lock with an ease that sends a twisted thrill through me. The door swings open with a soft creak, and darkness swallows us as we step inside.
We navigate through the labyrinth of crates and boxes, guided by Ollie’s directional whispers in our ears. The air is stale, reeking of oil and metal. I grip Flick and pull her out of the holster, ready for anything to jump out at us.
