Page 105 of Doomed
The van creeps forward in the darkness, headlights off as we approach the outskirts of the Ivanov estate. My knuckles turn white around the handle of my combat knife. Next to me, Vane checks his weapon for the third time.
“Five minutes,” Landon announces from the front, his voice steady as he studies the tablet displaying the estate’s security layout. “The rear approach has two guards rotating on fifteen-minute intervals. We’ll hit the blind spot at 11:42 exactly.”
I nod, my mind filling with images of Bianca—her body wrapped in blue silk ribbons, waiting for me on our bed. The way her skin glows in the morning light. I recall the sound of her laughter echoing through my penthouse.
Now she’s in that fucking monster’s house.
“Knox.” Xavier’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Stay focused. Channel it.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m good.”
“Landon’s route takes us through the servant’s entrance,” Vane reminds us, tapping the blueprint. “Two minutes of camera blindness while the system recycles.”
My mind splits—half calculating entry points and timing, half filled with flashes of Bianca. Her head thrown back in ecstasy. The way she bites her lower lip when she’s concentrating on a painting. The softness of her sleeping form curled against me.
The contrast between those memories and what she might be enduring right now sharpens everything inside me to a lethal point.
“If Orlov touched her—” I start.
“We’ll kill them all regardless,” Xavier interrupts. “But not in a blind rage.”
I nod, cold purpose replacing the churning heat of my anger. The van stops.
“Comms check,” Landon says, handing out earpieces.
We each confirm our connection. I chamber a round in my pistol, the sound oddly comforting in its finality.
“Remember,” Xavier says, “we move as ghosts until we find her. Then?—”
“Then all hell breaks loose,” I finish, sliding my mask over the lower half of my face.
The side door opens. Night air rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and distant water. We move in formation toward the shadows of the estate, vengeance made flesh.
I’m coming for you, beautiful. And then I’m coming for him.
The wire fence slices open with a muffled snip as Vane works the cutters. We slip through the gap one by one, our dark clothing melting into the night. I adjust my blue mask over the lower half of my face, inhaling the familiar scent of leather mixed with my own breath.
“Movement patterns holding steady,” Landon whispers through our comms, his white mask ghostly in the darkness. “West wing guards are on schedule, distraction team in position.”
Xavier nods, the red details on his mask catching a sliver of moonlight. We move in perfect sync, our footsteps whisper against the manicured lawn. My every nerve ending is focused on one thing: finding Bianca.
“Three minutes until we hit the service entrance,” Landon murmurs, checking his tablet. “Security cameras cycling to maintenance mode in five, four, three?—”
“Wait,” Vane hisses, his hand shooting up in warning.
We freeze, becoming statues in the darkness. There—a silhouette where none should be. A guard, walking a patrol pattern that wasn’t on Landon’s intel. Fuck.
The man turns, his flashlight beam sweeping toward us. No time to think. I pull my pistol from its holster, calculate trajectory in a fraction of a second, and hurl it with savage precision. The heavy weapon strikes his throat with a sickening crunch, cutting off his startled cry before it can form.
He drops his flashlight, hands clawing at his crushed windpipe. In two swift strides, Landon is on him. His arm snakes around the guard’s neck in a choke hold, muscles flexing beneath his black tactical gear. The guard’s legs kick uselessly against the grass as Landon applies pressure.
I retrieve my pistol as the guard’s struggles weaken, then cease altogether. Landon eases the guard to the ground, checking for a pulse.
“Clear,” he confirms.
Xavier motions us forward. “Adjust timing. We’ve lost forty seconds.”
I nod, following his lead, the momentary detour only intensifying my focus. Every step brings me closer to Bianca. Closer to making Orlov pay.
