Chapter 26
Brax
The city exhales under the noon sun, but my curtains black it all out. I sit alone in my office, the glow from my monitors the only thing keeping the room lit. My apartment is too quiet, and the silence stretches across the space, heavy with a tension I haven't been able to shake for weeks.
I miss my wife.
I've barely seen her. Liam has Sean and I doing the same shitty work newbies get assigned. I usually see Valentina for an hour or so, then get on my computers, trying to find out who was behind the attempted coup.
She came over a few times while I was working, but it always ended up with us in bed, so I got no work done. As much as I prefer to spend time with her, I know my job is important. If they come after Kirill and Fiona, they won't stop coming after Valentina. And I'm not going to allow that.
It's felt like forever since the Underworld has summoned me. There have been no surprise rituals, no messages, no emergencies to fix. Valentina hasn't had any either. And the lack of activity feels off.
Zara's adjusting to life with twins, with little help from Sean. Unfortunately, he's in the same boat I am.
Kirill's trying to act like ruling the most dangerous organization on the planet is something he can do with a straight posture and a steady jaw. But he's also over-the-moon excited about Fiona's pregnancy.
It's all normal life with a bomb waiting to explode. And time's running out to change whatever course the Omni have us on.
My focus drops to the screen again. A red square blinks in the corner.
I peer closer to figure out if it's another security message or a leftover warning from one of the firewalls I pushed too hard.
So I stare, watching the slow, steady pulse.
It speeds up, then slows again. But it's not timed the same, so after counting out several rounds, I decide the heartbeat has to be a human, and heat tightens in the center of my chest. It's sharp, pulled taut by instinct and anger.
I move the cursor near the edge of the pulsing square, not touching it, just tracing the air above the glow. The second I get close, the beat speeds up and the lights get brighter.
My jaw tightens. It's not a firewall. It's a trace. Someone on the other side of this is watching me the same way a predator watches a twitch in the grass.
I tap the arrow key. Nothing happens. Then I lightly drag the mouse halfway across the edge of the square, barely grazing it.
The heartbeat erupts into a rapid pounding rhythm, and a line flashes across the screen.
INTERFERENCE WILL RESULT IN REMOVAL.
My shoulders push back slowly as the truth slides through me. They see me. They always do.
I let the cursor hover for a moment. Then I test it carefully, moving it a hair. The screen responds instantly. A new warning bursts across the top.
YOUR SEAT WILL BE EMPTY FOR OBSTRUCTION.
A chill prickles across my skin. I pick up my phone and send a text.
Me: You seeing this?
Sean: Loud and clear.
I exhale through my nose, gritting my teeth.
My fingers hover above the keyboard. I don't know what's on the other side of this pulse, but I need to find out.
If I access it, I'll discover the truth.
Otherwise, they wouldn't be trying to scare me.
So I tap another key, and the heartbeat jumps again, slamming into a frenzied pace.
Another line flashes.
STAY BACK. LAST WARNING.
Sure it is, motherfucker.
My phone vibrates.
Sean: At the top of the minute, type this in. I'll do the same.
He sends a long line of code.
Me: Got it.
I stare at the clock on my cell. It switches to the next minute, and I type fast.
My hard drive whirs. A second square appears beside the first, pulsing in sync with the heartbeat like a mirrored organ. Then a directory opens, but only for a fraction of a second.
Still, I catch a glimpse before the system slams shut again, locking everything behind a wall thick as steel. It's a handful of lines, but every one of them drives something hot and unforgiving through my spine.
SCARLET HOUR – SUPPLEMENT RECORD
SUBJECT: V.A. SCARLET HOUR — COMPLETE
CEREMONY OF EXPOSURE – SUPPLEMENT RECORD
FAILED: CEREMONY OF EXPOSURE
SUBJECT: S.O. — ONGOING
SUBJECT: Z.O. — ONGOING
SUBJECT: B.O. — ONGOING
SUBJECT: V.O. — ONGOING
SUBJECT: K.P. — ONGOING
SUBJECT: F.P. — ONGOING
My throat tightens, and my fists clench, but fear swirls into my anger. The same people who are behind the coup came after my wife when they branded her chest. And now, they have other plans.
The screen turns black, then the same warnings start scrolling. When SUBJECT: V.O. — ONGOING pops up, I click before it disappears.
Then my gut twists with bile.
DIRECTIVE 19: brEEDING CYCLE – CONFIDENTIAL
SUBJECT: V.A. — REQUIRED PARTICIPATION
STATUS: ENFORCEABLE
The last line blinks over and over. I swallow hard and click on it again.
Then there's a document stamped in bloodred ink. At the top sits the Underworld skull, followed by a title that punches the air out of my lungs.
THE SACRED LINE MUST BE ENFORCED - MONTHLY HARVEST UNTIL 40 THEN ELIMINATE.
A chart unfolds. It's clinical, organized with obsessive precision. Bloodlines. Fertility windows. Genetic compatibility matrices.
Valentina's name sits at the center of a grotesque diagram, branching into hundreds of projected offspring.
A series of bullet points scroll across the screen, making my gut flip faster.
MANDATE: OVUM EXTRACTION TO COMMENCE UPON NEXT FULL MOON.
TARGET OUTPUT: 6–12 VIABLE EMbrYOS PER CYCLE.
GESTATIONAL ASSIGNMENTS: VARIED (SEE ATTACHED PAIRING LIST).
My stomach knots into raw violence.
STRONGEST OFFSPRING WILL BE ALLOCATED TO FAMILIES DEEMED MOST FIT FOR THEIR UPbrINGING. WEAK SOLD TO HIGHEST BIDDER.
A video mock-up follows. There are metal tables, surgical restraints, torches with masked men and women, and my wife naked with only her eye mask on.
Another file appears.
FIRST ROUND — SURROGATES
I click on it and only grow sicker. Faces of a dozen younger women appear. Some don't even look eighteen. Then their voices startle me, one at a time, all saying the same thing.
"The lineage belongs to the table, not the woman."
The page vanishes, leaving a photo of Valentina, bare, with her red V bright across her chest.
I hold my breath, my insides shaking, fists clenched.
They don't want her allegiance. They want her for a breeding program that steals her DNA and children. And then they decide who they think is worthy and sell the undesirables to the black market.
My phone buzzes. I glance at it.
Sean: Jesus Christ. I know you saw that.
My insides shake with rage. I stare at the blinking red square for a moment. Determined to find out more, I plug in more code, trying to find out who's behind this disgusting plan.
Sean: I'm putting more code in.
I don't reply, my fingers already working at lightning speed. It takes a few minutes, then there's a series of four beeps, and images pop up. Some faces I've seen; others I haven't.
Sean: It's the entire Omni and Royal Council. Everyone but the six of us.
Another file begins to run. Our faces appear with ELIMINATE stamped across them. Valentina's is the last. It flashes, disappears, and my computer fans whir harder before the screen turns dark.
"Fuck, not again," I bark, hitting the on switch, but I already know I'm dead. It's the fifth time it's happened.
Sean: You burned, too?
Me: Yep.
Sean: I'll order another set. We need to know what they're planning for the rest of us.
I shove away from the desk and let out a bitter breath.
Valentina's not safe.
The hairs on my neck rise. I leave the office, grab my jacket, and lock up my apartment. More anger rips through me the second the elevator doors shut. I text her.
Me: Where are you?
Valentina: At Fiona's.
Me: Stay put.
Valentina: Why?
Me: I'll come get you. Don't go anywhere, Minx.
Valentina: Brax, what's wrong?
Me: Not over the phone. Just promise me you won't go anywhere.
Valentina: Okay.
Valentina should be safe. She's done nothing but give her loyalty to this twisted cult. And the image of her face with ELIMINATE across it won't stop hammering inside my skull.
I hit the parking garage, climb into my Mustang, and take the fastest route to Sean's penthouse.
Traffic is light. The city glints with glass, metal, money, and all the rot hidden between the cracks.
I grip the wheel harder. Every street I turn down reminds me that Chicago operates under invisible rules the public will never see, rules dictated by an organization so powerful it has its own traditions, rites, and punishments.
They plan to steal my wife's eggs then kill her.
A rage so deep fills me. I can barely see. I park on the street, get through Sean's building, and into his penthouse.
The soft murmur of hushed baby noises drifts from down the hall, heightening my anger.
Zara stands in the doorway, her hair in a loose knot, two swaddled bundles pressed against her chest. She rocks side to side with the ease of someone who's memorized their children's breathing patterns.
She smiles in surprise, whispering, "Hey. They just drifted off. Walk quietly."
My throat tightens at the sight of the twins' tiny fists peeking from their blankets. They're pure innocence with zero knowledge of the kingdom their grandfather built.
I lower my voice. "Hey, Zara."
Her hushed voice warns, "If you wake them, I'm making you stay until two a.m. to rock them back to sleep."
"Noted. Sean in the office?"
She nods. "He's in one of his moods. You're officially warned."
"He tell you why?" I murmur.
Worry fills her expression. "Not yet."
I give the babies a final look and brush past her. I don't knock and open the door.
Sean stands behind his oversized desk, rolling his shoulders like he's minutes away from punching the wall. The second he sees me, he drags both hands through his hair. His voice is low but threaded with something sharp. "You saw everything I saw?"