Chapter 32 #2
"Motherfucker thinks he's clever," I say, my voice a low rumble that makes even Milo glance up. "Rich boys always do. They build mazes of paperwork and think no one will ever find the center. He's using those companies as his fucking feeding grounds." The words taste like battery acid.
Milo looks up at me, his usual hyperactive demeanor now dead serious. "Dane... your girl Lila... when's her interview?"
I check my phone, and my heart stops.
"In ten minutes."
I bolt from Milo's loft, practically taking the door off its hinges. The stairwell echoes with my footsteps as I race down five flights, already dialing Lila's number. Straight to voicemail. I try again with the same result, that automated voice mocking my growing panic.
"Fuck!" I slam through the building's entrance door, scanning for my car.
A text might get through where a call won't—cellular networks are weird that way—but my gut says it's already too late. Lila said she would be there early. My fingers send the message anyway.
Dane: DO NOT GO TO VERITAS. EMERGENCY. CALL ME.
I gun the engine of my Charger, tires squealing as I pull into traffic. Horns blare. I don't care.
Tessa. She might know something.
I pull up her contact info, the number I lifted from Lila's phone while she slept beside me three nights ago. Just a precaution, I told myself then. Just good tradecraft to know who's in your asset's orbit.
A 'precaution' that is nothing more than a violation of trust when you hold it up to the light.
The call connects on the third ring.
"Hello?" Tessa's voice is guarded. She doesn't recognize my number.
"It's Dane. Lila's—" What am I to her, exactly? "—um… Dane. Where is she?"
"How did you get my number?" The suspicion in her voice is entirely justified.
"That's not important right now." I cut through an alley, shaving precious seconds off my route downtown. "Is Lila at Veritas?"
A pause. "Yes, she had her follow-up interview at 10:30. Why? What's wrong?"
"The building might not be safe." Understatement of the fucking century. "When's the last time you heard from her?"
"She texted when she arrived, maybe twenty minutes ago." Tessa's voice sharpens. "Dane, you're scaring me. What's happening?"
The light ahead turns red. I blow through it, narrowly missing a delivery truck.
"I may be overreacting, but has Lila mentioned a guy named Brian Langford in relation to Veritas?"
The silence that follows lasts only seconds but stretches like an eternity. My knuckles go white on the steering wheel.
"Yes," Tessa finally answers, her voice dropping to a whisper thick with fear.
Fucking perfect. My life never disappoints when it comes to worst-case scenarios. Death and danger… the only reliable constants in this shitshow I call my existence.
"She said he creeped her out during the first interview," Tessa continues. "Like, seriously creeped her out."
Of course he did. Lila knows predators first hand.
"You really are scaring me, Dane," Tessa says. "There are rumors about that guy."
I consider whether to tell her more. Fuck it.
"I think Langford is using Veritas and other companies to hunt women." The words hang in the air between us, stark and horrible. "A freshman is missing after meeting him there. Sarah Keller."
"Oh my God." Her breathing accelerates. "What do we do?"
"I'm already on my way. Call the police." A bitter laugh escapes me. "Tell them anything that will make them show up. Make something up."
"Okay." Tessa's voice is suddenly stronger, resolve cutting through the fear. "I'll make them listen."
I push the Charger harder, the V6 engine growling beneath me like it shares my fury. My thoughts race faster than the speedometer climbing and climbing. Every second stretches like a trigger pull in slow motion. Every red light becomes a personal affront to justice.
The city blurs around me, just smears of concrete and glass.
It's always been this way—moments of mundane existence punctuated by these violent rushes toward catastrophe.
That's the universe's sick joke. You spend your life wading through meaningless bullshit until suddenly you're racing against time, against the worst possibilities your mind can conjure.
I take a corner too hard, the tires screaming in protest. I check the weight of my gun in its holster.
Its familiarity should be comforting, but today it's a reminder of the fragility of everything.
Of how quickly safety becomes danger. Of how someone like Lila—someone good, someone with light still in her eyes despite everything—can walk right into the jaws of a predator wearing a tailored suit.
Memories of another girl flash through my mind. Gianna. Twelve years old and I couldn't save her. Some nightmares don't fade with time, they just wait for new victims to haunt you with.
"Not this time," I whisper to no one, my voice harsh in the empty car. "Not fucking this time. Not my Lila."
The Financial District rises ahead of me, glass towers reflecting nothing but emptiness. Somewhere in that steel maze is Lila. Somewhere in there is Langford. And I'm coming for both of them—one to save, one to destroy.
I press the accelerator to the floor.
DANE
I screech to a halt in front of the building. I leave the Charger idling at the curb, engine still running. No time for parking. Not when I need to find Lila. The building's glass doors slide open as I sprint through them. Every second counts.
The security desk looms ahead. A hulking twenty-something with a crew cut and vacant eyes looks up from his phone, irritation spreading across his face like a cancer. Just my luck, getting the oversized mall cop who probably bench presses small cars for fun.
"Sir, you need to?—"
"Brian Langford. Where is he?" My voice echoes through the marble lobby.
Security Guy stands up, hand instinctively moving to his hip where a taser sits in a holster. Poor bastard thinks that's going to help him.
"You need to exit the building immediately."
"Wrong answer." I slam my palms on his desk. "Veritas offices. Which floor?"
He comes around the desk. "Sir, I'm not going to?—"
I cut him off. "There's a woman in danger up there. This isn't a fucking debate."
His hand grips my shoulder. "That's it. You're leaving now."
The moment his fingers clench my jacket, muscle memory takes over.
I grab his wrist, twist, and drop my center of gravity.
One fluid motion—the kind you don't forget once it's been drilled into you a thousand times.
Before Captain America can process what's happening, his face is kissing the polished marble floor, his own taser pressed against the soft flesh beneath his jaw.
One minute he's a tough guy, the next he's tasting floor wax.
I press the taser harder against the guard's neck, watching his jaw grind in anger.
"Where is Brian Langford?" I growl, the words sharp as broken glass.
His lips press into a thin line, but his eyes flicker—a micro-expression that speaks volumes. He knows what's going on here. That's the face of someone who knows they're guarding a monster.
"You know, don't you?" I lean in closer, my voice low and dangerous. "You know what Langford does here."
A entire body goes rigid. Bingo.
"Listen, tough guy," I snarl, "I can fry your ass right here, right now. How's that for a Friday?"
But the asshole just stares back, unblinking. The taser doesn't scare him. Maybe he's used to pain. Maybe he knows it won't kill him.
I toss the taser aside, the clatter echoing through the lobby. In one fluid motion, I draw my Glock and press the cold barrel against his temple. His eyes widen. Now I'm speaking his language.
"Okay, let's try this again," I say, my tone conversational, like we're discussing the weather over coffee. "I'll redecorate the floor with your brains. How about that? Think the janitor will appreciate the extra work?"
The guard's breathing quickens, sweat beading on his forehead.
"You don't understand," he whispers, fear finally cracking his facade. "If I talk, I'm dead anyway."
I laugh, a sound devoid of humor. "Newsflash, Rambo, you're looking at dead right now. At least if you tell me now, you'll have time to run. So will this be quick or messy?"
His eyes dart around, searching for an escape that doesn't exist. I can see the wheels turning in his head, weighing his options. It's a familiar dance, the moment when a man decides if his loyalty is worth dying for.
"Look," I say, easing up slightly but keeping the gun firmly in place, "I get it.
You're just doing your job. But right now, there's a woman up there in danger.
Whatever Langford's paying you, it's not worth an innocent life.
Trust me, I've been where you are. Protecting the wrong people, thinking it's loyalty when it's just fear dressed up in a fancy suit. "
Something shifts in his eyes—recognition, maybe. Or just the realization that his options have narrowed to a pinpoint.
"Thirty-second floor," he finally croaks out. "Executive suite at the end of the hall."
I flip him over, his body as limp as wet cardboard. Fishing out his wallet, I scan his driver's license. "If you're lying to me, Samuel Barrett," I growl, "I'll find you and destroy everything you hold precious."
The man shudders.
"I swear that's it," he whines.
Pocketing his ID—always good to have insurance—I sprint for the elevator. The doors slide shut with agonizing slowness, and I'm left alone with my thoughts and the fucking muzak from corporate hell.
Thirty-tw0 floors. That's all that stands between me and Lila. Thirty-two floors and the sick game Langford's playing. My mind races, conjuring up a thousand scenarios. I see Gianna by the fireplace, her pleading eyes begging for my help.
The image sinks its claws into my chest, threatening to rip my heart clean out. I've been here before, haven't I? Always a step behind, always too late to save the ones who need saving. It's a dance as old as me. I'm Fortune's whipping boy.
But not Lila. Not this time.
She's the first person in years who's made me feel something other than the cold embrace of guilt and regret. If something happens to her… I'll tear that motherfucker limb by limb.
The elevator chimes, each floor a reminder of how far I still have to go. Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven... Time stretches, warping and bending until each second feels like an eternity.
Fear claws at my throat, threatening to choke the life out of me. What if I'm too late? What if Langford's already…
NO!
I can't think like that. I won't. Lila's strong, stronger than she knows. She'll fight. She has to.
Thirty-one, thirty-two. The doors open with a cheerful 'ding' that feels like a slap in the face. I step out, my gun a reassuring weight in my hand. The hallway stretches before me, a gauntlet of closed doors and heavy silence.
Wrong. All wrong.
But whatever's waiting, failure isn't an option.