Chapter 18 – CARLISLE
Chapter
Eighteen
CARLISLE
T he warehouse squats in the industrial district like a festering wound made out of rust. I tap my fingers against the helicopter's window in time with Vivaldi's Winter playing through my AirPods, watching the structure grow larger as we descend.
Something's wrong.
Not with the mission. That's textbook omega trafficking ring, the kind of righteous violence that usually has me vibrating with adrenaline.
No, what's wrong is that we left them alone.
"I still think this is a mistake," I tell Bane for the third time, pulling out one earbud. The classical music continues in my left ear, a pleasant counterpoint to the violence we're about to unleash. "Leaving them with minimal guard? That's asking for trouble."
Bane's scarred jaw clenches, a tell that means he's tired of my shit but knows I might have a point. "We've got six guards on site, Carlisle. They're not going anywhere."
"Six guards who've never dealt with professional killers.
" I lean back in my seat, twirling one of my favorite knives between my fingers.
The blade catches the moonlight filtering through the window, and I imagine it's already wet with blood.
"You saw what she did to me at the Rut Room.
That little omega alone is more dangerous than half the alphas we've put down. "
"Which is why we have guards," Bane repeats, using his I'm the leader and this discussion is over voice.
Elias glances up from his medical kit, those calculating eyes taking in the quiet competition for dominance going on between us. "Carlisle has a point. They're resourceful."
"They're also injured and have nowhere to go," Archer adds from the pilot's seat, though even he doesn't sound entirely convinced. "Felix can barely walk."
I laugh, the sound sharp enough to cut skin. "Felix managed to fight off three military-trained alphas while bleeding out. You really think a limp is going to stop him?"
And there's something else about Felix that sets my teeth on edge.
Something beyond the obvious. The way he moves, the way he smells, the way he looks at Juniper.
There's a secret there, simmering beneath the surface.
I've been watching him through the security feeds for days now, cataloging every micro-expression, every tell, and I'm close to figuring it out. So fucking close.
"We have a job to do," Bane says, effectively ending the conversation. "Twelve omegas need our help. Juniper is secure at base, so right now, that's our focus."
Of course it is. Bane is always focused on the mission. But I can't shake my obsession. Our scent-matched omega and her mysterious partner, alone in our compound with guards who think they're babysitting instead of containing two of the most dangerous people we've ever encountered.
The helicopter touches down on the warehouse roof with barely a whisper.
I follow the others out into the night air, adjusting my tactical vest and checking my blades one more time.
Seven of them, each one perfectly balanced, each one thirsting for blood.
The warehouse below us pulses with activity, guards walking predictable patterns, the occasional scream filtering up through the ventilation system.
"Standard breach pattern," Bane orders through comms. "No survivors except the victims."
We rappel down like spiders descending on prey. The first guard doesn't even have time to scream before my blade finds the sweet spot between his third and fourth vertebrae. He drops like a marionette with cut strings, and I catch his body before it hits the ground, dragging it into the shadows.
This is what I'm good at. This is what I was made for. The kill, clean and perfect, a work of art that no one will ever fully appreciate except me.
But even as I move through the warehouse, painting the walls with arterial spray and turning guards into corpses, my mind keeps drifting back to the compound.
To her. The way she looked at me in the helicopter, like she could see straight through my carefully constructed mask to the monster underneath.
The way she moved when she fought, grace and chaos wrapped in silken skin.
I've killed hundreds of people. Maybe more—I stopped counting after the first fifty because numbers lose meaning after a while. But I've never met anyone who made me feel... curious. Interested. Alive in a way that has nothing to do with ending lives.
"Southeast corner clear," I report, stepping over a body that's still twitching. "Moving to the holding area."
The cages are exactly where intel said they'd be. Twelve omegas in various states of trauma, and the sight should make me feel the usual normal things. Anger. Disgust. Revulsion.
But all I can think about is whether Juniper was in a place like this once. Whether that's why she flinches whenever anyone but Felix gets too close. Why those hazel eyes immediately identify an exit every time she enters a room.
"Doc, you're up," Bane says, and Elias moves in to start assessing the victims.
I hang back, ostensibly keeping watch but really just going through the motions. My phone buzzes in my pocket—the special one connected to the compound's security system. I pull it out, expecting to see Juniper curled up next to Felix in the medical bay like she has been for the past three days.
The bed is empty.
My blood turns to ice water in my veins. I flip through the other cameras quickly, searching for them. The common area—empty. The kitchen—empty. The hallway—two unconscious guards.
"Fuck," I breathe, and everyone turns to look at me.
Before I can say anything, Bane's radio crackles to life. "Base to Psychos, we have a situation."
Bane's expression darkens as he keys the mic. "Report."
"There's been a breach. The targets have escaped. Two guards down, no fatalities. They're in the wind."
The silence that follows is deafening. Even the rescued omegas seem to sense the shift in energy, pressing deeper into their cages. Bane's scarred face cycles through about fifty different emotions before settling on cold fury.
"Copy that," he says, voice deadly calm. "We're RTB in twenty. Lock down the perimeter and start tracking protocols."
He ends the transmission and turns to look at me. I can't help the smirk that spreads across my face, even though there's no real satisfaction in being right. Not when she's out there in the mountains, in the dark, with god knows what kind of predators both human and animal.
"I fucking told you so," I say, but the words come out hollow.
Because here's the thing about me.
I don't feel fear.
Haven't since I was seven and my father taught me that fear was just another weakness to be exploited. I've faced down entire cartels without my pulse elevating. I've been tortured, shot, stabbed, and once someone tried to set me on fire, and through it all I felt nothing but mild annoyance.
But right now, thinking about Juniper and Felix alone in those mountains, injured and hunted?
My chest constricts in a way that has nothing to do with the tactical vest. My hands actually shake as I sheath my knives. The classical music still playing in my left ear sounds discordant now, like the orchestra is falling apart.
"We need to move," I hear myself say, and my voice sounds strange. Tight. "The temperature drops to near freezing at night. They're not dressed for it."
Archer's already moving toward the exit. "I'll prep the bird."
"What about the victims?" Elias asks, ever the humanitarian.
"Call in the backup team," Bane orders. "They can handle the extraction. We're going after our targets."
Our targets.
Such a clinical term for the woman who makes my dead heart remember it exists and the alpha I should loathe more than any other for possessing hers , but can't bring myself to for some reason.
Curiouser and curiouser.