Chapter 39
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
Katya
When I woke up this morning, I knew it was going to be a shitty day.
Stubbed my toe getting out of the shower and messed up my toenail. Stabbed myself in the eye with mascara. Sneezed while drinking coffee behind the wheel, so now my windshield looks like a Jackson Pollock of espresso. And to top it off, I got stuck in the elevator with someone who left behind a fart cloud that could violate the Geneva Convention.
I should’ve gone back to bed. Should’ve taken PTO.
But no, The Spider has been on my radar for weeks. With or without a visual on him, I know he’s working for The Deviant. His underlings have been easier to track. We’ve had their phones tapped for a month. At 12:13 p.m., we intercepted a message:
Kidnapping in progress.
By 12:45, my team identified the targets.
By 12:47, we were rounding up the guardians and deploying a task force.
The timeline pieced together quickly enough:
12:15: The targets were acquired in an armored limo.
12:25: Neutralized, likely through gas pumped into the ventilation system.
12:30: The limo deviated from its planned route.
After that, everything fell apart.
Glitches in the network. Programs forcing updates. Elevators moving slower than molasses. Missed calls. Each one a tiny, stupid hiccup, but together they bled time—time we couldn’t afford to lose.
By one p.m., we had the guardians in the building. Agents were liaising with specialized units for retrieval, but the delays kept stacking. We lost GPS signal five times. Ten full minutes passed where we thought we’d lost the target completely. When we deployed SWAT to intercept, they set the nets five blocks south of where they should’ve been.
Every single step, we fucked up.
And it doesn’t make sense.
One or two mistakes, sure. But this many? It reeks of inside interference.
None of us say it aloud, but I see it on everyone’s face. The whole task force has been brought in and it’s the first time I’ve seen Marshall in months. He spins his wedding ring on his thumb—a tell he can’t hide when he’s uncomfortable. Bernie, our tech guy, is so jittery I’m waiting for the pen he’s twirling in his hand to launch down the hallway.
But Declan? Declan’s too calm. His ticks are there—habitual, almost practiced—but his eyes don’t match his movements.
We’re about to walk into a room full of nervous parents and relatives of the hostages, and the knot in my stomach tightens so much I’m surprised I can still breathe. I’m about to give the worst news of my career, maybe of my life.
The moment I step inside, my gaze locks on Dimitri.
He’s pale, drenched in sweat, and broken in a way I haven’t seen since the day I left him in Russia. I fight every instinct to cross the room and remind him he’s not alone. He glances at me briefly, then looks away. At least he’s good at keeping up the charade. I’m not sure I’ll hold out much longer.
Focus. Fix the problem. Redirect your attention. The kids are in that building. We confirmed it five minutes ago.
Penny Olympian is speaking, her sharp words cutting through the air, but I’m only half listening. My attention flicks to the screen just in time to catch something—a small, fast-moving dot traveling in a straight line.
It separates.
One part continues forward, the other drops toward the building. The motion is so fast, so small, that for a second, I’m not even sure I saw it.
Donny is throwing credit cards on the table, ranting about Costco and potato salad. The dots vanish from the screen.
I blink.
And the screen flashes white.
The explosion is immediate.
Someone screams.
Is it me?
The room erupts in chaos—shouts, cries, gasps—but the stillness in my chest is deafening. It’s as if all the air was sucked out of the room, leaving behind only noise without meaning. I feel it, the ground slipping out from under me, the cold rush of failure settling in.
Do not look at Dimitri. Don’t do it. The last of his family was in that building. And there’s nothing I can do to save him from this pain.
Once the camera refocuses, it’s hard to identify where the damage was done because a second explosion happens in the field behind the building.
Two.
“Go back,” I say to Bernie. “I need you to go back and enhance the image.” He grumbles something along the lines of how it’s not that easy. But he gets it done.
Find it. Find the dot.
“There.” I point to the screen. “Zoom in.”
Marshall looks over my shoulder. “Is that a drone?”
Leaning closer to the screen, I squint. “No, it’s two.”
I follow the drones on the screen and watch one clearly hover over the back half of the building before the roof explodes and it’s annihilated. I can’t find the second one in the frame, but it appears fifteen seconds before the explosion in the back field. It drops something small, zooming halfway across the field by the time its payload makes impact on the ground. We slow the video by the millisecond to see the second and third payload drops before the drone can no longer outrun the fire, and it too vanishes.
“It’s an attack,” I whisper. But who?
Dimitri’s voice cuts through the madness around us, or maybe I hear it because he’s the only one I care about. “Why is the field burning purple?”
Behind us, there’s a live stream of the building. Marshall, Bernie, and I turn around to the screen. Giant plumes of dark purple smoke billow out of the back half of the building, filling the air, but new lighter shades of purple burn from the field as well.
Declan whispers, “It’s Majesty.” His frown deepens.
Marshall blinks. “That’s a fuck ton of it.”
A male voice with a slight Irish accent answers, “The darker the purple, the higher the concentration that’s burning. The building must have at least six hundred million dollars’ worth of Majesty. The back field is where they’re harvesting fifty percent of the entire stock. And with the field burning… it would take ten years for it to grow back.”
I run the numbers in my head. “That’s nearly nine billion dollars’ worth of Majesty burning.”
Marshall turns to Donny, who’s cradling his head in his hands. “Who’s more terrifying than the women in your family?”
But Donny’s answer goes unheard because Bernie shouts, “We’ve got movement, coming in hot!”
I see it on the far left side of the screen. Bernie zooms in, tracking its movement. “It’s an SUV, not a model I recognize.”
Hadeon Olympian supplies, “That’s because it’s been custom-made for Mastodon Securities.”
Something strange happens in the room. The parents exhale, and the relief is palpable. Penny leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. Hadeon reaches over and squeezes her hand. Duncan makes the sign of the cross, and Dimitri looks up. We make eye contact for a second. He’s… happy?
Only Donny still sounds petrified. “Alana King is the only person more terrifying than the women in my family.”
I laugh, and I’m pissed I didn’t piece it together faster.
Marshall whips his head over at me. “Who the fuck is Alana King?”
Before I can answer, Bernie shouts, “Whoever she is, she’s going to crash into the building because the security door isn’t opening—” He leans in. “Shit, how is she doing that?”
The SUV spins around and is now reversing at full speed into the rising bay door of the burning facility.
Marshall slams his hand on the glass table. “Someone answer my fucking question. Who is Alana King? Is she one of ours?”
Penny snorts. “You can’t afford her.”
Bernie jolts back in his chair. “The U.S. government can’t afford her?”
“No. Alana King speaks six different languages, has five thousand hours at the shooting range, and stopped three gang wars. Did you hear about the conflict between Micahuand and Grezil?”
Declan gives a tight lipped frown and shakes his head. “That never happened.”
Penny nods. “You have her to thank for that. She’s a world-class hacker, one I taught myself. She’s relentless, thorough, and holds a wicked grudge.” Her eyes drift toward Declan and back over the rest of us.
The room chills.
“And why is Alana King driving into a building full of drug lords and henchmen?” Marshall swallows.
“I can answer that,” I say and point to the people around the table. “Alana is both Olivia Olympian and Maria Ramos’s godmother. The boy, Drew? His mother is an employee at Mastodon, and she’s dating Alana’s roommate. The oldest girl, Shae, is Alana’s friend’s sister. And Ian… well, she rescued him in Russia.” I point back to the building. “Those are her kids.”
Declan snaps, “How the hell do you know her?” I’m startled by the crack in his typically cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor. There’s a vein pulsing on his forehead, and his pupils are tiny pinpoints of darkness.
I give him the only honest answer I can. “She used to break into my apartment and steal my sriracha.”
I feel like this is all fate—all of us in this room together.
The armored truck races out of the building just as fast as it went in. On the far left side of the screen, six more vehicles race toward the SUV. The fleet drifts to the side, passes the armored SUV without incident, and pulls up to the building.
“Who the fuck is that?”
Donny groans. “Hunters, probably.”
There’s a phone ringing somewhere in the room. Penny opens her purse and answers it. “Hello?”
Alana’s voice blasts through the speakers. “Packages have been retrieved. All accounted for.”
“Are the kids okay?” This is the first time Penny allows her fearless mask to slip and sounds like a mom.
“Olivia and Maria are still asleep. Drew and Shae appear to be unharmed.” Alana’s voice grows icy as my stomach drops. “Ian got a little roughed up, and Uri’s seen better days. But everyone’s alive, safe, and secure.”
Ian’s hurt? Dimitri’s face is a mix of rage, guilt, and a dash of sickness.
“I like your pretty dress.” A tiny voice comes through the speaker—a young girl.
“Thank you, Shae.”
“Aunt Alana, can we get ice cream?” A young boy with a lingering Russian accent. Ian.
“Kiddo, there’s ice cream in the center console,” she responds.
She stopped off for ice cream before rescuing the kids. Who is this woman?
Alana continues, “Meet me at home base. I’m calling Waverly and Izzy.”
Donny lifts his head. “Wait, why are you calling Waverly?” A new level of panic replaces his otherwise constant state of fear.
But his question goes unanswered because Alana’s already talking to someone else. “Penny, do you have your laptop?”
She grins like she has the Library of Alexandria’s worth of secret knowledge. “Of course.”
“Excellent. See you soon.” The phone line goes dead.
Penny stands, smooths her suit jacket and her pants, and moves with delicate precision toward the door.
Donny reaches across the table toward her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
From under the table, there’s a growl, and several sharp, quick barks. Dogs? Who brought dogs?
Donny pulls his arm back and folds his hands in his lap. “Why was Waverly called?”
Penny picks up her bag—a slim, refined messenger bag that looks elegant, albeit used. She tilts her head like she’s a parrot trying to repeat a new phrase. “Months ago, she went to the Four Families for help. They turned her down. Waverly came to Alana and me instead.” She hitches her bag onto her shoulder. “This whole day would’ve gone differently if your family”—she tilts her head in our direction—“and the Agencies had done what they should’ve done years ago.”
She starts the procession of everyone filing out of the conference room. Duncan McLeod nudges Dimitri. “You gotta stop losing your kid.” I think he’s joking, but I can’t tell.
“I’m not losing him. Other people keep taking him,” Dimitri answers darkly, but with an undercurrent of laughter.
I make a note to follow up on how many times Ian has been abducted. “He must be a remarkable kid.”
A proud smile grows on his face. “He is.” A frown replaces the smile. “Uri is not. He’s just a chronic pain in my ass.”
Dimitri and I are sandwiched between Duncan and Marshall as we walk out the door. My pinky finger brushes against his knuckle. While this is the worst day, at least he’s not alone. At least he’s built himself a support system. “It looks like this waking nightmare might almost be over.”
He peers over at me, expressionless, because he’s fighting every emotion at once. “One can only hope.”