Chapter 4
The problem with priceless artifacts is that they all look the same when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun. Eden kept her hands carefully visible as she circled one of her father’s prized acquisitions—a Damascus steel dagger that had disappeared from the Metropolitan Museum three months ago. Its distinctive blade patterns caught the gallery’s carefully designed lighting, making the ancient steel seem to ripple with hidden messages.
If they only knew how right that observation was.
“Beautiful piece,”
one of the collectors murmured, his Italian accent as carefully cultivated as his appearance.
“The pattern-welded steel is remarkably well-preserved for its age.”
Eden allowed the appropriate amount of enthusiasm to color her voice as she discussed metallurgical techniques she’d researched extensively. All while her hidden camera captured every detail of the man’s face for later identification.
The private showing at the Devil’s Mark gallery was exactly the kind of high-class fa?ade that made her skin crawl. Crystal champagne flutes and canapés didn’t belong in an MC clubhouse. Neither did the dozen “art collectors”
currently circling the room like vultures, their designer suits a stark contrast to the leather cuts of the watching bikers.
But it was Eden who really didn’t belong. She moved through the crowd in a black dress that hugged every curve, playing the perfect MC princess while her fingers danced across her phone between conversations. To casual observers, she looked like any privileged daughter showing off her father’s collection. Only someone with very specific training would recognize that she wasn’t socializing—she was gathering evidence.
Through carefully timed glances, she kept track of all the players. Romano holding court near the Rembrandt, his cultured charm masking the predator beneath. Her father monitoring everything from his position by the door, pride and suspicion warring in his expression. And Hunter, stationed near a particularly ugly modernist sculpture, where he had clear sightlines to both exits and, more importantly, to the hidden server room she’d discovered behind a false wall.
Every few minutes, a small red light blinked above the concealed door—someone was accessing the system remotely. Eden’s own devices tracked the data flow, confirming her suspicions about what was really being traded tonight. The artifacts were just window dressing. The real valuable commodity was information.
“See something interesting?”
Her voice carried just the right mix of flirtation and professionalism as she appeared at Hunter’s elbow. Up close, her perfume mixed with the leather and gun oil that clung to his clothes, a dangerous combination that made her pulse quicken traitorously.
Hunter forced himself to maintain professional detachment, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. Eden moved with the kind of effortless grace that spoke of extensive combat training, her black dress revealing toned arms and the elegant curve of her neck.
He’d been in enough dangerous situations to recognize when attraction was clouding judgment, but he couldn’t help noticing how the gallery lights caught the hidden auburn highlights in her dark hair, how her eyes seemed to shift between green and gold depending on the angle.
“Just admiring the view.”
His hand brushed her lower back. The contact sent a jolt through Eden’s system that had nothing to do with professional caution. Hunter’s touch was warm through the thin material of her dress, his callused fingers a reminder of the man beneath the cover identity. She found herself cataloging details she should have been professional enough to ignore—the way his custom tuxedo jacket stretched across broad shoulders, how his eyes shifted to a darker blue when he was focused on her, the clean scent of his aftershave mixing with leather and gun oil.
Hunter used the move to turn her away from the cameras, taking advantage of the motion to slip a small tracking device into her clutch. Amateur move. She’d spotted it immediately, despite the distraction of reaction it’d caused inside her. But she let him think he’d been smooth about it.
“I’m more interested in what’s behind the scenes,”
he continued.
“Aren’t we all?”
She leaned into him slightly, returning the touch with her lips nearly brushing his ear. Close enough to catch his subtle reaction.
“The server room’s hot. Someone’s uploading the entire inventory database.”
Hunter’s grip tightened fractionally. She felt the moment he put the pieces together. Her technical expertise. Her careful documentation. The way she’d positioned herself to monitor both the art and the club’s digital operations.
“You’re DEA.”
His voice was low, his posture relaxed, even as his mind undoubtedly raced through the implications.
Her only tell was the slight hitch in her breathing, and she cursed herself for it. Strength, never weakness.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because I’ve been watching you almost as carefully as you’ve been watching them.”
He nodded toward where Romano was deep in conversation with her father.
“The question is, what’s going to happen when Daddy dearest figures it out?”
“Probably the same thing that’ll happen when he realizes you’re not really a mechanic.”
Her smile was razor sharp as she noted the minute changes in his stance—the way he shifted subtly to better cover her blind spots, the almost imperceptible adjustment of his jacket to allow quicker access to his weapon.
“Though I’m still trying to figure out who you’re really working for.”
Before he could respond, Romano’s voice cut through the murmur of conversation among the guests.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention? Tonight’s private collection includes some very special pieces that aren’t officially on display.”
Eden felt Hunter tense against her as Romano moved toward the hidden door.
“That’s not part of the plan,”
she breathed, genuine concern coloring her voice and panic rose within her.
“They’re not supposed to move those pieces until next week.”
“Plans change.”
He kept his arm around her, using their intimate position to scan the room. Two new guards had appeared at the exits. The regular patches were subtly herding the legitimate art collectors toward the main gallery.
Something was definitely off.
“Hunter.”
Eden’s fingers dug into his arm as her surveillance feeds lit up with warnings.
“The shipping manifests I saw yesterday? They’re moving everything tonight. If they clear out the vault—”
“You’ll lose your evidence,”
he finished her thought.
“How long have you been building this case?”
“Three years.”
Her voice cracked slightly, real emotion bleeding through her careful control.
“Everything I’ve sacrificed, everything I’ve done...I can’t lose it all tonight.”
The raw pain in her voice appeared to hit a nerve, and a muscle in Hunter’s jaw flexed as his eyes remained fixed on hers. Three years undercover in her father’s organization. Three years gathering evidence against her own blood. No wonder she was wound so tight.
“Well then.”
He pulled her closer, letting his lips brush her temple in what looked like an intimate gesture but was really cover for his next words.
“I guess we’ll have to stop them.”
She pulled back enough to meet his eyes, searching for…something. When she realized what it was, she drew in a sharp breath.
“You’d risk your cover to help me? Why?”
“Maybe I’ve got a thing for beautiful federal agents.”
He gave her a dangerous smile, the kind she recognized usually preceded violence in her world.
“Or maybe I’ve got my own reasons for wanting to take down this operation.”
“Hunter...”
She glanced at the departing crowd, then back at him. In his eyes she saw the same battle she’d been fighting since meeting him—duty versus desire, mission versus attraction.
“This is about to get very messy.”
“Sweetheart,”
he drawled, “messy is what I do best.”
She made a decision then and drew up to her full height, setting her shoulders.
“The secondary server room, in the basement. That’s where they’ll stage everything before moving it. If we can—”
A commotion at the entrance cut her off. Merrick stormed in, his face thunderous. In his hand was a phone—Eden’s phone, Hunter realized with growing dread.
“Baby girl.”
Merrick’s voice carried clearly across the now-silent room.
“Want to explain why you’ve got a direct line to the DEA’s task force?”
Everything happened at once. Eden shoved away from Hunter, her hand going to the weapon concealed under her dress. Guards moved to block the exits. And through it all, Romano smiled that shark’s smile as he keyed something into his ever-present laptop.
Hunter had a split second to make a choice that would change everything. The smart play was to maintain his cover. Let Eden be exposed. Complete his own mission.
Instead, he moved.
The first guard went down hard, Hunter’s fist connecting with his jaw before anyone could react. Eden was aware of his attention on her as she took down another attacker, her heel connecting with the man’s grizzled face. She could handle herself in a fight. She’s made she sure would never be viewed as some damsel in distress.
“The servers!”
she shouted over the chaos.
“We have to—”
“On it.”
Hunter grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the hidden door, bullets sparking off the wall behind them.
“But you’re explaining everything later.”
“If we survive.”
She yanked him left as another guard appeared, her dress hiking up to reveal a thigh holster that drew Hunter’s hungry gaze despite the chaos unfolding around them.
“Absolutely.”
They burst through the door just as Romano’s laptop started smoking—a failsafe to destroy evidence. But Eden was already moving, her fingers flying across the nearest keyboard.
“Download initiated.”
She flashed him a fierce grin, and his answering one did dangerous things to her pulse. She shook off the inconvenient reaction.
“Told you I was good with computers.”
“Less bragging, more running.”
He took down another guard, and she tried not to admire how smoothly he moved, keeping her focus on multitasking between hacking and combat.
“Also, we’re going to talk about why you didn’t tell me you were DEA,” he added.
“Says the man who still hasn’t mentioned who he really works for.”
She grabbed the backup drive and her gun, both equally deadly in her capable hands.
“Ready to get out of here?”
Hunter looked at her, probably taking stock of her torn dress, wild hair, eyes bright with adrenaline and the spark of something darker she could feel simmering underneath it all. In that moment, she knew with bone-deep certainty that he was going to be the death of her.
She couldn’t wait.
“After you, Agent.”
He kicked down the door as alarms began to blare.
“Try not to get us killed.”
Her laugh was pure adrenaline and dark promise.
“No guarantees. But I’ll make it worth your while.”
They ran, and behind them, Eden’s father’s roar of rage echoed through the clubhouse. The sound carried years of betrayal and broken trust. Blood versus duty. Family versus justice.
Through it all, Eden moved with lethal grace, her earlier fa?ade of MC princess completely gone. This was the real woman beneath the masks—dangerous, competent, and absolutely ruthless when necessary.
They made it to the basement level just as the first explosion hit. Eden stumbled slightly, and Hunter caught her automatically. The contact sent electricity through her that she knew he felt too.
“Looks like Daddy started the party early,”
she managed, already moving toward another hidden door.
“The real vault’s through here. Everything that’s too hot to keep upstairs.”
“Define ‘too hot.’”
But Hunter was already following her, covering their six as she worked on the electronic lock.
“Remember those tablets Romano was so interested in?”
The lock clicked open under her expert touch.
“They’re not just valuable artifacts. They’re ledgers. Records of transactions going back decades. Every dirty deal, every corrupt official, every crime the organization’s ever committed.”
Understanding flared in his handsome face.
“That’s why your father’s been collecting specific pieces. They’re not just art—they’re insurance.”
“And evidence.”
Eden’s smile was fierce as they entered the vault.
“Which is exactly what we need to—”
More gunfire cut her off. They dove for cover behind a display case as bullets shattered priceless artifacts around them.
“You disappoint me, baby girl.”
Merrick’s voice carried clearly over the chaos, deadly and determined.
“Your mother would be ashamed.”
Eden went still beside Hunter. When she spoke, her voice held the pure, murderous rage she’d been keeping leashed for far too long.
“Don’t you dare talk about her.”
She was moving before Hunter could stop her, returning fire with deadly precision.
“Don’t you dare say her name after what you did.”
This wasn’t just about bringing down a criminal organization. This was about revenge. And now was the time to deliver everything her dearest father deserved.
“Eden!”
Hunter shouted behind her, providing covering fire as she advanced on her father’s position.
“We need to move!”
But she was beyond hearing, his voice lost in the buzz of personal hell her father’s words had triggered. She lifted the hand that held the gun and swung, engaging the man who didn’t deserve the title of father in close combat, each move speaking of her years of training and bottled rage.
“She tried to stop me too.”
Merrick’s laugh was ugly as he blocked Eden’s attack.
“Right up until I put a bullet in her head.”
The confession hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then something inside of her exploded and Eden moved with blindingly fast precision, her gun leveling forward as Marcus reached for his own weapon.
Two shots rang out simultaneously.
Eden jerked backward, red blooming on her dress. But her shot had found its mark. She stared in stunned silence as Merrick went down hard, clutching his shoulder.
“Eden!”
Hunter was already moving to catch her, but she waved him off.
“Graze.”
Her voice was tight with pain but steady.
“We need to—”
The rest of the ceiling chose that moment to come down.
***
Hunter grabbed her, shielding Eden’s body with his as debris rained around them. Through the dust and chaos, he caught glimpses of movement—more guards converging on their position.
“Time to go.”
He helped her up, noting how she favored her left side.
“Unless you’ve got more family drama planned?”
Her laugh held no humor as she hobbled over to a nearby wall and retrieved a hard drive from a hidden panel.
“Trust me, this is just the beginning.”
They ran, leaving Merrick Mitchell bleeding but alive among the wreckage of his precious collection. Eden’s shot had been precise—designed to wound, not kill.
Hunter wasn’t sure if that made her more or less dangerous.
They emerged into pre-dawn darkness to find the compound in chaos. Multiple fires burned, alarms blared, and gunfire echoed from various directions.
“Now what?”
Hunter kept them moving, heading for the vehicle he’d stashed nearby.
“Your father’s men will be looking for us. And I’m guessing your DEA backup isn’t coming?”
“No backup.”
Eden’s smile was sharp despite her injury. “Just us.”
“Against an entire MC and whatever other forces your father can call in?”
Hunter’s mind raced ahead, already planning routes and strategies.
“I like those odds.”
“Liar.”
But she was smiling for real now, the expression transforming her face despite the blood and grime.
“But I appreciate the sentiment.”
They reached his bike just as more explosions lit up the compound. Eden settled behind him without hesitation, her arms wrapping around his waist with familiar intimacy.
“Ready?”
He kicked the engine to life, feeling her press closer.
“Born ready.”
Her breath was warm against his ear.
“Though we still need to talk about who you really are.”
“Later.”
He gunned the engine as more vehicles appeared at the compound entrance.
“Assuming we survive.”
Her laugh vibrated through him.
“Survival’s overrated. But answers...those are worth dying for.”
Hunter hit the gas and they roared away into the darkness. Behind them, Eden’s father’s empire burned. Ahead lay uncertainty and the growing knowledge that whatever was building between them would either save them or destroy them completely.
And through it all, the truth about Eden’s mother’s death hung between them like a loaded gun—ready to either bond them together or tear them apart.
Only time would tell which.
Assuming they lived long enough to find out.