Chapter 6
The safe house was exactly what you’d expect from a DEA operation—sparse, secure, and completely off the grid. Or at least, that’s what it had been before Eden had modified it to suit her real purposes.
Hunter’s trained eye caught the subtle additions as they entered: signal jammers disguised as smoke detectors, cameras hidden in light fixtures, enough technology to run a small intelligence operation seamlessly integrated into what looked like a standard apartment. She was proud of all the upgrades she’d done, and she could tell he admired them as well.
Eden’s hands shook slightly as she connected the stolen hard drive to her laptop, adrenaline and blood loss evidently taking their toll. The graze on her side had stopped bleeding, but the torn dress was a lost cause.
Behind her, Hunter prowled the perimeter of the small apartment like a caged predator, his controlled movements betraying his military training, and his unease at being in an unknown tactical situation.
“You going to tell me who you really work for?”
She kept her eyes on the decryption program running across her screen, but her attention was fixed on his reflection in the dark window.
“Since we’re doing the whole honesty thing now.”
“You first.”
His voice was granite—hard and unyielding.
“Three years undercover in your own father’s organization? That’s not just a job—that’s a vendetta.”
Eden’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. The decryption could wait. This conversation couldn’t.
“You read my file.”
It wasn’t a question. She studied his reflection, noting how he never quite turned his back to her despite their apparent alliance.
“Enough to know you shouldn’t be anywhere near this operation.”
He turned to face her, moonlight casting harsh shadows across features that had been haunting her dreams since that first night at the bar.
“Conflict of interest doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
The words came out sharper than intended, carrying echoes of older arguments with DEA superiors who’d tried to pull her off the case.
“I know you flinch every time Merrick touches you. I know you’ve got scars on your ribs that aren’t from motorcycle accidents. And I know you’re playing a very dangerous game using federal resources for personal revenge.”
Eden was across the room before she could think better of it, getting right in his face. The movement pulled at her injury, but anger overrode the pain.
“You want to know the truth? Fine. My father is a monster who spent years building an empire on blood money and broken bodies. I watched him kill people, Hunter. Watched him destroy lives and families while everyone looked the other way because they were too afraid to stop him.”
Her breaths came rapidly as the memories surfaced, despite her attempts to suppress them: her father’s hands covered in blood that wasn’t his own, her mother’s desperate attempts to shield her from the worst of it, the night everything changed and she learned that sometimes the monsters won.
“So you joined the DEA to what? Get close enough to put a bullet in him?”
But there was something in Hunter’s voice beyond judgment. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition.
“I joined the DEA because they were the only ones willing to give me the resources to bring him down legally.”
She forced herself to step back, to breathe through the rage and pain that always accompanied thoughts of her father.
“The art theft operation is just the tip of the iceberg. He’s got judges in his pocket, cops on his payroll, politicians eating out of his hand. The only way to end it is to cut off every head of the hydra at once.”
Hunter studied her for a long moment. She met his gaze steadily, letting him see the truth in her eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“Blind Jacks MC.”
“What?”
She had a vague memory of him mentioning that name before, but he’d left off the part about it being an MC.
“That’s who I work for.”
Hunter rolled his shoulders, some of the tension leaving his frame.
“We’ve been tracking the antiquities operation for months. Your father’s organization is connected to an international trafficking ring that’s been hitting museums up and down the coast.”
Eden absorbed this, pieces clicking into place.
“The mechanics business is your cover.”
“Among other things.”
His lips quirked.
“Though I actually am good with bikes.”
“And good with your hands?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them, heavy with implications that had been building since that first meeting.
His eyes darkened.
“Want me to prove it?”
The air between them charged with electricity. Eden took another step back, trying to clear her head. The safe house suddenly felt too small, too intimate.
“We can’t. This is already complicated enough without...”
“Without what?”
He followed her retreat, eating up the distance between them with predatory grace.
“Without admitting there’s something here that has nothing to do with our missions?”
“Hunter.”
His name was a warning—to him or herself, she wasn’t sure.
“Eden.”
He matched her tone, but there was heat underlying the mockery.
“We’re already in this mess together. Might as well enjoy the ride.”
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed. They both froze at the interruption, and she used it as the escape she needed. Pulling the phone from her pocket, she looked at the screen. The number displayed made her blood run cold.
“Thompson,”
she answered, putting it on speaker.
“Agent Mitchell.”
Her DEA handler’s voice filled the room.
“Care to explain why I’m getting reports of a shootout at the Devil’s Mark clubhouse? Our operation—”
“Was about to be compromised,”
Eden cut him off, years of practice keeping her voice steady despite the screaming instincts that said something was wrong.
“They were moving the entire collection tonight. If we hadn’t acted—”
“We?”
Thompson’s voice sharpened.
“Who’s we, Agent Mitchell?”
Eden met Hunter’s eyes across the room. He gave an almost imperceptible nod—whatever play she wanted to make, he’d back it.
“I had help from...an interested third party.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Thompson exhaled heavily.
“Tell me you didn’t blow your cover for nothing. Tell me you at least got something we can use.”
“Better.”
Eden turned back to her laptop where the decryption program had finished running. The files that appeared made her breath catch.
“I’ve got shipping manifests, buyer lists, account numbers—everything we need to prove the connection between the Devil’s Mark and at least six major museum heists.”
“Send it to me. Now.”
“Sir—”
“That’s an order, Agent Mitchell. I want everything you’ve collected on my desk in an hour.”
The call ended. Eden stared at her phone, unease crawling up her spine like ice water.
“Your contact always this warm and fuzzy?”
Hunter’s voice was carefully neutral, but she caught the underlying tension.
“Something’s wrong.”
Eden started typing, pulling up everything she had on Thompson, following that niggling sensation in her gut that had never steered her wrong. Years of paranoia had led her to maintain separate files on everyone connected to the operation—including her own point of contact at the DEA.
“That call felt off.”
“How so?”
“He didn’t ask about casualties. Didn’t request my location. Didn’t follow any of the standard protocols for a compromised operation.”
She dug deeper into Thompson’s file, looking for anything suspicious.
“And how did he know about the shootout so fast? It happened less than an hour ago.”
Hunter moved to look over her shoulder at the screen. His proximity was distracting, but she forced herself to focus. The warmth of him at her back felt dangerous and reassuring all at once.
“There.”
He pointed to a series of deposits in Thompson’s financial records.
“Regular payments from a shell corporation. Same company that keeps showing up in your father’s books.”
“Are you sure?”
That muscle in his jaw ticked again.
“Positive.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Eden sat back, pieces falling into place with sickening clarity.
“He’s been working for my father this whole time? Feeding him information about the investigation, manipulating evidence...”
“That’s sure what it looks like to me. Which means everything you’ve collected is compromised.”
Hunter’s hand settled on her shoulder, warm and steady.
“Your whole operation could be blown.”
“No.”
Eden stood abruptly, needing to move. Three years of her life, countless sacrifices, all the lies and compromises—she wouldn’t let it be for nothing.
“Three years of work. Everything I’ve sacrificed. I won’t let them take this from me.”
“Eden.”
His voice stopped her pacing.
“You’re not alone in this anymore.”
Something in his tone captured her attention. She turned to face him, really looking at him for the first time since they’d arrived at the safe house.
The moonlight streaming through the window sculpted Hunter’s features into harsh planes and shadows—emphasizing the scar that ran along his jaw, the slight crook in his nose from an old break, the intensity in his blue eyes. Without his leather cut, in just a simple black T-shirt, the elaborate tattoos covering his arms were fully visible—military insignia intertwined with Blind Jacks symbolism, telling the story of his divided loyalties she figured. Eden found herself wondering what other marks his body carried, what other stories were written on his skin.
He’d shed his leather jacket, and fresh bruises were blooming along his jaw from the fight. But it was the look in his eyes that made her breath catch—fierce protectiveness mixed with something darker, hungrier.
“Why?”
She had to ask.
“Why risk your cover to help me? Why offer to help now?”
He closed the distance between them. Eden was acutely aware of every detail as Hunter backed her against the wall—the height difference that forced her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact, the controlled strength in his movements, the slight rasp of stubble against her palm as she traced his jaw.
His body radiated heat as he pressed closer, all hard muscle and barely leashed intensity. She could feel his heartbeat accelerating to match her own, his pupils dilating as his gaze dropped to her lips. One hand braced beside her head while the other settled on her hip, thumb stroking over the weapon still strapped to her thigh.
“Because you’re not the only one with a score to settle.”
His voice was rough.
“And because I haven’t been able to think straight since the first moment I saw you behind that bar.”
Eden’s heart hammered against her ribs. Every instinct screamed that this was a terrible idea. That mixing personal feelings with an operation this dangerous was asking for disaster.
“This is a terrible idea.”
But she didn’t move away.
“Probably.”
He leaned closer, his breath fanning across her lips.
“Want me to stop?”
She should say yes. Should push him away and focus on salvaging her operation. Instead, she fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down to her.
The kiss was nothing like she’d imagined—and she had imagined it, in guilty moments between maintaining her cover and gathering evidence. It was brutal and desperate, teeth clashing before finding a rhythm that made her whole body light up. Hunter kissed like he fought, all controlled power and deadly precision.
His hands slid down to grip her thighs, lifting her easily. Eden wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping as he pressed her harder against the wall. One of his hands tangled in her hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss while the other kept her pinned in place.
The hardest part of him pressed against the softest part of her, demanding attention, and she was a hairsbreadth away from answering the desperate request when the sound of a car backfiring outside broke the moment. They jerked apart, both reaching for weapons before recognizing the sound for what it was.
Reality crashed back hard.
“We need to move.”
Hunter’s voice was still rough as he set her down.
“This place won’t be secure for long if Thompson is compromised.”
Eden nodded, trying to slow her racing pulse.
“I know somewhere. Off the books, not connected to the DEA.”
“Your father won’t think to look for you there?”
“He taught me everything I know about hiding.”
She started gathering her equipment, very aware of Hunter watching her every move.
“Including how to disappear when things go bad.”
“Eden.”
Something in his voice made her look up.
“Whatever’s between us...it doesn’t change anything. We both still have missions to complete.”
“I know.”
She met his gaze steadily.
“But maybe we have a better chance of succeeding together.”
He nodded slowly.
“Partners?”
“Partners.”
She allowed herself a small smile.
“At least until one of us inevitably betrays the other.”
His answering laugh was dark and promising.
“Sweetheart, if I betray you, you’ll never see it coming.”
Her eyes narrowed, and whether she wanted to admit it or not, they were two peas in a pod.
“Likewise.”
She shouldered her bag, trying to ignore how much she liked the way he looked at her—like she was dangerous and desirable all at once.
“Ready to go start a war?”
Hunter’s smile was all predator.
“Born ready.”
They slipped out into the night, leaving behind the remnants of their old lives and careful plans.
Eden’s phone buzzed one final time. Another message from an encrypted number, but this one was different. Just two lines: Sarah had a plan. Time to finish what she started.
The message was signed with a single initial: K.
Eden studied the initial, remembering the curator’s careful posture, the deliberate way she moved through museum spaces—always aware, always observing. Katherine Chen had the same coloring as Eden herself, though she wore her dark hair longer, usually styled in a way that projected academic professionalism rather than operational readiness.
There had always been something familiar about her sharp features and analytical gaze, something Eden should have recognized sooner.
The revelation added another layer of complexity to an already dangerous mission. But as she tucked the phone away, Eden felt something unexpected—a strange sense of anticipation rather than dread.
Ahead lay uncertainty, danger, and the growing knowledge that whatever was building between them could either save them both or destroy everything they’d worked for. And now, with this mysterious connection to her mother’s past emerging, the stakes had risen even higher.
Eden found she didn’t care which outcome they were hurtling toward. For the first time in three years, she felt truly alive. The combination of adrenaline, desire, and imminent danger sparked something in her that had been dormant since her mother’s death.
The war was about to begin. And this time, she wasn’t fighting alone.
Whether that made her stronger or more vulnerable remained to be seen. But as Hunter’s hand found hers in the darkness, she decided some risks were worth taking.
Even if they ended in blood.
Especially if they ended in blood.