Chapter 7
Eden’s backup location wasn’t just off the grid; it was a ghost in the system, a digital fortress masquerading as urban decay.
The converted industrial space in the warehouse district looked abandoned from the outside, all rust-stained concrete and broken windows. But those windows were bulletproof, the rust patterns concealed state-of-the-art cameras, and the seemingly random graffiti contained RFID—radio-frequency identification—sensors that tracked any approach.
Hunter swept the perimeter while Eden set up her equipment, his trained eye noting details that spoke of years of paranoid preparation. Multiple escape routes were disguised as structural damage. Ventilation systems were modified to detect chemical agents. Power supplies that could run silent for weeks without external connection. This wasn’t just a hideout—it was a war room designed by someone with a lot of money and power who expected the worst.
Eden moved with practiced efficiency through the space, her olive skin catching the blue light of monitors, dark hair tucked behind one ear. The rigorous training regimen she maintained was evident in every controlled movement, from the way she adjusted equipment to how she scanned entrances out of habit.
“Three years,”
Eden answered his unspoken question as her fingers flew across keyboards, bringing systems online.
“That’s how long I’ve been building this place. Ever since I found my mother’s body buried on private land owned by one of my father’s shell corporations.”
The bank of monitors she’d assembled would have made a CIA tech drool. The screens cast a cool glow across her sharp features, highlighting the small scar on her left cheekbone—a reminder of lessons learned the hard way about trusting the wrong people.
Each monitor screen displayed different data streams—surveillance feeds, financial transactions, encrypted communications being intercepted and decoded in real-time. Three years of gathering intelligence, all focused on a single goal.
One monitor dedicated itself to tracking Dr. Chen’s movements through the Institute’s security feeds. During her surveillance, Eden had been struck by how the woman seemed to anticipate their investigation’s needs. Every piece they needed to track had detailed documentation. Every suspect transaction had perfect paper trails. Almost as if Chen were deliberately leaving breadcrumbs for them to follow.
“Show me.”
Hunter moved closer, positioning himself at her back, noting how she tensed slightly before forcing herself to relax. Trust didn’t come easily to either of them apparently.
Hunter towered behind her, his six-foot-two frame casting a shadow across her workstation. The tactical shirt he wore did little to hide the muscled physique beneath, and Eden found herself cataloging details professionally—the way he distributed his weight evenly, ready to move in any direction, the controlled breathing of someone always prepared for combat.
“Show me what you found that day.”
Eden’s hands stilled on the keyboards for a moment. Then she pulled up files she clearly knew by heart—crime scene photos that had never made it into official reports, financial records showing suspicious transfers, surveillance footage that had been conveniently “lost”
during the initial investigation.
“Sarah Mitchell.”
Her voice was carefully controlled, almost clinical, as she brought up her mother’s DEA file.
“Undercover operative investigating connections between outlaw MCs and international antiquities trafficking. Disappeared fifteen years ago after allegedly compromising her own investigation and stealing evidence.”
Hunter studied the image on screen—a woman with Eden’s fierce eyes and dangerous smile, pictured in what looked like an archaeological dig site.
“She was more than just a federal agent,”
he said with no small amount of admiration.
“She was an expert in ancient languages and archaeological preservation.”
Eden’s pride was evident despite her neutral tone.
“Perfect cover for infiltrating the artifact smuggling operation. No one questioned her interest in my father’s ‘art collection’ because she had legitimate credentials in the field.”
More files appeared—documentation of Sarah’s undercover work, carefully encrypted notes about patterns she’d discovered, surveillance photos showing familiar faces.
“That’s Romano.”
Hunter recognized the younger version of the man they’d just escaped.
“He was involved even back then?”
“He was just getting started.”
Eden’s smile held no humor.
“Building connections between legitimate museums and criminal organizations, using artifact restoration as cover for moving sensitive materials. I believe my mother was the first one to recognize the pattern.”
She pulled up images of tablets and scrolls—ancient artifacts that looked unremarkable to untrained eyes.
“These aren’t just valuable antiquities. They’re encoded with information.
“Dr. Chen’s reports flagged these specific pieces,”
Eden noted, pulling up the curator’s documentation.
“She requested extensive testing on each one, created detailed photographs from every angle. The kind of thoroughness that looks like professional dedication unless you know what she was really documenting.”
Hunter studied the reports.
“The same pieces your mother was investigating before she died.”
“Exactly.”
Eden’s fingers traced over Chen’s precise handwriting.
“And her notes...the way she phrases certain observations, the specific details she chooses to highlight. It’s exactly how my mother used to document evidence.”
She paused, that nagging sense of familiarity growing stronger.
“Almost like she had access to Mom’s original case files. Financial records, blackmail material, evidence of crimes going back generations. The organizations Romano works with have been hiding data in plain sight for decades.”
“Using archaeological artifacts as secure storage.”
Hunter understood the elegance of it.
“No digital trail, no electronic intercepts. Just physical objects that can be moved through seemingly legitimate channels.”
“Exactly.”
Eden brought up more files—shipping manifests, restoration records, museum acquisition documents that showed a clear pattern.
“Specific pieces being ‘discovered’ in war zones or disaster areas, moved through controlled channels, displayed briefly in legitimate museums before disappearing into private collections. Each one carrying encrypted data that would be worthless to anyone who didn’t know what to look for.”
“And your mother figured out the code.”
“She did more than that.”
Pride mixed with old pain in Eden’s voice.
“She found proof that federal agencies were involved. That people like Thompson were helping facilitate the whole operation, using their positions to ensure certain evidence disappeared, certain investigations got shut down.”
Understanding hit Hunter like a physical blow.
“Thompson was her handler.”
“Got it in one.”
Eden pulled up another file—archived security footage from her mother’s final days at the museum. The grainy video showed Sarah Mitchell in deep conversation with a much younger Dr. Chen. Their body language suggested intimacy, familiarity—not just professional colleagues.
“I’ve watched this footage a hundred times,”
Eden said quietly.
“Chen was the last person to speak with my mother before she disappeared. And look at this.”
She enhanced the image, focusing on Chen’s face.
“The way she moves, her expressions... I always thought something felt familiar about her. Now I’m starting to understand why.”
Hunter leaned closer, studying the footage.
“You think she knows what really happened to your mother?”
“I think she knows a lot more than she’s letting on.”
Eden’s voice hardened.
“The question is, why wait all these years to start leaving us clues? Why not come forward sooner?”
She shook her head, her grim smile melting away her fingers clicked away at the keyboards. More files appeared—personnel records, case notes, evidence logs that showed subtle discrepancies.
“He was the one who reported her missing. The one who suggested she might have been compromised. The one who made sure certain evidence never made it into the official investigation.”
“The same evidence you’ve been gathering.”
“With one key difference.”
Eden’s voice hardened as she pulled up financial records showing complex transfers between familiar accounts.
“I know exactly who killed her. And why.”
Before Hunter could respond, one of her monitors lit up with an alert. Multiple vehicles approaching from the south, moving with the kind of precision that screamed professional tactical team.
“Company.”
He was already moving to defensive positions, muscle memory taking over.
“Your father’s men?”
“Worse.”
Eden’s fingers flew across keyboards as she accessed traffic cameras and other surveillance feeds. Her expression darkened at what she saw.
“DEA tactical response team. But look at their gear, their formation patterns. These aren’t regular federal agents.”
Hunter studied the footage, noting details that set off warning bells. High-end tactical equipment that no government agency would authorize. Communication gear that looked military-grade. Movement patterns that spoke of extensive combat experience.
“Professional contractors.”
He recognized the type from his own military days, and the implications of what was coming their way sent a shiver down his spine.
“Thompson’s called in some serious favors.”
“He can’t afford loose ends.”
A certain element of frenzy stirred the air as Eden initiated shutdown protocols on her systems, data automatically copying to secure servers while drives began wiping themselves.
“Not with what I found in his files.”
She pulled up one final document—a financial transfer record dated the day her mother died. The amount made Hunter’s eyes widen.
“That’s a lot of money for a federal agent’s salary.”
“It’s not salary.”
Eden’s smile was sharp as she started disconnecting equipment.
“It’s payment for services rendered. Specifically, for making sure certain evidence about my mother’s murder never saw the light of day.”
“And now you can prove it.”
“I can prove all of it.”
She met his eyes, letting him see the fierce determination that had first drawn him to her.
“Every deal Thompson made, every piece of evidence he buried, every connection between federal agencies and international criminal organizations. It’s all documented, all backed up on secure servers that will automatically release everything to multiple law enforcement agencies if anything happens to me.”
Eden pulled up another file on her laptop—Dr. Chen’s complete personnel history. During her months’-long investigation of the curator, she’d been intrigued by the careful way the woman documented Romano’s artifacts. But it was the gaps in Chen’s background that really caught her attention. Certain years missing from her CV, connections to archaeological projects that had mysteriously vanished from official records.
The same years her mother had been working undercover in the museum world.
“Look at this,”
she told Hunter, highlighting a series of dates.
“Chen was at every dig site where my mother documented artifacts being stolen. Every single one. That can’t be coincidence.”
Hunter absorbed this, understanding the implications.
“That’s why Thompson sent professionals. He needs to contain this quietly.”
“He needs me dead,”
Eden corrected.
“But he needs it to look like a legitimate operation gone wrong. Can’t have anyone questioning why a DEA handler would send private contractors to kill one of his own agents.”
Over his dead body. Hunter gritted his teeth, turning plans over in his mind.
“How long until they reach us?”
She checked her monitors.
“Three minutes, maybe four. We need to move the physical evidence somewhere safe before—”
“The Blind Jacks compound.”
There was no question about it, it was their best play.
“King needs to know about Thompson’s corruption anyway. And it’s the last place federal agents will look for you.”
Eden’s hands stilled on the keyboards.
“You’d risk bringing a compromised federal agent to your club?”
“I’m already risking everything else.”
His smile was dangerous.
“What’s one more terrible decision?”
Besides, he’d never let a hair on her head be harmed. He hoped she knew that.
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed with an incoming message. The number was blocked, but the text made the color wash from her face.
Your mother made the same choice. Right before I put a bullet in her head. -M
Hunter read over her shoulder, his body tensing. There was only one person who could have sent that message.
“Merrick knows you found the body.”
“He’s trying to rattle me.”
But Eden’s hands shook slightly as she deleted the message.
“Make me sloppy. Emotional.”
He could hear the tremor in her voice.
“Is it working?”
She met his eyes, letting him see the rage she usually kept carefully contained.
“What do you think?”
He studied her for a moment, then made a decision that would either save them or damn them both. Moving closer, he caught her wrist, his thumb finding her racing pulse. Meeting her eyes, he pitched his voice low, hoping to sooth her, ground her.
“Talk to me. Tell me about her. About Sarah.”
“Now?”
Eden gestured to her monitors showing approaching vehicles.
“We’ve got maybe two minutes before—”
“Now.”
He crowded her space in a way that most women would probably find threatening but was meant to anchor her instead.
“You’ve been carrying this alone for three years. Time to share the load.”
For a moment, he thought she’d refuse. Then something broke in her expression—not weakness, but a different kind of strength.
“She was brilliant.”
Eden’s voice was soft but steady, her eyes shiny and a little too wide, giving away the deep-seated emotion to refused to unleash. A warrior to her core. It made Hunter wonder at the horrors she’d had to experience to become the woman who stood before him now.
“Too smart to walk away once she discovered the truth,”
Eden continued.
“She found evidence that the artifact smuggling wasn’t just about money laundering or black market sales. The organizations involved were using ancient texts to move classified intelligence, hiding modern secrets in historical artifacts.”
Understanding dawned on Hunter.
“The tablets Romano was so interested in.”
Eden nodded.
“They’re not just valuable pieces. They’re physical databases, encoded with everything from financial records to blackmail material. My mother figured out how they were encoding the information, how they were using legitimate museums as unwitting participants in an international intelligence operation.”
“And when she tried to expose it...”
“Thompson warned my father.”
The words carried years of pain and rage.
“Gave him time to move the most damaging pieces. But my mother had already made copies. Hidden them where they’d never think to look.”
“Where?”
Eden’s smile was as sharp as broken glass.
“In plain sight. She—”
The distinct sound of helicopter rotors cut her off.
They’d spent too much time in the past, but it was time he wouldn’t take back. Not for a second. Every insight into what made this woman tick only stoked his fire for her more. Hunter was even more determined now to defend and protect the one-of-a-kind creature before him, the only woman he’d ever met who could match—and maybe even exceed—his thirst for knowledge and justice. Revenge.
“Time to go.”
Hunter was already moving, gathering essential equipment while Eden initiated final shutdown protocols.
“Unless you want to explain all this to a DEA tactical team.”
“They’re not just here for me.”
She nodded toward her monitors showing the approaching forces, seeing the same thing he had—the patterns they set.
“They’re setting up for a full containment operation. They mean to clean this entire location.”
Hunter studied the footage with professional assessment. The teams were moving with practiced efficiency, covering all exits while establishing a perimeter that would prevent any evidence from leaving the building.
“Thompson’s not taking chances.”
“He can’t afford to.”
Eden shouldered her go-bag, checking her weapons with mechanical precision.
“Not with what I found about his connection to international intelligence agencies. He’s been playing multiple sides for years, selling information to the highest bidder while using his position to protect the entire operation.”
“And your mother discovered his role.”
“She discovered all of it.”
Eden met his eyes steadily, and the draw Hunter felt was undeniable. Any other place, any other time, and he would have made his move.
“The federal agents taking bribes to ignore certain investigations. The intelligence agencies using criminal organizations to move sensitive data. The international crime syndicates laundering money through legitimate museums. Everything.”
“Which is why she had to die.”
“Which is why they made sure her body would never be found.”
Eden’s voice carried old pain.
“Or so they thought.”
“And now you can prove it all.”
“I can do better than that.”
Her smile was pure predator.
“I can finish what she started. Expose the whole operation, every player, every connection, every crime they’ve tried to hide.”
“Starting with Thompson.”
“Starting with all of them.”
She initiated the final shutdown sequence, watching as her systems began systematically destroying themselves.
“The question is, are you sure you want to be part of this? Once we move on Thompson, there’s no going back.”
Instead of answering, Hunter threaded his fingers through her hair, drew her head back, and kissed her. It was harder than their first kiss, carrying everything they couldn’t say about trust and betrayal and the growing certainty that whatever was building between them would change everything.
When they broke apart, both breathing heavily, his smile was pure predator.
“Sweetheart, you’re the best kind of danger.”
“Enough waxing poetic, Romeo. We’re out of time.”
They broke apart and moved together with practiced efficiency, gathering everything they couldn’t afford to leave behind, while Eden’s setup continued running through the final stages of its self-destruct sequences, wiping drives and frying hardware as booby traps armed themselves.
“They’ll trace us,”
she said as they rushed for the exit.
“Thompson’s good at following electronic trails.”
“Then we’ll be better at leaving false ones.”
Hunter checked their escape route.
“The Blind Jacks have ways of making things disappear.”
“Speaking of which.”
Eden paused at the door.
“Your club president...how’s he feel about harboring fugitive federal agents?”
“Darkness’s got his own reasons for wanting to take down corrupt law enforcement.”
Hunter’s voice held old pain.
“Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s lost family to this organization.”
Understanding passed between them—the kind that only came from shared trauma and common enemies.
“Besides.”
He added as they moved through shadows toward his waiting bike.
“He’s going to love the intel you’ve gathered on international artifact smuggling. Especially the part about classified intelligence being hidden in museum pieces.”
“The tablets are just the beginning.”
Eden settled behind him on the bike, her body fitting against his like she belonged there.
“My mother found evidence of a whole network. Intelligence agencies using stolen artifacts to move information, criminal organizations laundering money through museum donations, corrupt federal agents helping cover it all up...”
“And your father’s club is just one piece of the puzzle.”
“An important piece.”
She tightened her arms around him as he started the engine.
“One that connects everything else. Why do you think Romano’s been so interested in their operation?”
“Because Merrick Mitchell knows where all the bodies are buried. Literally and figuratively.”
Hunter gunned the engine as more vehicles appeared at the warehouse entrance.
“Exactly.”
Eden’s voice beside his ear warmed him in a way nothing ever had before.
“And now, thanks to Thompson’s greed, we can prove it.”
They shot into the night just as the first explosions hit—Eden’s failsafes ensuring nothing useful remained for their pursuers. Through his earpiece, Hunter heard King coordinating with club members, setting up a secure route to the compound.
Behind them, professional killers masquerading as federal agents gave chase. Ahead lay uncertain sanctuary with a motorcycle club that had every reason to distrust law enforcement.
And somewhere in between, the truth about Sarah Mitchell’s murder waited like a loaded gun—ready to either vindicate her daughter’s crusade or destroy everything Eden had fought for.
“You know this is probably a trap.”
Eden’s voice carried over the wind as they wove through traffic.
“Thompson letting us escape, herding us toward something worse.”
“Probably.”
Hunter took a hard turn, losing one of their pursuers in a chorus of screeching tires.
“Going to let that stop you?”
Her laugh was pure adrenaline.
“Never. You?”
“Baby, I haven’t even started fighting yet.”
More vehicles appeared ahead, carrying familiar riders. Hunter breathed a sigh of relief. The Blind Jacks moved with practiced precision, blocking pursuit vehicles and creating chaos that let Hunter and Eden slip away.
“Your club’s good.”
Eden’s approval was evident in her voice.
“Our club,”
Hunter corrected.
“At least until this is over.”
Eden grew quiet then, and Hunter imaged she was absorbing the impact of his words—the offer of belonging, of sanctuary, of something she hadn’t had since her mother’s death.
“And after?”
The question carried more weight than just tactical concerns.
Hunter’s smile was fierce as he gunned the engine in the final stretch of their treacherous journey.
“Let’s survive this first. Then we’ll talk after.”
They rode through darkness toward the compound, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake. Ahead lay new alliances, new dangers, and the growing certainty that their separate missions had become hopelessly entangled.
Behind them, the rest of the Blind Jacks crew fell into formation, leaving Thompson’s forces to regroup, no doubt coordinating with other players in a game bigger than either of them had imagined.
And somewhere in between, Sarah Mitchell’s ghost waited with her hidden evidence and encrypted secrets.
The truth would either set them free or get them both killed.
Hunter found he didn’t care which outcome they were hurtling toward. For the first time since finding the woman curled up against his body, he had something worth fighting for beyond revenge.
He had a partner who understood the darkness in him.
He had a cause bigger than personal vendetta.
He had a chance to finish something that actually meant something beyond his own wants and desires.
And maybe, just maybe, he had something worth surviving for.
Assuming they lived long enough to find out.