Chapter 12
The thing about blood money is that it always leaves a trail. Eden stared at the numbers scrolling across her laptop screen, watching millions flow through Romano’s network of shell companies. Behind each transaction was a story—artifacts stripped from war-torn countries, priceless pieces of history reduced to entries in a digital ledger.
And behind every story was a body.
“Found something?”
Hunter’s voice was warm against her ear as he leaned over her shoulder, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his chest.
“Found everything.”
She highlighted a series of transfers.
“Romano’s not just moving artifacts. He’s—”
A bullet shattered the window above them.
Hunter tackled her off the chair as glass rained down. They hit the floor hard, his body covering hers as more shots peppered the wall. Through the chaos, Eden caught a glimpse of movement on the rooftop across the street—multiple shooters, professional gear.
“Friends of yours?”
Hunter’s voice was tight as he drew his weapon.
“Daddy’s old crew, probably.”
She pulled her own gun, using the reflection in her broken laptop screen to track the attackers’ positions.
“They never did like loose ends.”
“Good thing we’re not loose ends.”
He flashed her that dangerous smile she was starting to crave.
“We’re more like loose cannons.”
“Less flirting, more shooting.”
But she found herself grinning back as they moved in perfect sync, taking up defensive positions on either side of the window.
The next ten minutes were a blur of gunfire and controlled chaos. Eden relied on her years of tactical training, automatically calculating firing angles and cover positions. She found herself unconsciously syncing with Hunter’s movements, their combat styles complementing each other with startling efficiency. It should have unnerved her, how seamlessly they worked together despite knowing each other such a short time. Instead, it felt like finding a perfect tactical partner.
When silence finally fell, they found five bodies on the opposite roof. Professional hitters, just as she’d suspected. But something was off about their gear.
“These aren’t Devil’s Mark patches.”
Hunter examined one of the dead men’s jackets.
“Military contractors. High-end ones.”
“Romano’s not taking chances.”
Eden retrieved one of their phones, already working on cracking the encryption.
“He knows we found something in the financial records.”
“Speaking of which.”
Hunter’s voice held a question.
“What exactly did you find?”
Eden hesitated. The information on her laptop changed everything—including how much she could trust the man watching her with those too-knowing eyes.
“Eden.”
He moved closer, backing her against the wall.
“No more secrets. Remember?”
“The artifacts aren’t just about money.”
She met his gaze steadily.
“Romano’s been using them to fund something bigger. Something that involves military-grade weapons, specialized training facilities, and enough political capital to make small governments nervous.”
Understanding dawned in Hunter’s eyes.
“He’s building an army.”
“Worse.”
She pulled out her backup drive, showing him the real numbers.
“He’s building a private military corporation. One with enough resources and political coverage to operate above the law. The museum job? It’s not just about stealing artifacts. It’s about legitimizing his whole operation.”
Hunter absorbed this, his expression darkening.
“Does King know?”
“Not yet.”
She watched his reaction carefully.
“I needed to be sure before I brought it to the club.”
“You mean you needed to be sure of me.”
There was no accusation in his voice, just understanding.
“Still having trust issues, Agent Mitchell?”
“Ex-agent,”
she corrected automatically, then sighed.
“And can you blame me? Everyone I’ve ever trusted either betrayed me or died. Usually both.”
Instead of answering, he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle—nothing between them ever was. His hands tangled in her hair as he pressed her harder against the wall, demanding everything she shouldn’t give.
She gave it anyway.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I’m not everyone.”
“No,”
she agreed softly.
“You’re much more dangerous.”
A phone rang—one of the dead mercenaries’ devices. They shared a look before Eden answered on speaker.
“Status report,”
Romano’s cultured voice filled the room.
Eden recognized the patrician tone immediately, imagining his silver-streaked dark hair and manicured appearance as he sat somewhere secure, orchestrating their deaths with the same detached precision he used for everything.
Eden disguised her voice with practiced ease.
“Target eliminated. Moving to secondary objective.”
“Excellent.”
A pause.
“Though I must say, Agent Mitchell, your accent needs work.”
Eden’s blood ran cold. Hunter was already moving, grabbing essential gear as more vehicles appeared on the street below.
“The thing about trust,”
Romano continued conversationally, “is that it’s such a fragile commodity. Take your new friends in the Blind Jacks, for instance. How do you think they’ll react when they learn you’ve been feeding information to other federal agencies? That every move they make is being monitored by a joint task force?”
Eden’s hand tightened on the phone.
“You’re lying.”
“Am I? Check your secure DEA email. The one you thought was deleted when Thompson died. You’ve been a very busy girl, haven’t you?”
The call ended. Eden’s fingers flew across her backup laptop, accessing servers she shouldn’t still have access to. What she found made her breath catch.
Weekly reports to the FBI. Operation updates to Homeland Security. Her name, her passwords, her authorization codes—all still active, all showing regular activity.
“Eden.”
Hunter’s voice was carefully neutral.
“Tell me he’s lying.”
“He is.”
She turned the screen to show him.
“These reports? I didn’t write them. Someone’s been using my credentials, documenting everything that’s happened since my father died. Including...”
She trailed off, scanning the latest entry.
“Including what?”
“Including a detailed account of my relationship with you.”
She met his eyes.
“And a recommendation to use it to infiltrate the Blind Jacks leadership.”
For a long moment, neither spoke. Outside, more vehicles were arriving. They had minutes at most before the building was surrounded.
“Hunter.”
She took a step toward him, but he held up a hand.
“We need to move.”
His voice was cold in a way she’d never heard before.
“Darkness needs to know about Romano’s operation. And about this.”
“I didn’t write those reports.”
She hated how desperate she sounded.
“You have to believe me.”
“Right now, I don’t know what to believe.”
He checked his weapons with mechanical precision.
“Except that we’re about to have a lot of company, and we need to get back to the compound.”
“Hunter—”
“Later.”
Her only shred of comfort was that he still moved to cover her as they headed for the exit, still matched her rhythm as they fought their way clear of the ambush.
They made it three blocks before the first explosion hit. Everything happened so fast, there was no time to process anything. Eden found herself airborne, then underwater as their stolen car plunged into the river. In a blur of one moment to the next, strong arms pulled her free of the wreckage, and she broke the surface, coughing and sputtering, to find Hunter already scanning for threats.
Once she recovered her wits, she asked, “Still trust me?”
She was trying for lightness, but the words came out raw.
His eyes met hers for a moment that felt like forever.
“Trust’s got nothing to do with it anymore.”
“No?”
She pushed wet hair from her face, trying to ignore how much that hurt.
“Then what does it have to do with?”
His smile was pure predator as more explosions lit up the night behind them.
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Grabbing hold of her hand, they ran, leaving burning questions and burning buildings in their wake. Ahead lay the compound.
And answers neither of them was sure they wanted.
Behind them, Romano’s forces gathered like storm clouds on the horizon. And somewhere in between, the truth waited like a loaded gun between them, ready to either save them or tear them apart completely.
Eden wasn’t sure which outcome she was praying for anymore. But she knew one thing with bone-deep certainty: by the time this was over, blood would flow.
She just hoped it wouldn’t be Hunter’s. Or worse—her own.