Chapter Twelve
~ Mishka ~
My fingertips danced across the keyboard, each keystroke sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. Blood continued to drip from my nose, but I barely noticed it anymore.
The monitors cast an eerie blue glow across my face as I watched O'Rourke's men stumble through the darkness I'd created. They'd come for me thinking I was prey. I was about to show them just how wrong they were.
I deepened my connection to the building's electrical grid, pushing my abilities further than I ever had before. It wasn't just about cutting power anymore—it was about control.
Complete and absolute control.
"Let's make things interesting," I muttered, my voice sounding distant to my own ears.
With careful precision, I began cycling the emergency lights—three seconds on, five seconds off, completely random patterns.
Through the infrared security cameras, I watched O'Rourke's men stumble and curse, their coordination falling apart as the unpredictable lighting destroyed their night vision.
A savage satisfaction bloomed in my chest as I observed their growing panic. One man walked straight into a wall when the lights cut unexpectedly. Another fired his weapon at a shadow, the gunshot echoing through the empty corridors. Their fear was becoming palpable, and I was the cause of it.
For once in my life, I wasn't the one afraid.
My attention caught on a feed from the second floor's east wing. Three of O'Rourke's men had cornered someone in what looked like a storage room. I zoomed in, recognizing the trapped figure immediately—Dima, one of Nicolai's most loyal operatives.
Blood streaked his face from a gash above his eye, and he was limping slightly, but the cold calculation in his expression remained undimmed. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Even for someone with his skills, those weren't good odds.
"Not today," I whispered, feeling a strange protectiveness for this man I barely knew. He was Nicolai's, which made him mine to protect too.
The thought should have startled me, but there wasn't time to examine it. I scanned the building schematics, locating the fire suppression systems for that section.
My options flashed through my mind like computer code—sprinklers, foam dispensers, alarm sirens. Each had advantages and drawbacks. The sprinklers would create chaos without causing serious harm to the building's electronics I still needed to control.
I made my decision and executed it in the same thought.
Water exploded from ceiling nozzles, instantly drenching everyone in the corridor. The attackers shouted in surprise, momentarily distracted as they wiped water from their eyes and tried to keep their weapons dry.
It was all the opening Dima needed.
He moved with the fluid grace of a predator, not the injured man he'd appeared to be seconds earlier. I realized he'd been playing possum, exaggerating his injuries to draw his attackers in closer.
Smart.
The first attacker went down before he even registered Dima was moving. A precise strike to the throat, followed by a brutal knee to the temple as the man folded forward.
The second assailant managed to raise his weapon, but the wet floor betrayed him. He slipped, his shot going wide, and Dima capitalized instantly—a spinning kick that connected with devastating precision.
I winced at the audible crack that came through the monitors' speakers. That jaw wasn't going to heal properly.
The third man backed away, eyes wide with fear as he realized his companions had been neutralized in seconds. He fumbled for his radio, but I wasn't about to let him call for backup.
I triggered the emergency alarm in that section, the piercing wail making him flinch and drop the device. In that split second of distraction, Dima closed the distance between them.
There was no hesitation, no mercy in his movements—just the cold efficiency of a man who had done this many times before. Three precise strikes later, the final assailant joined his companions on the floor.
My admiration for Dima's skills was tempered by the brutality I'd just witnessed. These men weren't innocent—they'd come to kidnap me, had already taken Nicolai—but watching violence unfold in real-time was different than knowing it happened.
Another drop of blood splashed onto the keyboard, reminding me of the toll my abilities were taking. I couldn't afford to dwell on it. Every second Nicolai remained in O'Rourke's hands was a second too long.
The pain behind my eyes intensified as I expanded my awareness to the entire building, tracking the remaining intruders. Four men left on the ground floor, two on the third floor, plus Denton. Seven total. I needed to keep them disoriented and separated.
I triggered conflicting alarm systems throughout the building—fire alarms in one section, security breach warnings in another, automated lockdown protocols in a third. The cacophony of sounds would make communication impossible and navigation a nightmare.
Next, I cycled security doors randomly, sealing off corridors only to open them minutes later. On the monitors, I watched O'Rourke's men try to regroup, only to find their paths repeatedly blocked or altered.
"Not so easy when your prey bites back, is it?" I whispered.
Finding the building's intercom system, I connected it to my terminal. My voice echoed through the corridors, distorted and eerie, bouncing off walls and seeming to come from everywhere at once.
"You should have left him alone," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite the blood now dripping from my ears as well as my nose. "You should have left us all alone."
I watched their reactions on the monitors—the wide eyes, the raised weapons pointed at shadows, the fear that I could practically smell through the screen.
"This is my house now," I continued, allowing my rage to seep into my voice. "And I don't like uninvited guests."
On the second-floor feed, Dima had finished securing his attackers with their own zip ties.
He stood upright, water still streaming from his hair and clothes, and looked directly at the nearest security camera.
A thin, predatory smile curved his lips as he gave me a respectful nod of acknowledgment.
I nodded back, though he couldn't see me.
We were winning this battle, but the war was far from over. Nicolai was still out there, in O'Rourke's hands. And I was only getting started.
I wiped blood from my face with my sleeve, leaving crimson smears across my skin. The small victory with Dima had cost me—my head pounded like someone was taking a jackhammer to my skull, and the steady drip of blood from my nose had become a concerning flow.
But there was no time to rest. Nicolai was still out there, and watching Dima in action had crystallized one undeniable fact—I needed weapons if I was going to get Nicolai back. Serious weapons.
The building schematics I'd pulled up earlier showed a sublevel two—a heavily secured area labeled only as "Storage." But I'd been around Nicolai's people long enough to recognize a euphemism when I saw one.
That wasn't storage. It was an armory.
I scanned through the communication systems, searching for someone with proper clearance. Most channels were down or jammed with emergency protocols I'd triggered myself, but there had to be someone still at their post.
My fingers flew across the keyboard, leaving bloody fingerprints behind as I bypassed security protocols and opened a secure channel. Static filled the room, the harsh sound making me wince as fresh pain lanced through my head.
"This is a restricted emergency channel," a gruff voice finally came through. "Identify yourself."
I recognized him immediately—Zev, head of the syndicate's security detail. I'd only met him twice, both times when he'd questioned my presence in Nicolai's inner circle. He hadn't bothered hiding his suspicion of the "electronic freak," as I'd once overheard him call me.
Perfect. Just the man I needed—the one least likely to help me.
"This is Mishka," I said, surprised by the steadiness in my voice despite the blood now dripping onto my shirt. "I need immediate access to sublevel two."
The silence that followed was so long I thought the connection might have dropped. Then a harsh laugh came through the speaker. "You want access to the armory? Kid, I don't know what game you're playing, but—"
"This isn't a game," I cut him off. "Nicolai has been taken by O'Rourke's men. I need weapons if I'm going to get him back."
Another pause, shorter this time. "Where are you?"
"Panic room, primary residence," I replied. "I've been coordinating defense from here. We've neutralized at least half of the intruders, but Nicolai is already gone. They took him twenty-three minutes ago."
"Stay where you are," Zev ordered, his voice turning professional. "We'll handle the rescue operation once we've secured the building."
My patience, already paper-thin, snapped. "There won't be time for that. You know what O'Rourke does to the people he takes. You know how he operates."
I pulled up another security feed, this one showing Denton's two remaining men trying to break through a door I'd sealed. They'd be through in minutes.
"You have intruders on level three, east corridor," I continued, ignoring the warm trickle of blood now coming from my right ear. "Two more in the main lobby. I've sealed them off, but they're persistent. Meanwhile, Nicolai is being transported to O'Rourke's complex as we speak."
"How do you know that?" Suspicion laced every word.
"Because I've been watching everything," I said, not bothering to hide the electronic distortion creeping into my voice as my abilities flared with my anger. "I've been controlling every system in this building while you were, what? Hiding?"
A sharp intake of breath came through the speaker. "Watch your tone, kid."