Chapter 23 Infiltrate
INFILTRATE
VIKTOR
Four cells. All connected. All funded by someone with palace access and a taste for chaos.
“Officially,” I repeated.
“Right. Unofficially, power consumption spiked six months ago. Someone's running servers. A lot of them.”
I pulled up the building schematics on my tablet. Five floors. Basement access. Multiple entry points, all covered by security systems that predated modern encryption standards by a decade.
Sloppy. Or arrogant.
“Security?” I asked.
“Private contractor. Ex-military. I'm reading eight heat signatures on the ground floor. Could be more in the basement where the servers are housed.” Noah's keyboard clicked in the background. “I'll be in your ear the whole time. Real-time updates on patrol routes and camera feeds.”
“You are too good at this.”
“Adrian's a thorough teacher.” A pause. “Try not to get shot. He gets cranky when I have to patch up his people.”
“Will try my best.”
The door opened behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know it was him. Could feel Sebastian's presence the way you feel a storm rolling in. Electric. Inevitable.
“Ready?” he asked.
I looked at him. Black tactical gear that clung to lean muscle. Hood pulled up, hiding gold hair that would catch light too easily. Bow slung across his back, quiver strapped to his thigh. He looked like death had taught him how to dress.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine.
He crossed the room, each step purposeful, predatory. When he reached me, his hand found my jaw, tilted my face up. His thumb brushed my cheekbone.
“You're thinking too much,” he said softly. “I can see it. All those calculations. All those odds.”
“Someone has to.”
“Not right now.” His other hand pressed against my chest, over my heart. “Right now, you just need to trust we'll come back.”
“Sebastian—”
“Shut up.” He leaned in, breath warm against my mouth. “Let me have this. One moment before we walk into hell.”
His lips found mine. Soft at first, testing, then deeper when I opened for him.
His tongue swept inside, claiming, tasting, reminding me why dying tonight would be the worst possible outcome.
I grabbed his hips, pulled him closer, felt his body press against mine, all heat and solid muscle and the promise of everything I couldn't afford to want.
He kissed me like he was trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. Like this might be the last time. His hands were in my hair, gripping, holding me exactly where he wanted me. I could taste coffee on his tongue. Could feel his pulse hammering where my palm pressed against his throat.
“You do not play fair,” I muttered against his lips.
“Never said I would.” He kissed me again, harder this time, teeth catching my bottom lip, tongue soothing the sting. “Besides, you like it when I don't.”
He wasn't wrong.
I grabbed the tactical vest off my chair, broke the kiss before I forgot why we were here. “We need to move. Window closes in ten minutes.”
“Then stop kissing me and gear up.” His smirk was wicked. Dangerous. The kind that got people killed in interesting ways.
I grabbed my gear. Two pistols. Suppressor. Spare magazines. Tactical knife. Everything I needed to paint walls red if diplomacy failed. Sebastian helped me with the vest, his fingers brushing against my chest as he secured the straps, lingering longer than necessary.
“You're trying to distract me,” I said.
“Is it working?”
“Da.”
“Good.” He leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Stay alive tonight, Viktor. I have plans for you when we get back.”
The promise in his voice sent heat straight through me. “What kind of plans?”
“The kind that require a bed. And privacy. And you making those sounds you pretend you don't make when I touch you.”
Christ.
I grabbed his wrist, pulled him close enough to feel every word. “Then you better keep up. Because I am not slowing down for you out there.”
“Wouldn't dream of asking you to.” His hand found the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair. “We do this together. Like everything else.”
“Together,” I agreed.
“Noah,” I said into the comm. “We are moving.”
“Copy. I've got eyes on the building. Two patrols. One at the north entrance, one circling the perimeter. Window's in three minutes when they rotate.”
We headed for the garage. Sebastian's hand found mine in the corridor, laced our fingers together. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel real.
“If this goes wrong—” he started.
“It will not.”
“But if it does—”
I stopped walking. Turned to face him. “It will not. Because I have plans too. And they all require you alive.”
His smile was worth every risk we were about to take. “Yeah?”
“Da. Many plans. Very detailed. Most inappropriate for royal setting.”
“Now you're just teasing.”
“You started it.”
We took the bike. Rain hammered down as I drove, Sebastian's arms wrapped around my waist, his body pressed against my back.
Warm despite the cold. Solid despite the danger we were riding toward.
His hands splayed across my stomach, fingers digging in when I took corners too fast, holding on like letting go would mean losing everything.
At a red light, his mouth found the side of my neck. Hot breath. Open lips. Teeth grazing skin.
“Distraction,” I warned.
“Motivation,” he corrected. “Get us through this alive, and I'll make it worth your while.”
“You are going to get us killed before we even arrive.”
“Then drive faster.”
The light changed. I opened the throttle. London blurred past, all wet streets and distant sirens and the weight of Sebastian against my back, his hands on my body, his breath in my ear promising things we might not live to collect.
Southwark rose from the dark like a graveyard. Abandoned factories. Rotting warehouses. The kind of neighborhood where screams didn't get reported and bodies took days to find.
Perfect for people who wanted to stay hidden.
I killed the engine two blocks out. We moved on foot, staying low, using abandoned cars and dumpsters for cover. The data center squatted ahead, five stories of concrete and broken windows. Looked dead. But light bled from the basement level, faint and blue.
Server glow.
“North patrol just turned the corner,” Noah's voice whispered in my ear. “You've got ninety seconds before he comes back around.”
We moved fast. Reached the side entrance. Sebastian pulled lockpicks from his belt, worked the mechanism with hands that knew this dance too well. The lock clicked. We were in.
The interior smelled like mold and electricity. Water damage stained the walls. Ceiling tiles hung loose, revealing ductwork and exposed wiring. My boots crunched on broken glass.
“Heat signature moving toward your position,” Noah warned. “Second floor. Single target. Armed.”
I pressed against the wall. Sebastian melted into shadow beside me, bow already in hand, arrow nocked. We waited.
Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate. A guard descended, assault rifle slung over his shoulder, phone in his hand. Texting. Not paying attention.
Fatal mistake.
Sebastian's arrow caught him in the throat. Silent. Clean. The man's phone clattered to the floor. He followed it, hands scrabbling at the shaft, blood spraying hot and arterial. His eyes went wide. Then empty.
We kept moving.
“Basement access is ahead,” Noah said. “But you've got a problem. Two guards at the door. Both armed. Both alert.”
“Can you loop the cameras?” Sebastian asked.
“Already done. But they'll notice if both men disappear.”
“They will not have time to notice,” I said.
We reached the basement door. Two men stood there, exactly as Noah said. Professional stance. Eyes scanning. Fingers resting near triggers.
I looked at Sebastian. Held up three fingers. Counted down.
Three.
Two.
One.
We moved together. I went left, Sebastian went right. My suppressor coughed twice. Both rounds found their target. Headshots. The man dropped without a sound.
Sebastian's arrow punched through the second guard's eye socket. Went so deep the tip came out the back of his skull. The man's finger twitched on the trigger as he fell. One round went wild, sparked off concrete.
“Shit,” Sebastian hissed.
“Inside. Now.”
We dragged the bodies through the door, let it close behind us. The basement opened up into a maze of server racks and humming machinery. Cold air. Blue light. The mechanical heartbeat of data flowing through circuits.
“Noah, we are in,” I said.
“Good. You're looking for server rack seven. Should be in the northeast corner. Main terminal is there. You'll need to access it directly to bypass the encryption. I can walk Sebastian through it while you keep them off him.”
We moved through the racks. Checking corners. Clearing angles. My pulse hammered against my throat. Too quiet. Too easy.
Sebastian reached the terminal first. Pulled out a data cable, plugged into the port. His fingers flew across the keyboard, muscle memory taking over. “Noah, I'm in. What am I looking for?”
“Root directory. Folder labeled 'Transactions.' Start the upload. I'll grab everything as it comes through.”
Then gunfire erupted behind us.
Bullets sparked off server racks. I dove left, returning fire. Glass shattered. Metal screamed. Someone had known we were coming.
“Contact!” I shouted. “Multiple hostiles!”
“I count six heat signatures converging on your position,” Noah's voice stayed calm. Clinical. “They came from a hidden room on the north wall. Sebastian, keep working. Upload's at twelve percent.”
Six targets. Two of us. Sebastian locked at the terminal. Worse math.
A man rounded the corner, rifle raised. I shot him twice. Center mass. He went down. Another took his place immediately. Trained. Coordinating.