Chapter 29
Havoc
Luxembourg is a bank vault pretending to be a country. Clean streets, silent nights, and more secrets buried under the concrete than actual soil. Perfect for hiding money. Even better for hiding crimes.
The gigantic server room I was navigating hummed with industrial white noise, equipment pretending to have a pulse.
I slipped between white tower racks, boots silent on cold tile. Fluorescent lights overhead threw harsh glare across everything, sterile, clinical, deserted. The kind of deserted that should have been perfect.
Anti-static flooring absorbed sound. Cooling fans masked my breathing as I wove through the equipment rows.
Three weeks chasing Dresner’s financial network through half of Europe, hitting dead end after dead end. Numbers laundered through so many shell companies they might as well have been ghosts. Every trail went cold. Every lead turned to smoke.
This breadcrumb to Luxembourg had been the first solid hit in days, physical records stored in this data center because Dresner was paranoid enough not to trust purely digital archives. The man covered his tracks with obsessive precision, but paranoia created patterns. Patterns could be exploited.
Assuming I could actually access the workstation.
Xavier managed to get out.
Good for him. One less weapon in the fight, one less liability to manage. But he was just trying to survive.
Survival didn’t interest me. I wanted demolition.
Xavier had Clare to break his conditioning. Wolfe had Selina. Ronan had Maeve.
I broke mine alone. No catalyst. No woman whispering promises of humanity. Just me, Dresner’s codes, and a burning need to watch his empire crumble.
Dresner still doesn’t understand how I did it. Good. Let him wonder. Let him fear.
Dresner thinks he’s safe because his conditioned dogs are off the leash. He’s wrong. He just forgot that some dogs don’t run when the gate opens. Some turn around and bite the hand that fed them poison.
Row forty-two. The workstation should be...
A sound cut through the drone of machines.
Keyboard clicks echoed from somewhere near the center terminals. Quiet breathing. Someone working, settled in, comfortable.
Damn it.
Froze mid-step, recalculating. I’d checked the schedule before infiltrating, no appointments listed for after-hours access. The building should have been down to skeleton security, rotating patrols every thirty minutes. I’d timed my entry for the gap.
Apparently, someone had confidential clearance that didn’t show up on the public schedule.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Which was currently occupied.
Eased forward, staying low between equipment racks, letting the hum of cooling fans mask any sound. The data center stretched wide, maybe forty by sixty feet, with rows of machinery along one wall and computer terminals clustered in the center.
Leaned out, just an inch.
A woman sat at the center workstation.
She was beautiful in a way that didn’t belong here, professional suit, visitor’s nametag catching the monitor’s glare, gray irises focused on a stack of documents.
Dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that should have looked harsh but somehow made her look like she was in control of everything, including the temperature of the room.
Not maintenance. Not security.
Watched closer. She was photographing documents with a phone and taking notes, her movements quick and efficient. Turn the page. Snap. Verify focus. Turn the page. No hesitation. No double-checking. The kind of methodical precision that came from doing this a thousand times before.
An investigator. Or an auditor.
Someone who understood money the way I understood killing.
She’d been here a while. Settled in, comfortable. Her purse was on the desk, a coffee cup beside it. Legitimate access, then.
The calm concentration, the methodical approach, the legitimate access at nine-thirty at night, she wasn’t corporate staff, and she definitely wasn’t Oblivion. I’d recognize one of Dresner’s people.
So who the hell was she, and why was she at the very workstation I needed to access the financial records I’d come to steal?
Wait for her to leave? Could take hours.
Confront her? Risky. One scream and security would flood the floor. Building lockdown, cameras reviewed, my face on every screen.
Abort the mission? Unacceptable. This lead was all I had. Dresner’s financial empire was built on complexity and misdirection, and I was a weapon, not an accountant. Needed an expert.
And apparently, one just walked into my infiltration.
The universe had a sick sense of humor.
Shifted weight, considering options. A cooling fan cycled down, dropping the ambient noise for half a second.
She stiffened.
Fingers stilled on the keyboard. Shoulders locked. The kind of tension that came from sensing a threat without seeing it, survival instinct screaming you’re not alone.
She’d either caught movement in the computer screen’s reflection or heard something my entry didn’t cover.
Smart.
She turned slowly, palms visible. Her gaze found me crouched between equipment racks, gray irises sharp, intelligent. Fear flashed across her face and vanished in a heartbeat.
Most people screamed. Ran. Froze completely.
She stood slowly, keeping her palms where I could see them. Calm despite the terror racing through her, visible in the rapid flutter at her throat.
“Who are you?” Steady voice. Measured. The kind of control that came from forcing panic down and refusing to let it win.
Stepped into the light, letting her see me fully. No point hiding now.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m authorized to be here.” She didn’t back away. Didn’t reach for anything. Just watched me with those calculating gray irises. “You’re not.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re hiding in the shadows.”
Fair point.
Rapid pulse still visible at her throat, but her voice didn’t shake. She was terrified and standing her ground anyway.
Interesting.
Opened my mouth to ask what the hell she was doing when footsteps echoed from the hallway.
Heavy boots. Multiple sets. Voices approaching.
“Ms. Wells? Everything alright?”
Security. Routine check, probably. They’d passed through at nine, clockwork schedule. But we’d been talking, voices carried in these sterile spaces.
Calculated escape routes instantly. The emergency exit in the corner, twenty feet. The ventilation shaft behind the racks, accessible but tight. The main door, occupied by incoming guards.
She had maybe two seconds to decide.
Scream, and I’d vanish before they entered, blown mission, wasted lead, back to square one. Stay silent, and she was harboring an intruder. Accessory to whatever crime I was committing.
Found her watching me. Something flickered there I couldn’t read.
She turned toward the door as it opened.
“Everything’s fine.” Calm, professional, bored even. “Just reviewing files.”
Two guards entered, sweeping the room. I’d already slipped back between equipment racks, body angled to minimize profile, breathing controlled. They wouldn’t see me unless they walked the perimeter.
“Thought we heard voices.”
“Just talking to myself.” She offered a small, self-deprecating smile. “Bad habit when I’m working late.”
“Need anything? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thank you. I’ll be done soon.”
The guard closest to her nodded, gaze still tracking the room. He was thorough but not suspicious. “Alright. Alert us if you see anyone or anything unusual.”
“I will.”
They left. Door closing. Footsteps fading down the hallway.
Silence dropped like a weight.
Emerged from concealment again. She stood by the workstation, palms at her sides, expression unreadable.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“You had a perfect opportunity to expose me. One word and I’d be in custody.”
She was quiet for three heartbeats. “You haven’t hurt me.”
“Yet.”
“Are you planning to?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t see the point in creating a problem that doesn’t exist.”
Logic. Cold, practical logic from someone who should have been screaming for help.
But it wasn’t just logic. There was something else in her eyes, curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. Like she understood what it meant to be somewhere you weren’t supposed to be, doing something you weren’t supposed to do.
Most people operated on fear. She operated on assessment. Risk-benefit analysis. The kind of thinking that kept you alive in situations where panic got you killed.
Who the hell was this woman?
Opened my mouth to ask when the smell hit my nose.
Acrid. Sharp. Wrong.
Like burning plastic mixed with something metallic and sweet, fruity undertone that made my training scream threat before my conscious mind caught up.
Looked around, tracking the source. The UPS battery banks along the back wall, large industrial units mounted in series. The smell was getting stronger.
“That’s not right.”
She noticed too. Her nose wrinkled, a frown creasing her forehead. “Do you smell...”
“Get away from the wall.” Already closing the distance. “Now.”
“What?”
The smell intensified. Chemical reaction accelerating. Maybe three seconds before,
“Move!”
She didn’t react fast enough. Civilian. Didn’t understand the threat, didn’t recognize the warning signs.
Closed the distance in two strides.
BANG.
The battery bank exploded like a gunshot in the enclosed space. Flash of light, orange, white, blinding. Heat wave slammed into us. Black toxic smoke billowed out. Sparks showered from the ruptured casing.
The rack next to her tilted, metal groaning, falling.
Heavy. Industrial. Would crush her.
Didn’t think. Just rushed.
Shoved her sideways, hard. We hit the tile floor together, my body over hers, arms bracketing her head. The rack crashed where she’d been standing, components shattering, glass and metal scattering across the floor.
Everything slowed.
Smoke filled the air. Heat radiating from the burning batteries. Alarms starting to blare, piercing, relentless. Sprinkler system activated with a hiss, cold water suddenly pouring down.
Inches apart. Her breath against my face, rapid and shocked. Wide gray irises, pupils dilated.
Unwanted sensation tightened my chest.
Her chest heaved against mine, frantic rhythm matching the adrenaline spiking in my own blood.
Her body was soft under mine. Warm. Alive. Every point of contact registered, my forearms on either side of her head, my chest against hers, her fingers gripping my shoulders.
Electric current ran between us.
Focus. Mission. Get out.
“You okay?” Rougher than intended.
“Yes.” Breathless. Stunned. But steady.
Chaos erupted around us. Alarms screaming. Sprinklers drenching everything. Smoke thickening. Guards shouting in the hallway, running toward us.
Pulled her up, then released her immediately. Stepped back. Hands off. Water soaked us both, cold shock after the heat.
Guards burst through the door.
One last look through the smoke and water.
Turned and slipped through the emergency exit. Smoke swallowed me whole. Behind me, guards rushed to her, voices urgent, checking if she was hurt.
Glanced back once. She was safe. With guards. Soaked and shaken but standing.
Leave. Now.
The emergency exit dumped me into an alley. Cold night air hit my lungs, clean after the acrid smoke. Sirens in the distance, fire trucks responding.
Vanished into darkness.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about her.
Ms. Wells. That’s what the guards had called her.
Why did she protect me? One word and I’d have been caught. Mission blown. She had every reason to expose me and no reason to stay silent.
And why the hell did I save her?
Instinct, I told myself. Tactical decision. She might have information I need. That’s all.
Not the way her breath felt against my face. Not the steel in her eyes when she lied to the guards. Not the electric shock when our bodies collided.
Or maybe I was just an idiot who couldn’t keep his focus on the mission when a beautiful woman with secrets looked at him like she understood exactly what kind of monster he was, and didn’t flinch.
The woman who protected an intruder. Who didn’t run, didn’t scream. Whose gray irises watched me with intelligence instead of fear.
Ms. Wells.
Complication I don’t need. Distraction I can’t afford.
But my body had moved before my brain could calculate the risk. That surge of something protective had nothing to do with tactics and everything to do with the woman herself.
The way she didn’t run, didn’t scream, didn’t collapse into useless panic.
The calm assessment in those steel-gray eyes, the controlled fear that she refused to let win.
The feeling of her heart racing against mine while water poured down around us and alarms screamed. Was it a mask? Was I misreading her?
She’s trouble I don’t need.
But Dresner’s money trail just got more complicated.
And maybe more interesting.
Havoc broke his conditioning alone. No catalyst. No woman to save him. At least, that's what he thought. Then he meets Nea Wells in a Luxembourg data center, and everything changes. She should have betrayed him. She protected him. He should have left. He saved her.