The Awakening (Dark Lineage #1)

Chapter 1

Nell

Three seconds to kill the alarm, four to cross the room, ninety to crack the safe. And a lifetime behind bars if we screw up even once. The Harrington family will make sure of that.

People like me don't usually step foot in mansions like this one.

Maybe to scrub their toilets, but that's about it.

Typically, we just watch them on those TV shows where we gawk at how the top one percent lives.

But here I am, sliding through a third-floor window with the grace of someone who's turned breaking and entering into a damn art form.

Tonight, those diamonds are mine. A necklace worth more than most people earn in their entire lives. Jewels bought with the suffering and exploitation of thousands of people just like me, people who weren't lucky enough to be born wealthy.

“Nell, you've got four minutes before the security guard makes his next round.” Colt's voice crackles in my earpiece.

I land on a plush carpet. Hideously ugly. The room reeks of old money, the kind that passes from generation to generation and never runs out, just grows. Leather-bound books and that distinct smell of furniture nobody uses, pieces that just sit there as decoration or to impress visitors.

“Got it,” I whisper. My pupils have already adjusted to the darkness. “Cherie, how are the cameras?”

“On a loop for the next five minutes. You're invisible, babe.” Her voice carries that confidence that's pulled us through a dozen difficult jobs.

I roll my eyes as I scan the master bedroom.

It looks like something out of another era.

A massive bed with carved wooden posts, paintings that should be in a museum where everyone can enjoy them, and.

.. bingo. A safe partially hidden behind one of the pieces of furniture, exactly where our informant told us it would be.

“Amateurs,” I mutter, pulling the tools from the small pouch at my waist.

“You say something?” Chad's voice cuts in. He's tense, like always.

“Nothing,” I grunt.

I press my ear against the cold metal, and my fingers work with precision. I know this safe model well. I just hope they haven't modified it. I don't have time for puzzles.

When it opens, the blue velvet pouch is exactly where the informant said it would be. Shit, this is going way too easy.

“Merchandise secured. Beginning extraction.”

Suddenly, Seth's voice cuts through the comm.

“Wait, I think I saw something near the west window.”

“Is it security?”

“I don't...” He stammers.

“Hold positions,” I order, freezing like a statue. Something's off. The air in the room changes. I can feel it on my skin as I hold my breath.

“False alarm,” my teammate announces, letting out a slight sigh. “Just a branch moving in the wind.”

“Shit, Seth. You nearly gave me a heart attack,” I protest.

The moment I step into the hallway to leave, my teammate appears at the opposite end. He grins and gives me a thumbs up as he heads toward the window we came through.

“Stop, idiot!” I hiss, but he's already almost there.

I lunge toward him and tackle him. We crash against the wall with a dull thud that sounds thunderous in the mansion's silence. Loud enough to set the dogs barking.

“What the hell are you doing? It's a pressure panel,” I point with my index finger at the floor. “You almost stepped on it, for fuck's sake.”

His face goes pale.

“Shit, I forgot,” he sighs, bringing a hand to his forehead.

“You forgot? We need to get out of here. Now! Chad, tell Colt to start the car; this is about to get real ugly real fast,” I order harshly.

We make the extraction as quickly as we can while police sirens already wail in the distance. Colt waits for us with the engine running, and the second we're inside, he grins at me through the rearview mirror before peeling out.

“We've got it,” I sigh as I pat the pocket of my jacket.

The car erupts in cheers and applause.

We end up at our usual spot, a dive bar called The Hook, where the owner doesn't ask questions and all sorts of deals get made with all kinds of people. The smell of cheap beer and hamburger grease saturates the place.

“A round for everyone!” Chad shouts, tossing some bills onto the bar. The rest of the team settles into our regular table, close to the emergency exit, in case we need to bolt in a hurry.

The cheap whiskey burns my throat, but I enjoy the sensation. On nights like this, when everything goes right, I can almost forget about the shitty life I've been dealt. The one that taught me nobody's going to take care of me except myself.

“Let me see those rocks,” Cherie murmurs, extending her hand. She's painted her nails a bright purple that matches the tips of her hair.

I pull out the velvet pouch and smile before opening it slowly, with a theatrical flourish. Even under the bar's dim lighting, the diamonds catch the light in an almost magical way.

“Damn, they're gorgeous,” she sighs, leaning closer to get a better look.

“Not as gorgeous as what we're going to get paid for them,” Chad replies.

“When's the handoff?”

“Tomorrow night,” he answers, glancing around to make sure nobody's listening. “Voronov is dying to add them to his collection, and he'll pay us a fortune.”

Hearing that name sends a chill through me.

Grigore Voronov, the Russian millionaire with a taste for stolen antiquities.

He's our best client, but there's something about him that's always unsettled me.

Maybe it's because he never smiles, or the way he seems to evaluate each person as if he's calculating the value of their organs on the black market.

“That guy creeps me out,” Colt says, like he's reading my mind.

“He gives us money,” Chad replies, “and that's all that matters.”

The hours pass between shots of whiskey, laughter, and plans for how each person will spend what they'll get.

Cherie mentions something about a vacation in the Bahamas.

Gil wants a new car. For Colt and me, the money means something else: security, freedom, never living on the streets again like we always have.

“I'm going to bed,” I announce, standing and adjusting my jacket.

“I'll walk you,” my roommate murmurs, but the way his arm wraps around a waitress he just met tells me he doesn't mean it.

“It's fine. I'll be careful,” I respond, used to this ritual where everyone does their own thing after finishing a job.

The moment I step outside, the night greets me with a cool breeze that stirs my hair. I breathe deep, letting the air carry away the smell of weed and alcohol from my lungs. The streets are surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, just a few groups of drunk kids disturbing the silence.

I enjoy the solitude.

I always have.

There's something about it that comforts me, like a strange feeling screaming that I'm different. Despite its reputation, I've never had problems in my neighborhood. The usual creeps seem to avoid me. I've never understood it, but I'm not complaining.

A couple of blocks from my apartment, that sensation again. It's subtle at first, like a faint tingle at my nape, but it intensifies rapidly. Someone's watching me. I'm sure of it.

No, someone's following me.

I stop under a streetlight and rummage in my pocket, pretending I can't find my house keys. It's an old trick Colt taught me years ago. The street looks empty, but the sensation persists. I can feel it in the air, a strange pressure, like the tense calm right before a storm.

I hold my breath, focus. And then I feel it stronger: the wind changes, grows stronger around me, whipping abandoned papers and making the branches of nearby trees creak.

A sudden gust shakes a bush to my right and, for an instant, I see her. An imposing figure, much larger than I expected. A flash of dark skin and short hair. Eyes that gleam under the streetlight like a predator's.

And muscles. A mountain of muscles.

My heart races. Whoever she is, she's too big to risk a direct confrontation. If the street teaches you anything, it's to assess a threat in seconds. To know when you should fight and when it's better to run.

Tonight I run.

I turn down the first alley I find, zigzagging between dumpsters and abandoned boxes. I hear her footsteps behind me, surprisingly fast for someone her size.

“Wait! I'm not going to hurt you.” It's a female voice, deep and with an accent I don't recognize.

I don't stop. I've heard that lie too many times.

The alley narrows, ends at a chain-link fence about six feet high.

For most people, it would be a dead end.

For me, it's an opportunity. Without breaking stride, I jump onto a dumpster, use the momentum to grab the fence, and scale it with an agility I've never had to practice.

It's just there, like my body knows exactly what it should do.

On the other side, I spot a fire escape and head toward it. I grab the first rung and pull myself up. Behind me, my pursuer curses in a language I don't understand.

I climb to the roof. The wind blows hard now, battering my body like it wants to tear me off the building. Below, the city looks like a labyrinth of lights and shadows.

I jump to the adjacent roof, rolling to absorb the impact. I move from rooftop to rooftop, zigzagging to confuse anyone trying to follow me.

When I arrive, my apartment is dark and silent, exactly as I left it this morning.

By the window, hidden in the shadows, I scan the street. Nothing. No movement. No figure lurking.

I smile.

The necklace remains safe in my pocket. I pull it out and hold it under the weak ray of light filtering through the window. The diamonds flash like frozen water droplets. Beautiful, cold, valuable. Looks like someone's willing to chase them down. But how could they even know I have it?

Something doesn't add up.

An almost imperceptible creak makes the hair on my neck stand up. I'm not alone.

I turn, but it's too late. A slender figure emerges from the shadows. Tall, ethereal, with a brief flash of pale blonde hair and a greenish braid on one side.

Before I can react, I see the metallic gleam of a taser. I try to dodge it, but the space is too confined. The electrodes hit me in the chest as a current of agony rips through my entire body. My muscles contract involuntarily, violently, and I fall to my knees, struggling to maintain control.

Two figures enter. One of them, the large woman who chased me, is trying to catch her breath. The other is shorter, with a strange glow in her green eyes.

“Damn, I can't run that fast,” the big woman mutters, approaching me.

“Don't you dare hurt her, Althea,” the blonde who hit me with the taser warns. “Kaelisar would kill all three of us.”

I try to get to my feet, resist somehow, but my muscles barely respond. The shorter woman approaches. I could swear her hands emit a soft greenish glow.

“Don't resist. It's easier if you don't fight,” she murmurs. Her voice has a musical tone, almost hypnotic.

She touches my temple, and a strange sensation invades me, like I'm floating in the sea. Then, almost without realizing it, darkness claims me.

The last thing I see is my pursuer's face, Althea, I think they called her. There's no cruelty in her expression; it's more something strangely similar to compassion. Like she feels sorry for me.

“I'm sorry, wind whisperer,” she mutters.

And then, nothing.