Chapter 13 Hunter
HUNTER
Something yanks me from oblivion—a persistent, shrill sound cutting through darkness. My eyes snap open, disoriented, mind struggling to place myself.
My phone. It’s my fucking phone.
“What?” I bark into the phone, rage bubbling through me. Six goddamn hours wasted while Aurora is still out there.
“Hunter.” It’s Ari’s voice, tense but controlled. “I think we found them.”
Those words hit me like a shot of adrenaline straight to the heart. I’m already on my feet, moving.
“Where?” I demand, glancing down to see I’m still fully dressed—jeans, black T-shirt, boots. I slept in my fucking clothes.
“The old Blackwell psychiatric facility,” Ari says. “The one that shut down three years ago. Grayson intercepted communications between two of Jax’s lieutenants. They mentioned transferring the package to the east wing’s secure area.”
I grab my gun from the bedside table, checking the magazine. “How solid is this intel?”
“It’s the first real lead we’ve had. The timing of activity there matches up with their disappearance, and Blaze confirmed unusual power consumption at the facility over the past week.”
“I’m on my way. Have everyone ready to move in thirty.” I’m already striding toward the door, grabbing my jacket. “And Ari—if this is another fucking dead end—”
“It’s not,” he cuts me off. “Penn’s drone picked up heat signatures in the lower level. Multiple bodies, consistent with guard rotations.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
I end the call, shoving the phone in my pocket as I head for the elevator.
This time, I’m coming for her. And I’m burning everything in my path.
The tension in my penthouse is electric as we gather around the holographic display. Grayson manipulates the 3D rendering of the Blackwell psychiatric facility, highlighting security positions in red.
“Three guard rotations, eight-hour shifts,” he explains, zooming in on the perimeter. “External cameras cover every approach with minimal blind spots. Motion sensors throughout the grounds.”
“What about access points?” I ask as I study the building’s layout. My patience is razor-thin after days of false leads.
Blaze points to a maintenance tunnel. “Underground service entrance here. It’s monitored, but their power grid has a vulnerability. We can create a three-minute window by triggering a surge in the north sector.”
Penn circles the table, tapping his combat knife against his palm. “Those three minutes won’t be enough to extract two hostages through hostile territory.”
“It’s enough to get us inside,” I counter. “Once we’re in, we split into two teams. Penn and I take the east wing, where the secure area is located. Ari, Blaze, and Grayson handle perimeter security and provide extraction.”
The elevator chimes unexpectedly. All five of us draw weapons simultaneously, aiming at the doors.
When they slide open, Derek Harrison stands there, flanked by two of his security personnel. His eyes lock with mine, cold with fury.
“Reed,” he says, voice dangerously calm as he steps forward, ignoring our weapons. “I believe you have something to tell me about my daughters.”
I signal the others to stand down. “This isn’t a good time, Derek.”
“My daughters have been missing for a week,” he snarls, advancing toward me. “And suddenly I find you planning what looks like a military operation rather than working with authorities.”
I holster my weapon, meeting his gaze. “The authorities can’t help with this.”
“What have you done?” Derek demands, grabbing my shirt. His security tenses but doesn’t move. “Where are they?”
“Jax King has them,” I state flatly.
Derek’s face goes pale. He knows the name—of course he does. In our circles, everyone knows Jax.
I watch the color drain from Derek’s face as Jax’s name lands between us. His grip on my shirt loosens.
“Jax King,” he repeats. “Why would he—”
“Because of me.” I cut him off. No point in lying now. “He took them to get to me.”
Derek’s security guys exchange glances. One reaches for his weapon.
“I wouldn’t,” Penn says casually from behind me, the click of his safety releasing unmistakable.
“Stand down,” Derek commands his men without looking at them. His eyes remain fixed on mine, processing what I’ve just revealed. “And you expect me to believe you’re going to rescue them? After you put them in danger in the first place?”
“Yes,” I say simply. “And you’re going to help us.”
Derek’s laugh is harsh. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because we have what you don’t,” I gesture to the tactical display. “Intel on where they are, a team ready to move, and experience dealing with Jax.”
“I can call in—”
“Nothing,” I interrupt. “You call in anyone, and Jax will know. He has people everywhere. That’s why we’re handling this ourselves.”
Grayson steps forward. “Mr. Harrison, with respect, we’ve been working this situation for seven days. We have a narrow window to extract your daughters. Any delay jeopardizes that opportunity.”
Derek looks between us, calculation replacing shock in his eyes. “What do you need from me?”
I nod to Blaze, who brings up building schematics. “The facility’s main electrical systems. Access codes to bypass Harrison Industries’ security protocols that were installed when your company briefly considered purchasing the property.”
“You knew about that?” Derek asks, surprised.
“I know everything about you, Derek,” I say coldly. “Now, are you going to help get your daughters back, or waste more of our time?”
Derek’s jaw tightens as he weighs his options, hatred for me evident in every tense line of his face.
“Fine,” he says finally. “I’ll make the calls. My connections at the Department of Defense can create a training exercise zone around the perimeter. It’ll restrict air traffic and civilian access.” His eyes narrow. “But if anything happens to my daughters—”
“Save the threats,” I cut him off. “We both know what’s at stake.”
He leaves to make calls while I turn back to my team.
“We move in ninety minutes,” I announce.
Grayson uploads the building schematics Derek provided to our tactical displays. “Power grid override codes are working. We’ll have full control of their systems.”
“Once we’re inside,” I continue, “we maintain strict radio discipline. Jax will have signal jammers, so we’ll use mesh network comms. If you get separated, regroup at the extraction point.”
Penn approaches, voice lowered. “You know Jax won’t let them go without a fight. His reputation—”
“I don’t give a fuck about his reputation,” I growl, sliding a serrated blade into my boot sheath. “Anyone standing between Aurora and me dies. Simple as that.”
Ari, arm in a sling from taking a bullet meant for me, looks grimly determined as he checks his gear one-handed. Blaze distributes specialized ammunition—hollow points modified for maximum tissue damage.
“This isn’t just a rescue,” I tell them, my voice ice cold as I address the room. “This is war. Jax made his choice when he took what’s mine.”
I slide the final magazine into place with a satisfying click.
“No prisoners. No mercy. We’re not coming back until they’re safe and Jax is dead.”
The van reeks of gun oil and adrenaline as we pull away from my building. Derek’s connections bought us a clear path—traffic diverted, police patrols redirected. Every second matters now.
I check my watch: 20:47. Thirteen minutes until the power surge creates our window.
“Timeline?” I demand.
“Satellite shows minimal external movement,” Blaze replies, eyes on his tablet. “Heat signatures still present in the lower level.”
My jaw clenches so hard I taste blood. Seven days. Seven fucking days she’s been in Jax’s hands. Seven days I’ve failed her.
The van hits a pothole, and weapons clatter against metal. No one speaks. They know better. The rage building inside me has nowhere to go but forward—into Jax’s men, into anyone standing between Aurora and me.
“Two minutes,” Penn announces as we approach the facility’s perimeter.
The abandoned psychiatric hospital looms ahead, a grotesque monument to suffering. I imagine Aurora in one of those cells, terrified, waiting, wondering if I’ll find her.
I will find her. I fucking will.
“Now,” Grayson says, triggering the power surge.
We move in perfect synchronization, breaching the maintenance tunnel entrance exactly as planned. The facility’s lower levels smell of mildew and disinfectant as we methodically clear corridors, eliminating three guards who never get the chance to radio for help.
We reach the secure area in the east wing. The door is partially open.
Wrong. Something’s wrong.
I signal the others to cover me as I move forward, gun raised. The room beyond is empty—clinical, sterile, recently occupied. A discarded water bottle, still wet. A blanket on the floor.
“Hunter,” Penn calls from the adjoining room. “You need to see this.”
On the wall, written in what looks like lipstick.
BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, HUNTER.
My fist slams into the concrete wall. Blood sprays from my knuckles, but I feel nothing except the hollowness of failure and white-hot rage. We missed them by minutes. Fucking minutes.
“I’ll kill him,” I whisper, voice breaking. “I swear to god, I’ll tear him apart.”
The words on the wall blur as red washes over my vision. Jax is toying with me. Making this personal. A game where Aurora is the prize and I’m always one step behind.