Chapter 16 Hunter
HUNTER
The bourbon burns my throat but doesn’t touch the hollowness inside me. Fourteen days. Three hundred thirty-six hours since Aurora disappeared.
I study the digital map dominating my office wall, red pins marking Jax’s properties we’ve already hit, blue pins indicating targets remaining. The map’s getting crowded with red.
“Hunt.” Penn appears in the doorway, face grim. Blood spatters his tailored shirt—not his own. “The Northside warehouse is clear. Six of Jax’s men were eliminated. No sign of Aurora or her sister.”
I nod, not bothering to look up from the satellite images of our next target. “And the intel?”
“Recovered. Four more locations not on our original list.”
Four more places to tear apart. Four more facilities to burn to the ground.
“Martinez and Rogers have declared for Jax,” Penn continues. “Publicly.”
“Let them.” The words taste like ash. The Vipers organization I helped build is consuming itself, tearing itself apart at the seams. Half of our members have aligned with me, a third with Jax. The rest are desperately trying to stay neutral in a war that allows no middle ground.
I haven’t slept more than two hours at a stretch since that rogue six hours. The edges of my vision blur, but I force clarity through sheer will. I’ve become precisely what I need to be: a weapon.
“The body count is rising,” Penn says quietly. “Sullivan’s people hit one of our safe houses in Chelsea. Grayson retaliated—three of Sullivan’s lieutenants won’t be reporting for duty anymore.”
I look up at last. “Any word from our inside source?”
Penn shakes his head. “Nothing since the psychiatric facility. Jax is getting paranoid, limiting information even to his inner circle.”
I check my watch. “The next operation begins in forty minutes. Brief the team.”
When Penn leaves, I stand before the wall of surveillance photographs. In each one, Jax smiles, unaware he’s being watched. In each one, I imagine putting a bullet through his skull.
The Vipers used to rule this city from the shadows. Now we’re tearing it apart in plain sight, spilling blood on streets we once controlled silently. Every hour that passes without finding Aurora, I burn another piece of the empire to ash.
And I don’t regret a single flame.
Grayson bursts through the door without knocking, tablet in hand. The circles under his eyes match mine, but there’s something different—a spark I haven’t seen in days.
“I’ve got something,” he says.
My pulse quickens. “Show me.”
He swipes through satellite images on the main screen. “Coastal warehouse complex, forty miles north. Officially owned by Maritime Solutions LLC—a shell company buried under three layers of corporate bullshit.”
“We checked all Jax’s known shell companies,” I say, already moving toward my weapons case.
“This one wasn’t on our radar. The property transfer only happened three days ago.” Grayson pulls up energy consumption graphs. “Look at the power draw—consistent with subterranean climate control and high-end security systems.”
My eyes narrow on the thermal imaging scans. “Those heat signatures...”
“Multiple bodies. Lower level, approximately twenty feet below ground.” Grayson zooms in on surveillance photos. “And here’s what sealed it—the security rotation. Six-man teams, three-hour intervals.”
“Jax’s personal detail,” I say.
For the first time in two weeks, I feel something beyond rage and exhaustion. Hope—dangerous, fragile hope.
“Satellite confirms four sniper positions, motion sensors throughout the perimeter. Two vehicle checkpoints.” Grayson scrolls through more images. “It’s a fortress, but it’s not impossible.”
I study the layout, already mapping entry points, calculating risks. “How recent is this intel?”
“Thermal imaging is from ninety minutes ago. Security footage was accessed thirty minutes ago.”
“Wheels up in five. Full tactical gear. I want everybody loaded and ready.” I don’t look up from the schematics as I issue orders, memorizing every entrance, exit, and potential chokepoint in the warehouse complex.
“Hunt, satellite confirmation will take another forty minutes,” Grayson says, hesitating by the door. “We should wait for—”
“No.” The word cuts through the room. “Every minute we wait is another minute she’s in his hands. Move. Now.”
No one argues further. They’ve learned better these past two weeks.
Twenty minutes later, our convoy speeds north along coastal roads. Four black SUVs, twenty of my most loyal men. Armed like we’re invading a small country. Which isn’t far from the truth.
Penn sits beside me in the lead vehicle, checking his weapons. I catch him watching me in my peripheral vision.
“Say it,” I order, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“You haven’t slept in three days,” Penn says. “Your decision-making is compromised.”
“Irrelevant.”
“You’re taking increasingly reckless actions. The Williamsburg raid—you went in without backup. The dockside facility—you walked directly into crossfire.” Penn loads his magazine with a sharp click. “You’re not just willing to die for this, you’re actively trying to.”
I don’t bother denying it. “Your point?”
“My point is, we need you functioning to get her out.”
“No,” I correct him. “You need me to find her. After that, my survival is optional.”
Penn shifts to face me directly. “Hunter—”
“I don’t need to survive this.” I cut him off, meeting his eyes briefly. Something in my expression makes him flinch. “I just need to get Aurora out. That’s the mission. The only mission.”
“And if we get there and she’s not there? If it’s another diversion?”
“Then we burn it down and move to the next location.” My knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. “I’ll tear down every building Jax has ever touched until I find her. And when I do find her, I’m going to make him beg for death.”
The first hints of dawn bleed across the horizon as we approach the compound. We park the vehicles, and I signal to Penn and Grayson, their teams separating to hit the secondary entry points. Perfect timing—guard rotation in twelve minutes, maximum vulnerability.
“On my mark,” I whisper into the comm. My shoulder holster feels heavier than usual, loaded with extra magazines. I won’t run out this time. I won’t fail her again.
“Three. Two. One. Execute.”
We breach through three entry points. The shaped charges blow the reinforced doors with precisely calculated force. Before the debris settles, I’m through the opening, weapon raised.
The first guard doesn’t even have time to shout before my bullet finds his throat. The second manages to trigger an alarm before dropping. Red emergency lights bathe the corridor in crimson as sirens wail.
“Brace!” Blaze shouts, his rifle chattering as he provides covering fire.
I move without hesitation, each step, each shot, mechanical in its precision. A guard emerges from a side room—dead before he fully clears the doorway. Two more appear at the end of the hall—three rapid shots, two bodies dropping.
“East wing secure,” Penn’s voice crackles through comms.
“West wing, heavy resistance,” Grayson reports, gunfire punctuating his words.
I advance toward the stairwell leading to the lower levels. A bullet tears through my left shoulder, spinning me half around. White-hot pain flares, then immediately recedes behind the wall of adrenaline and purpose.
“Hunter, you’re hit,” Blaze says, moving to cover me.
“Irrelevant.” I switch my weapon to my right hand, continuing forward without breaking stride. Blood soaks my tactical vest, warm against my skin. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except finding Aurora.
We push toward the basement access, encountering a barricade of Jax’s men. Their desperate fire speaks volumes—we’re close. We must be close.
“Covering fire,” Blaze calls, unleashing a barrage.
I move during the suppression, flanking their position with cold efficiency. Five men. Five shots. Five bodies.
The stairwell to the lower level appears ahead, heavy security door partially open. Blood trails down my arm, dripping from my fingertips as we push deeper into the compound, following the path of bodies we’ve left behind.
The basement level is silent—too silent. Bodies of Jax’s men litter our path, but there’s no sign of prisoners. My wound throbs with each heartbeat, but I barely register the pain as I push forward.
“Clear these rooms,” I order, gesturing to Blaze and his team. “Find them.”
Electronic locks line a corridor of eight cells. I approach the first, pulse hammering in my ears louder than the alarm still wailing above us. Empty.
Second cell. Empty.
Third. Empty.
With each vacant cell, desperation claws deeper into my chest. What if we’re too late? What if this is another of Jax’s games?
The fourth and fifth cells hold nothing but darkness. My breathing becomes ragged, not from exertion but from the growing fear that we’ve failed again. That I’ve failed her again.
Then I reach the last cell. Through the small, reinforced window, I see her.
Aurora.
She’s chained to a metal cot, wrists secured with heavy restraints. Her once-vibrant form looks diminished, cheekbones too sharp under her skin, dark shadows beneath her eyes. But she’s breathing. She’s alive.
For one perfect moment, everything else falls away—the pain, the exhaustion, the war I’ve waged across the city. None of it matters because I’ve found her.
Her eyes meet mine, widening with shock. Recognition flares in those azure depths, followed by something I don’t expect—something that turns my blood to ice. Her gaze hardens, lips pulling back in a snarl of pure hatred.
She knows.
I blast the electronic lock with a single shot and kick the door open. “Aurora—”
She moves with unexpected speed, lunging from the cot, being pulled back by the chains. I still go to her, and her body slams into mine, fists pounding against my chest and wounded shoulder, sending shards of pain through my body.
“You knew!” she screams, voice raw. “You knew what he did to my father, and you never told me!”