Chapter 3
Three
Silas
“ A lan, status report.” My voice slices through the stillness of the war room. The command echoes off the walls. I stand at the head of the table, every inch the leader of Ares, but it’s just a role I play like all the others.
“Clean and quiet, just like you ordered.” Alan's reply is curt, his blue eyes holding mine from across the sleek surface of the conference table. There's respect there, hard-earned and unwavering. “No traces left behind.”
Alan doesn’t do field work much anymore, but when he does, he gets the job done better than anyone else. I think he misses it. Needs it. Maybe not the in the way that I do, but in his own, almost equally fucked up way. We’re war machines. Made to destroy. Taking that away from us makes us question who the fuck we are.
I nod once, sharply. “Good.” The satisfaction of another job well done simmers beneath my skin, but I keep it leashed, controlled. “Cain, projections for our next step?”
Cain leans back in his chair, hands folded on the table. His eyes, intense and scrutinizing, never leave the files spread before him. “We've stirred the pot. Repercussions are likely, trivial but not to be ignored. We should anticipate increased surveillance from local enforcement.”
“Then we tighten our own security measures.” My gaze sweeps over the team—my team. They're ready, always ready.
“Blake?” I turn to the youngest among us, his eagerness palpable even as he maintains a professional facade.
“Communications with our informants have been secured. We'll know if there's any chatter about us on the street,” Blake assures me, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against the tablet in front of him.
“Stay vigilant,” I command, the words leaving no room for dissent. “We operate in the shadows. Let's keep it that way.”
“Understood, boss.” They respond, practically in unison.
“Go fuck ‘em up.” I watch them file out, each man a ghost blending back into the fabric of Alcott City. The door closes with a soft thud behind them, leaving me alone with the weight of command heavy on my shoulders.
I turn back to the window, the city sprawling below me—a concrete jungle alive with secrets and lies. I know that better than anyone. I don’t judge because I have just as many secrets as the next guy.
And hell, I wouldn’t have a job if people weren’t dishonest, immoral pricks.
My reflection stares back at me, green eyes hard as stone. Cold and calculating. The only way I know how to be. The way I have to be. My control is both weapon and shield.
My phone buzzes against my thigh. I pull it from my pocket and answer, not bothering to look at the screen because I know it’s going to be a concealed number anyway.
“Thatcher.” My voice slices through the silence of the room.
“Silas,” a voice, modulated to cloak identity, greets me from the other end. “We have a situation that requires your . . . expertise.”
I don't flinch; I never do. “Details.”
“High-risk target. Politically connected.” A pause, pregnant with unspoken threats.
“Details,” I say, cutting through formalities. Names hold power in my world.
The caller pauses again for a beat too long.
“I don’t have time for fucking around,” I say, about to end the call.
“Grey. Senator Grey. He's become a thorn for some rather influential people.”
I commit the name to memory, filing away the implication. Senator Grey has powerful enemies if they're coming to me. Must’ve done something to scare them. But I don’t really give a shit. A job is a job.
My mind starts its usual churning, calculating angles, exits, collateral damage.
“The rewards are substantial.”
“And the risks?”
“Substantial as well. But you are not one to shy away from danger, are you, Silas?”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth, unseen by the voice but felt in my bones. “No. I am not.”
“Good. We’ve just sent over the dossier.”
I check my phone and see a new email containing an encrypted file.
“Received.”
“Password is jubilee. I expect to see the results on the news shortly.”
“Understood.” The line goes dead, but the thrill is just beginning—a pulse that drums in sync with the heartbeat of Alcott City.
I assemble my team back to the war room with a single text. They file in a few minutes later, silent phantoms awaiting orders.
“New assignment,” I say, my gaze sweeping over Alan, Cain, and Blake. “The Syndicate. High risk, high reward.”
I pull up the dossier and share it with each of them.
“Anything we should be concerned about?” Alan's question slices the tension hanging in the air.
“Political ties. It'll be like threading a needle blindfolded.”
“Sounds like a typical Tuesday,” Cain quips, but his eyes are sharp, already assessing the dangers.
Blake's hands hover above his tablet, ready to carve out our digital path. “What's the play, Si?”
I lean back against the desk, arms crossed. “We take it. We plan meticulously, we execute flawlessly, and we leave no trace.”
“Isn't that playing with fire?” Blake asks, the flicker of concern in his young eyes swiftly doused by the determination set in mine. “We’ve never taken a job from them before.”
That we know of, I think. The Syndicate has its claws in so many facets of our society, it’s hard to know which is clean. But they also have the funds and enough business to keep the kills coming. Something that sets my mind alight.
“Fire is an old friend,” I reply, feeling its burn in my veins. “The Syndicate knows this. They know what Ares brings to the table.”
“Then we prepare for hell,” Alan says, a grin spreading across his face. The kind of grin only warriors wear when they smell the battle coming.
“Exactly.” I nod once, firmly.
“I want us preparing for this like it’s the goddamn SATs. Not a single thing goes overlooked.”
“They’re calling for two hits?” Cain asked, still reading through the dossier on his laptop.
“One is to be a diversion. Big, messy. The other is the main target. That needs to be swift and silent.”
Everyone is quiet for a moment, thinking it through. We’ve had jobs that tackled multiple targets at once, but none that were this high-profile and specific. The Syndicate wants the Senator to die in a way that paints the opposition as a suspect. Framing people isn’t exactly in our job description, but for a client this big, we can damn sure make it be.
“Cain, I want to hear your ideas by—” I look at the calendar on my phone. I have meetings all morning downstairs. As in, the legitimate side of the business. That will probably make me want to rip my hair out. “—1 p.m. tomorrow?”
“On it,” he said, his hands already flying over the keyboard.
“Alright. We’ll all meet then and go from there.”
With nods and grunts of agreements, they shuffle from the room once again and I’m left alone. Once again.
My mind is reeling between two things. Blood and Hallie. One will have to wait. But the other . . .
It’s dangerous visiting Hallie before nightfall, but the haziness of dusk and the bustle of evening rush hour should be enough to conceal me. Only, when I reach her apartment, she’s not there.
I swing around the building and get inside the front door far too easily. Too many people will just hold a door open out of politeness, not realizing they could be letting a killer into their “secure” building.
But I don’t complain for now, because it works in my favor. Plus I have a plan to make sure Hallie is safe. I climb the stairs to the second floor and note all of the details.
Threadbare carpets line the stairs, but the one in her hallway is moderately newer. Sconces light the stairwells and each hall every ten feet. The place is cloaked in landlord-gray, but it looks relatively clean.
There are only four apartments on each floor, and Hallie’s is the far one facing the back of the building. I walk down the hall, listening for her neighbors. A loud TV plays behind the door of 2A. 2B is vacant, as I’ve noted from my visits to the fire escape. But 2C is a concern as the door directly faces Hallie’s. If I’m not careful, a nosy neighbor could watch me from the peephole.
But I’m not an amateur, so I’ve come prepared for that. I slip my hand into my pants pocket and pull out a small lock-picking kit. I unzip it silently, then grab what I need. A small, round sticker. Before I even approach the door, I have it positioned on my finger. A second later, in complete silence, it now covers the peephole and the neighbor is none-the-wiser.
I glance down the hall again to make sure no one else is coming. The stairwell is blocked by a partial wall, so unless someone wants to come down this hall, they won’t see anything by using the stairs.
I slide the pick into the simple lock on Hallie's door. These old buildings never bothered to upgrade security. As the pins click into place, the knob turns and I enter her apartment. Too easily.
The scent of flowers greets me, the same familiar scent I’ve breathed in from outside her window. I don’t know what kind of flowers—hell, I can barely tell the difference between a rose and a lily—but now when I smell them anywhere, I only think of Hallie.
The very hint of it is enough to have me hard as a rock, but now, surrounded by the scent that is purely her, I can barely move from the arousal. I shut the door and adjust my cock in my pants, willing it to wait.
I glance around, imprinting every detail into memory.
Mismatched throw pillows decorate an overstuffed couch that looks well-loved, with a handmade quilt draped across the back. Framed pictures of smiling children line the walls, no doubt her students over the years. A bookshelf overflows with novels, everything from Dickens to King.
I brush my fingers over the spines, imagining her curled up late into the night, lost in imaginary worlds where darkness is purely fiction. If only she knew that monsters walk beside her on the street, sit next to her in restaurants, lust after her pure heart . . .
I pause and take a breath, reigning in my urges. I'm here for her protection, not to indulge my desire. At least not yet. Moving to the window, I check the locks. Flimsy at best. I make a note to install better security measures when I return.
For now, I retrieve a few of the pinhole cameras I brought, expertly hiding them around her living room and kitchen. Now I'll be able to keep watch even when I'm not here. The cameras connect wirelessly to an encrypted feed only I can access. No one else will violate her privacy this way.
The thought brings me comfort and excitement in equal measure.
I know I should leave, but the temptation is too great. Slowly, reverently, I open her bedroom door. The scent of her envelops me. I trail my fingers over her pillow, imagining her hair splayed across it. My heart pounds with feral need.
I inhale deeply, trying to concentrate on the task at hand as I take in her room. A nightstand holds a crystal candle and a half-empty water bottle. Her current read, a romance novel judging by the couple on the cover, lies open on the nightstand, the pages crumpled from where she must have read late into the night. Her closet door is ajar, clothes hanging neatly and meticulously folded on the rack within. A pair of black lace panties catches my eye, silk against the wood shelf.
I can't help but wonder if they're clean. My mouth waters at the thought of her soft skin against them. My heart pounds. Before Hallie, it’d been so long since I've felt anything like desire, but she brings it out in me.
The nightstand drawer slides open with a whisper of metal on wood. It's not locked, and I'm grateful. I spy a box of tissues, a bottle of sleeping pills, a collection of condoms, and a worn photo album. The pictures inside are candid shots of her and her friends from college days, all smiles and laughter. She looks so young and hopeful in them, so beautiful.
She’s even more beautiful now, older and more sure of herself. I eye the condoms again. Hallie hasn’t dated anyone since that loser Teddy. What if she finally feels ready to try again? What if she brings a man back here, into her private space with her flower scent and soft sheets? What if she lets him fuck her?
Thinking of the cameras, I’m reassured I’ll be able to stop that from happening long before it gets that far. I carefully replace the album, but swipe the condoms and shove them in my pocket so I can throw them in the trash later. She won’t be needing these ever again.
God help me if she tries to fuck another man. I’ll kill him right here in her bed. It would be traumatizing, I guess, but she’d finally know how far I’d go for her. What I’d do for her. She’d know not to make that mistake again. The thought arouses me as much as it infuriates me. My dick twitches, begging for release. I eye the black lace again, salivating at the thought of shooting my load all over it, but there’s not enough time.
I exit the room and walk back through the apartment, careful to turn off lights and lock her door behind me. She’ll be home soon, and as much as I’d love to stay and jerk myself off to her undressing again, I can’t quite find the control I need tonight. Something tells me if I stay, I’ll end up doing something to scare her. Something I’ll regret. So I leave now, forcing what little control I can manage.
I have the cameras, after all. My own personal Hallie TV. And one day soon, I’ll have the real thing.