Chapter 14
HAWK
T he roar of six Harleys split the night as we tore down the highway just south of Nashville.
The wind ripped at my cut, flapping the leather against my back as the city lights disappeared behind us.
Every breath I took was thick with the scent of damp asphalt, pine sap, and gasoline.
But none of it cut through the rage burning in my chest.
We rode in tight formation. Storm, as our Road Captain, was at the front. Maverick and I were at his flank, with Blade, Racer, and Wrecker just behind us.
Storm's silhouette blurred in the dark, and Maverick rode like the road bowed beneath his wheels. These weren’t just my brothers. They were predators. And tonight, we were hunting.
At the edge of the city, we veered off the highway and rolled down a quiet residential street, then rumbled to a stop in the gravel drive of a small craftsman-style home.
It belonged to one of Deviant’s contacts—a quiet tech guy who owed us more favors than he could count.
We parked the bikes out of sight, ditched the open gear, and loaded into two matte-black surveillance vans.
I climbed in with Storm and Maverick, and the doors shut behind us with a dull thunk.
The smell of oil, leather, and gunpowder filled the cramped van. The air inside was thick with tension, and Maverick was the first to break the silence. “You look like you’re ready to snap someone’s spine with your bare hands.”
I didn’t glance up from the fresh magazine I was sliding into my Glock. “That’s the fucking plan.”
Storm snorted from the driver’s seat, hands light on the wheel like he was back in the desert. “Try not to shoot Darren until we find the servers.”
“Or Ellen,” Maverick added, fitting his comm into place. “Let’s not forget the point of this.”
“She’s first priority,” I growled.
The comm cracked to life. “Boys,” Deviant said, smooth and dry, “you’re on camera. Mansion’s lit like a Vegas high-roller party. I count three dozen guests already. More arriving.”
“Status inside?” Storm asked.
“Security’s thick but sloppy. Standard bodyguard rotation. No sight of Ellen yet, but I’ve been watching that kitchen elevator. It goes somewhere I can’t follow on the security cameras. Has to be underground. That’s where the rot is.”
“Time to play nice,” Wrecker said from the second van. “Been too long since I busted down a rich prick’s door.”
“Or blew one off the hinges,” Racer added dryly, making Wrecker chuckle.
“Definitely in the mood to drop an entitled bastard on his ass,” Storm drawled.
Maverick snorted. “I’d throw him through a wall.”
“Save the party tricks, boys,” Blade chimed in calmly. “Make sure Ellen walks out first.”
We parked two blocks from the mansion. Far enough to keep off the radar but close enough to move fast. The vans sat in the shadow of a hedge-lined property, engines ticking as they cooled.
My fists clenched as one car after another glided around the circular drive.
Sleek limos and polished Town Cars. Men in designer suits stepped out, escorted by muscled bodyguards.
Some had women on their arms—gorgeous and glittering as their diamonds caught the porch lights.
They were more jewelry than clothing. None of them looked down.
None of them knew or cared what they were walking into.
The time passed slowly while tension coiled around my shoulders. Every car that arrived ratcheted the pressure tighter, making my jaw tighten.
When Darren finally stepped out of his black Town Car at eleven sharp, surrounded by other smug bastards with snakeskin shoes and crooked smiles, I stilled. My blood went cold.
“That’s him,” I said flatly. “That’s the sick fuck.”
“Confirmed,” Deviant said in my ear. “Still no sign of Ellen. But the elevator? Guests go down. Most don’t come back up.”
Silence stretched for a beat, then Maverick said, “Send in Storm.”
I jerked my head toward him. “No. I go.”
Maverick didn’t look away from the monitors. “Not a chance. You’ll rip him apart before we know where Ellen is. You want it done clean? Let him ghost it.”
Storm clapped a hand to my shoulder. “You’re better on breach anyway.”
I didn’t like it. But they were right.
Ghost it —yeah. That was what Storm did. He melted into the shadows, silent as sin. And as much as I hated not being the first one through the door, I knew Maverick and Storm were right.
Fifteen minutes later, he came through the comms. “Got her. Second-floor bedroom. Out cold. Lingerie. Lights and a camera. That son of a bitch was photographing her.”
“Get her out,” I growled. “Now.”
Ten minutes later, Storm reappeared from the far side of the house, cutting through shadows while cradling a limp, unconscious Ellen in his arms. She looked fragile and pale, her limbs slack and her breath shallow. Blade opened the van doors and took her gently, checking vitals.
“She’s sedated but stable,” he confirmed. “We should get her to the hospital as soon as we’re home, but she’s not in immediate danger.”
Storm’s face was carved from stone. “This isn’t just a voyeur ring. I heard one guy talking. Darren gave him a pickup receipt. Said his purchase would be ready tomorrow.”
“Photos don’t need pickup dates,” Maverick muttered.
“No, they don’t,” I growled.
“Whatever’s in the basement,” Racer added. “It’s got to be there. And it’s something much damn worse.”
No one disagreed.
Maverick’s jaw clenched. “Let’s get this shit show on the road.”
“Time to go loud?” Wrecker asked.
“No,” I disagreed. “Time to go fucking deadly.”
We breached the mansion through the front, and I was first through the door—silent, lethal, purposeful. The scent of old money hit me the second I crossed the threshold.
The entryway glittered with opulence—crystal chandeliers and marble floors.
A grand staircase rose through the center.
Music played somewhere—jazzy and hollow, trying too hard to feel expensive.
It was paired with the low murmur of conversation and clinking glasses.
A party, but not the kind that deserved to end with dessert.
“Can’t see him on camera this second,” Deviant said over the comms. “But he was in the kitchen five minutes ago and hasn’t popped up on any other camera since.”
We moved like a unit. Maverick swept left. Wrecker peeled right. Storm and I made a beeline for the kitchen.
I stalked down the hall with a predator’s calm, the weight of my knife and Glock as natural as the leather cut on my back. Suddenly, a man stepped out of a room and turned our way.
There he was. Darren. The vile excuse for a human.
Before he realized what was happening, Storm quickly stalked over and pressed his gun firmly to the bastard’s temple. I followed more slowly, my boots silent on the tile, and my rage coiled tight.
“Move,” I snarled at the little shit.
Storm shoved his gun harder into Darren’s head and herded him toward the kitchen.
Darren’s eyes were wide, and my nostrils flared at the smell of the anxiety bleeding off him.
The kitchen was all sleek steel and gleaming granite. Cold. Sterile.
Thanks to the blueprints of the mansion Deviant had acquired, we went straight to a hidden set of doors behind a stainless steel cabinet. They led to a small corridor, and the elevator was recessed in marble at the end of it.
A sleek keypad blinked beside it, next to a biotech scanner.
“Retinal scanner,” I told Storm as I examined the device.
Darren froze and stammered, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
Storm leaned in, breath hot on the back of his neck. “Scan your damn eye. Or I’ll take it out of your skull.”
Darren whimpered and pressed his face to the scanner. The panel beeped, turning green. Then he just stood there as if he was waiting for instruction.
“Now the code,” I said, low and deadly.
“No,” Darren spat. “I’m not?—”
“Eight. Three. Seven. Four. Two,” a calm female voice interrupted.
All heads snapped toward the entrance to the hall.
A woman stood in the archway in a red dress cut down to her navel. Flawless makeup. Glittering jewels. Stilettos. But her face was like marble. Her eyes…they were dead. Except when she looked at Darren. Then loathing practically lit her up from the inside.
“He gave it to me once. Thought it made him important,” she said coolly. Then she looked at Storm. “Don’t let him die quickly and make it damn painful.”
Before anyone could respond, she vanished.
Storm shoved Darren against the wall. “You heard the lady.”
His face twisted with anger, Darren punched in the code and the elevator doors opened.
Maverick and Wrecker appeared then, both wearing furious expressions, their hands gripped tightly around their Glocks.
Maverick motioned to Storm. “You stay up here. We’ll see what’s on the other side.”
Wrecker cracked his knuckles. “About time.”
I stepped in last, and the door closed as a soft mechanical hum began. As we descended, the air turned colder. When the doors opened, a hallway unfurled in front of us. Pale concrete under harsh fluorescents. Long, curved, and lined with identical black, narrow doors. A chill crawled down my spine.
“What the hell is this,” Maverick muttered, jaw tight.
“Deviant,” I said into my comm. “You seeing this?”
Nothing. Just static.
“We’re on our own,” Maverick said grimly, tapping his earpiece. “Comms are jammed.”
Taking a step closer to the nearest door, I tried the handle, but it was locked. They all were.
Wrecker swore under his breath as we followed the curve. “There’s something in the middle that these all open up to. Has to be.”
I didn’t say anything. I just kept moving, tugging every handle until one of them finally gave way.
Glancing over at Wrecker, I jerked my head toward the door, and he nodded.
Maverick and I stepped back and waited, guns at the ready. Wrecker yanked the door open, and I went in first, silent and alert.