Peak
Every instinct he possessed screamed at him not to touch the door. They had found fresh footprints, an electronic keypad, and a steel security door hidden beneath the Grave Prowlers' property. Nothing about it made sense.
She nodded. "I'd say thirty minutes."
"You can tell that?" he asked.
"The mud hasn't started drying around the edges,” she said.
He smirked. "You notice everything."
"I have to,” she insisted.
"Yeah." He understood that better than most, because he had learned to do the same thing.
Peak studied the keypad. "There’s no manufacturer's logo."
Maeve stepped beside him. "They sanded it off."
He looked at her. "You sure?"
She pointed to faint circular scratches around the center of the metal plate.
"See those?" He did now. "They removed identifying marks.
It was professionally done." Everything seemed to come back to professionals.
Peak was starting to hate professionals because they planned for every worst-case scenario.
He preferred criminals who acted on emotion because emotion created mistakes, and professionals created body counts.
"What do you think?" Maeve asked.
Peak slowly holstered his pistol. "I think opening this door could get us both killed."
She folded her arms over her chest. "So we're leaving?"
He looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "No."
The corner of her mouth lifted. "I didn't think so."
Peak pulled his laptop from his backpack. "You brought your computer?"
"I bring it everywhere,” he said.
"You were escaping a firefight,” she said.
"I still brought it."
She laughed softly. "I like you."
He looked up from the screen. "That's probably your first mistake."
"It won't be my last." For some reason, that made him smile.
He plugged a compact cable into one side of the laptop. Maeve recognized it immediately. "You carry bypass hardware, too?"
"I told Captain I wasn't the club's hacker,” he said. “But he can be persuasive.”
She raised an eyebrow. "You neglected to mention you were prepared to be one if he needed you to be, though."
"I like to keep my options open," he said.
"I’m betting that you like gadgets, too,” she said.
"I love gadgets." Peak removed the keypad cover with practiced hands and Maeve watched quietly.
"You've done this before,” she said.
He kept working. "Break into electronic doors?" She nodded. "Thousands of times,” he joked.
She frowned. “So, your resume is much larger than just repairing motorcycles and possibly being the Grave Prowler’s hacker.”
He shrugged. "Occasionally, I secure facilities for government contracts.” Peak glanced at her.
"You signed NDAs too?" she asked.
"I've signed enough of those to wallpaper a house,” he said, causing her to giggle.
The keypad wiring looked clean—too clean. Peak frowned. "What’s wrong?” Maeve whispered.
"There aren’t any alarm wires,” he said.
She leaned closer. "That’s impossible."
"Exactly." He traced another bundle. “It has power, a lock, and an access pad, but that’s about it.”
Maeve's expression changed. "Oh,” she breathed.
"What are you thinking?" Peak asked.
"They aren't worried about someone opening the door." Peak looked at her. "They're worried about someone closing it."
His stomach tightened. "What does that mean?"
She swallowed. "It locks from the outside."
Peak slowly stood. "You think—”
She nodded toward the heavy steel door. "Something is being kept behind that door.
" A chill crawled down his spine. His flashlight swept across the chamber again, and he found something he'd overlooked—fresh scrape marks across the concrete floor.
They were wide and parallel, like something heavy had been rolled repeatedly over the floor.
He followed the marks and saw that they ended at the steel door.
Peak whispered, "Container marks."
Maeve nodded. "They're moving cargo underground."
"Why do you think they are doing that?" he asked.
"So satellites don't see what they are doing,” she said.
Peak stared at her. "You've thought about this."
"I've chased them for eighteen months." She paused. "I stopped thinking like myself a long time ago."
"How do you think now?" he asked.
She looked directly at him. "Like them." The way she answered him made a shiver run down his spine.
Her answer bothered him, not because it wasn't true, but because it probably was.
He knew that when you spent a year and a half studying monsters, eventually, you start understanding how monsters think.
Peak plugged the bypass cable into the control panel, and the laptop screen flickered.
ACCESS DENIED
He wasn't surprised. He tried again using a different protocol, and still got nothing. His third attempt yielded nothing once more.
Maeve watched the code scrolling across the screen. Then quietly said, "You're brute-forcing it."
Peak looked up. "So what?" She was right, but he was feeling defensive. He usually didn’t have someone looking over his shoulder, telling him what to do.
"Stop doing that,” she whispered. He shot her a look, and she sighed. "They'll log failed attempts."
His fingers froze. "You know this system?"
"No, but I know the people who installed it." She knelt beside him. "Move." He hesitated. "Peak." She held out her hand. "Trust me." For reasons he couldn't explain, he slid the laptop toward her.
Her fingers danced across the keyboard, not fast but precise. Every command was deliberate. She wasn't trying passwords, and she wasn't attacking the system—she was talking to it.
Peak leaned closer. "What are you doing?"
"I’m listening,” she said.
"Listening for what?" he asked.
"Every system tells you what it expects." He watched her reroute communications through an offline diagnostic channel. There were no alerts, no failed login attempts, and no security warnings—just silence, and then a blinking cursor.
Peak's eyebrows shot up. "No way."
Maeve smiled without looking up. "They left maintenance mode enabled."
"They—” He laughed quietly. “They actually did."
She shrugged. "Professionals make mistakes too." The lock emitted a soft metallic click, and Peak stared at the now-green indicator light.
"You just bypassed military-grade security in under two minutes." He was pretty damn impressed by her.
Maeve closed the laptop. "No." She stood. "I bypassed lazy programmers—there’s a difference.”
Peak couldn't stop staring at her. She'd been impressive before, but now, she was terrifyingly sexy. "If Captain sees that you can do that, he’ll never let you leave." She reached for the door handle, and Peak caught her wrist. "Wait."
She looked at him. "Why?" He listened and heard nothing—no footsteps or voices. There was only silence, making his instincts scream at him.
He slowly released her wrist. "Something's wrong."
Maeve nodded. "I know."
"How?" he asked. She pointed toward the bottom of the steel door. A thin line of light shone beneath it—yellow, but not fluorescent.
Peak frowned. "You think it might be a generator?"
"No." She swallowed. "I smell—” Her voice faded, and Peak inhaled deeply. At first, all he could smell was damp earth, rust, and a hint of oil. But then, he smelled something sickeningly sweet. He knew the smell. Hell, every biker did. It was fresh gasoline.
Maeve's eyes widened. "They're going to burn it down."
Peak's pulse slammed into overdrive. "Burn what down?"
She looked him dead in the eye. "Whatever's behind this door." As if answering her, a muffled explosion echoed from somewhere beyond the steel barrier, followed immediately by desperate pounding and the unmistakable sound of someone screaming for help.
The scream ripped through the steel door. It wasn't the panicked yell of someone caught in an explosion. It was raw and desperate. It was the kind of scream a person made when they believed no one was coming to help them.
Peak didn't think; he just reacted. “Get back,” he ordered. Maeve took two quick steps away as he drove the heel of his boot into the heavy steel door. The frame shuddered, but it didn't budge.
"Damn it,” he growled as he slammed into it again with his shoulder. It still didn’t move.
"It's reinforced," Maeve shouted.
"No kidding." Another scream echoed from the other side, followed by a woman's voice.
"Please!" she shouted.
The word was muffled by concrete and steel, but unmistakable. Peak's blood turned to ice, and he looked at Maeve. Her face had gone ghost white. "They're alive back there."
She nodded. "I told you that something was wrong."
Peak crouched beside the electronic lock again. "I need thirty seconds."
Maeve was already kneeling beside the keypad.
"You don't have thirty seconds," she said.
She yanked the cover completely free, exposing the wiring. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Skipping the lock,” she said.
"Can you do that?" he asked.
"I don't know, but I have to try,” she said. She pulled another tool from her boot, and Peak blinked at her.
"Seriously?" he grumbled.
She didn't even look up from what she was doing. "I told you. I carry lots of things." Despite everything, he almost laughed.
The smell of gasoline grew stronger. Somewhere beyond the door, something ignited. Heat rolled through the narrow gap beneath the steel, and Peak's pulse hammered. "They're burning evidence."
Maeve shook her head violently. "No, they're burning witnesses."
“Fuck,” Peak spat. He knew that she was right, and that there was nothing more that they could do for the people trapped on the other side of that door. But Maeve seemed determined to try.
She twisted two wires together, and nothing happened. She quickly worked on another pair of wires, and still, nothing happened. Peak glanced down the tunnel. His instincts screamed that they weren't alone anymore.
He slowly drew his pistol. "You hear that?"
Maeve froze. "What?" He held up one finger, silencing her, and that’s when he heard footsteps. They weren’t running, but walking slowly as they went deeper inside the tunnel behind them.
Peak killed the flashlight, allowing darkness to swallow everything.
The footsteps continued, and he knew that there were at least two people, maybe more.
"They found us," Maeve whispered.
Peak eased in front of her. "Stay behind me."
"I can shoot a gun if you need me to,” she offered.
"I don't doubt it,” he said. "But if bullets start flying—” He glanced back at her. "I'm the bigger target."
The footsteps stopped, and he knew that someone was standing less than twenty feet away.
A flashlight clicked on and a powerful white beam sliced through the darkness.
Peak ducked behind an old crate, pulling Maeve down beside him.
The beam swept across the chamber, across the steel door, and the old shelving.
It stopped when whoever it was saw the open keypad.
A man's voice echoed through the tunnel. "They've been here." Peak could tell that it wasn’t anyone from the Iron Serpents. The voice lacked the roughness of a biker. It was too calm and professional. He was guessing that the guy was military.
Another voice answered. "They couldn't have gotten inside."
Peak slowly raised his pistol, and Maeve touched his arm. She leaned close enough for him to feel her breath. "There are at least four of them."
"How do you know?" he breathed.
"The spacing of their shadows." She pointed toward the shadows on the wall. "They're moving as a stack." Peak listened harder, and he knew that she was right. He heard four sets of boots, and each was maintaining perfect distance. They were professionally clearing the room.
The first man stepped into the chamber wearing black tactical gear and a helmet, and had his night vision goggles flipped up.
He carried a suppressed rifle and wore no club colors or identifying patches.
The second man followed, and then a third.
Each man was covering a different angle.
Peak had seen enough training videos over the years to know exactly what they were looking at.
These weren't hired muscle. These men were former special operations.
Which meant missing their shots wasn't an option.
Maeve's hand slid into her jacket, and Peak caught her wrist. "What?" She slowly opened her hand, and a small cylindrical object rested in her palm.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"Flashbang,” she said.
He stared. "You've got a flashbang in your pocket?"
"I forgot about it,” she said.
"You forgot you kept one in your pocket?” he asked.
"I've had a stressful day." Peak couldn't help it. He smiled, and she looked offended.
"Why are you laughing at me?” she asked.
"You keep pulling things out of your clothes."
"I have good pockets,” she defended.
"You've got a Mary Poppins jacket."
She smiled. "For the record, I've heard that before."
The lead operator stopped near the steel door and crouched beside the keypad. "They bypassed maintenance mode."
Peak's smile disappeared, and he looked at Maeve. "They know."
She nodded. "They know someone with technical training was here."
The operator stood. "Split up and find them.
" The four-man team immediately separated.
One headed left, one right, one stayed near the door, and the last started walking directly toward Peak and Maeve's hiding place. Peak checked his magazine; he had twelve rounds, but that wasn’t going to be enough. Not against four trained operators.
Maeve leaned close. "Wait."
"For what?" he asked.
"Let him take three more steps,” she said. He trusted her and watched as the operator advanced. Maeve silently pulled the pin on the flashbang, and Peak's eyes widened.
"You said wait,” he said.
"I changed my mind.” She tossed it, and the cylinder landed perfectly between the four operators.
One of them shouted, "Flash!" But it was too late.
The underground chamber erupted in blinding white light and a deafening concussion.
The operators staggered, but Peak was already moving.
He exploded from cover, driving his shoulder into the nearest man before the ringing in the tunnel had even faded.
The operator hit the ground hard, his suppressed rifle skidding across the concrete.
Peak grabbed it, liking how the odds were changing in his favor.
For the first time since this nightmare had begun, the hunters had just become the hunted.