Chapter 26
HELENA
Ihave never been one to be jealous, but Theo Lancaster could go sit on a hot fucking poker and rotate. The relief I felt from the fact her plan had worked magnificently was only marred by the knowledge that I would be quite happy if she walked into traffic.
Vanguard had rolled on his back the second the ransom video had hit mainstream media. Octavia’s face was plastered everywhere I turned as I walked through downtown London, heading for the pin Erryn had just forwarded me from Theo’s team.
Something about it didn’t sit right. Vanguard had insisted on having eyes on his daughter while the software was removed from the system, which, on the surface, made perfect sense.
Most of the work could be handled remotely, but one part of the process required physical access to the server.
The technician would be allowed to confirm Octavia was alive, then be escorted to complete the final manual extraction.
“Alright, pretty girl.” I ignored the creep who had just spotted me, checking the pin again as Erryn’s location marker blinked quietly on my screen.
The area was quiet, one of those forgotten pockets of London that looked like it had been abandoned by the modern world in the eighties and simply left to rot.
“Oi,” the guy pushed, following me. “You deaf or somethin’?”
I was still two blocks away from what looked like the underpass I was headed for, though I had plenty of time to make it and find a position out of the way, as I wasn’t sure if Theo would recognize me if she saw me in passing.
I certainly didn’t have time for irritating men who thought they stood a chance in hell.
“Oi, come ‘ere a sec. Bet you sound real pretty when you scream.”
I stopped, turning to give the guy a blank look.
He grinned, showing teeth, and it made me want to hurl my breakfast up on his feet. I was so gay. So very gay.
“Oh yeah?” he called. “Wanna taste?”
Ew. I dropped into an ape walk, scuttling toward him while barking like a rabid dog.
“Oi, what the fuck?!” He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet.
I lunged, snapping my teeth at him, still ape walking at speed while throwing in more barks for good measure.
“Fuckin’ hell—what the fuck is wrong with you?!” He spun on his heel and fled, sprinting down the street like the devil himself had just tapped him on the shoulder.
I straightened, cackling and brushing my hands off on my jeans as I watched him disappear around the corner. “Pussy,” I chuckled, turning back toward the underpass and setting off at a jog.
I was in place long before the cars arrived.
Two hundred meters back sat a crumbling three-story apartment block that looked like it had given up sometime around the Thatcher years.
The windows were cracked, the brickwork blackened with age and pollution, but the top floor still had electricity and—more importantly—a clear view of the entire lot beneath the motorway.
The old Italian couple who owned the place were more than happy to let me commandeer their lounge once I’d slipped a folded note into the old man’s hand.
I sat comfortably in a faded armchair beside the window, as invited by the sweet old woman.
She had patted at my hair like a proud Nonna as she fussed around me, the curtains pulled back just enough to give me a clean sightline to the parking lot.
Theo’s Jeep was already visible through the gap between two pillars, a dark shape against the stained concrete, though I couldn’t see any movement from inside the car.
The old woman shuffled back into the room behind me, her slippers whispering against the worn carpet as she held out a small plate.
“Biscotto?”
I took one with a grateful nod. “Grazie.”*
The old woman hovered for a moment, peering out the window past me with open curiosity before looking back down at the biscuit in my hand. “Vuoi del latte, cara?”*
I smiled up at her.
“No, grazie.”
She gave a satisfied nod and shuffled back out of the room while I took another bite of the Italian cookie and turned my attention back to the scene outside.
Right on cue, a sleek grey car rolled into the lot.
I leaned forward slightly, brushing a crumb from my fingers as I watched Theo Lancaster step out of her Jeep to greet them. Even from this distance I recognized the way she moved, and I made a face, mocking her under my breath.
Three men got out of the grey vehicle. Two I recognized as ours, the third looked like he was about to faint. Vanguard’s technician, I guessed.
I took another bite, chewing thoughtfully as the group began to converge near Theo’s Jeep.
“This should be interesting,” I murmured.
Theo’s head suddenly swung toward the man, then the world exploded.
The walls of the apartment shook, dust raining down from the force of the detonation, the windows rattling in their frames.
The old woman was standing in dazed shock until her husband grabbed her and threw himself over his wife in a belated attempt to protect her as they struggled to understand what had happened. I raced past them, only slowing long enough to check they were uninjured.
I hit the stairs two at a time, flying down them, horns and screaming getting louder the closer I got to ground level. I burst through the ground-floor doors and sprinted toward the scene, people already beginning to mill around and stare.
The Jeep—the part that wasn’t crushed—was on fire.
I swore, throwing up my arms to shield my face as heat rolled off it in suffocating waves. Flames were already chewing through the interior, thick black smoke pouring upward toward the shattered span of the bridge above.
There was no sign of Theo.
No sign of anyone who had been standing near that vehicle thirty seconds ago.
The parking lot had become a god-damned warzone.
Chunks of concrete the size of cars were scattered across the asphalt where part of the bridge had collapsed, twisted metal jutting out of the rubble like broken bones.
Vehicles that had been crossing above now lay crumpled beneath the wreckage, horns blaring in long, hysterical screams while civilians staggered through the dust trying to understand what had just happened.
Someone was shouting for help.
Another was screaming.
I spun slowly, scanning the chaos, trying to pick out shapes through the drifting grey haze.
Movement flickered to my left.
One of the vagrants stumbled past me, clutching his head, blood running down his arm as he limped away from the blast site. Others were beginning to crawl out from beneath the bridge supports, their earlier curiosity replaced by raw panic as the reality of the collapse sank in.
My eyes snapped back to the burning Jeep.
Fuck. Octavia had been inside.
Glass exploded from the passenger side as something ignited in the interior, the sudden flare of heat forcing me back a step.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” I breathed, running my fingers into my hair and staring. This wasn’t a ransom exchange; it was a fucking execution. Whoever planned it had just dropped half a motorway bridge on their own operation to make sure it succeeded.
I pulled my phone and hit Erryn’s contact.
“Are you okay?” she demanded.
“Yes,” I said. “I was away from the blast, but I haven’t got eyes on Lancaster.”
“She’s out,” Erryn said, and I could hear the panic start to subside from her voice. “Lena, are you hurt?”
“No, I promise,” I said. “But Lox…Octavia. I’m looking at the car now. She didn’t get out.”
“I know,” Erryn said. “Just get out of there.”
I turned and ran.