Chapter 23
The screens lit up with fractured feeds, the coffee stand, pedestrians passing, traffic inching by. Ordinary, forgettable, until the chair scraped.
He saw Oliver slide into frame. Smooth. Smiling. Bold as brass.
Every muscle in his body locked. “No,” he muttered, his breath catching. How the hell had he evaded the cameras and drones?
Clara stiffened, the image flickering through the drone cam as Oliver leaned in, his mouth moving in those calm, perfect lines Watchdog knew too well. And then, Clara’s coffee cup was crushed, liquid spilling down her hand.
Watchdog’s chest squeezed so tight it hurt. He knew that look. He knew it in his marrow. Oliver had a weapon on her. “Bastard,” Watchdog ground out, shoving back from the console. His headset slipped askew. He was on his feet before he even realised it, the van rocking with his movement.
“Watchdog.” Bás’s voice was sharp, commanding from the seat opposite.
“He’s got a gun on her!” His voice broke, harsher than he intended. He reached for the door handle, fingers trembling with rage. “I’m not sitting here while he…”
Bás stood in a heartbeat, blocking him, solid as a wall. “You will sit your arse down.”
The words cracked through the van like a whip.
Watchdog’s breath tore out of him, ragged fury clawing at his skin like fire ants. The urge to tear the door open, to run into the street and put himself between Oliver and Clara, was almost overwhelming. His fists curled until his knuckles blanched.
“Lotus is there,” Bás said, his tone flat, controlled. “You know what she can do. She’ll keep Clara steady. You running in blind will get them all killed.”
The logic pierced through the haze, but only barely. Watchdog’s heart still pounded, his skin damp with sweat. He forced his gaze back to the monitor.
Oliver’s hand rested beneath the table, his body angled just enough. Watchdog didn’t need to see the weapon. Clara’s face said everything.
Oliver leaned closer, his lips brushing Clara’s ear. On the feed, her eyes widened, her fear stark and raw.
A low growl escaped Watchdog’s throat before he could stop it. “If he touches her…”
“Then we’ll end him,” Bás cut in, voice sharp as a blade. “But not here. Not like this. We’re too exposed. Too many civilians. You know the rules. We don’t risk collateral damage. We take him clean, or we don’t take him at all.”
The words slammed through the haze, steadying but brutal.
Watchdog dragged in a breath that scraped his lungs raw. Logic. Discipline. He knew Bás was right. Charging in now would put Clara, Lena, and half the bloody street in danger. He forced his fists to unclench, though his nails had left crescents in his palms.
He dropped back into the chair, breath harsh, his skin still crawling with fury. “I want ears on this,” he snapped, shoving the headset back into place.
Bás gave a curt nod. “Yeah, let’s find out what this little prick is saying.”
Watchdog’s fingers flew across the keyboard, hands trembling but precise, rerouting signals, tapping into Lotus’s comms. A crackle of static, then Lotus’s voice came clear, low and even, as if they were discussing nothing more than the weather.
Clara’s quick, uneven breathing bled through the background.
Watchdog’s pulse spiked again, but this time he gripped the console, grounding himself in the sound of her voice.
“Well, well,” Oliver murmured, tilting his head at Lotus.
“Lotus herself. I’d wondered when they’d send one of you to babysit.
” His eyes glinted with mockery. “Tell me, did Watchdog draw the short straw this time or is he still hiding in some van full of screens?” Oliver’s words slid across the line, smooth as oil.
“Don’t look so shocked, darling. You didn’t think I was blind to who’s been hovering around you, did you?
Bás. Duchess. Titan. All your little shadows.
” His teeth flashed in a smile that never reached his eyes.
“Family. Isn’t that what they call themselves? ”
Lotus’s voice didn’t waver. “Careful, Oliver. Knowing names isn’t the same as holding cards.”
Watchdog’s vision went white at the edges, every muscle in his body tightening. Oliver knew their names. He knew them.
“Stay calm,” Bás ordered quietly, though his own jaw was set tight.
On the feed, Clara sat frozen, her eyes wide, her lips pressed tight. Oliver leaned close, his mouth brushing her ear as though whispering sweet nothings.
Oliver’s voice slithered through the comms, silk over steel.
“You should know better than to try and leave me, darling. We had a deal after all. I keep your parents safe, and you become my blushing bride. I guess if you break the deal…”A pause, deliberate, cruel.
“…then I no longer need to keep your parents safe.”
Clara’s sharp inhale cut across the line, ragged and panicked.
Watchdog’s blood went ice-cold.
His knuckles slammed against the edge of the console before he realised he’d moved. Rage and dread crashed together in his chest, so violent he thought for a moment he might be sick.
This wasn’t just about Clara anymore. Oliver had his claws in her family. Her parents’ safety, her entire world, it was all a chain Oliver yanked at will.
“Breathe,” Bás ordered, his own voice tight but steady. “Stay focused. We get her out clean, then we deal with the rest.”
But Watchdog barely heard him. All he could hear was Clara’s trembling breath, the quiver of fear she hadn’t even tried to hide.
And all he could see was Oliver, smiling that smug, perfect smile, pressing a gun to her ribs while threatening the people she loved.
Watchdog’s whole body vibrated with the need to move. To end him.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, casual as if they were discussing theatre tickets, his hand resting just out of sight beneath the table.
“Here’s how this works,” he said smoothly, his eyes locked on Clara’s pale face.
“You get up, you walk away with me right now, and everything stays…civil. Or my man puts a bullet straight through your little friend’s heart. ”
As if on cue, a thin red dot wavered across Lena’s blouse, settling just over her chest.
Clara choked on a breath. Lena froze, her coffee sloshing as her hands shook.
Inside the van, Watchdog went still. The fury, the panic, the need to tear Oliver apart, all of it dropped away, leaving something colder, sharper. This was his element. The eye of the storm.
“Sniper,” he said flatly, his fingers already flying across the console. “High vantage. Likely riverside. South bank, maybe roofline.”
“Find the fucking nest,” Bás barked, already moving to direct Reaper and Bein.
Watchdog flicked camera feeds across the monitors in rapid succession, calculating angles, sightlines, dwell time. His hands didn’t tremble now. Every motion was precise, every breath controlled.
At the table, Lotus lounged back in her chair, outwardly calm. Her tone didn’t shift an inch as she said, “You’re playing a dangerous game, Oliver. Put the dog on a leash before someone rips your throat out.”
Oliver chuckled, the sound oily, obscene. “Ah, Lotus. Always so sharp. I see the rumours about you are true. Wildcat in the sheets, claws and all.”
Lotus’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me.”
Watchdog’s teeth ground together, but he forced his focus back to the feeds, scanning, calculating. One shadow lingered too long near a broken window two streets over. His gut told him that was it. “Reaper, Bein, two streets south, old tenement block. Third floor, right window. Move, now.”
“Copy,” Reaper’s clipped voice answered.
Oliver turned his attention back to Clara, reaching out to stroke her cheek, slow and possessive. “Be a good girl, darling. Show them how obedient you are.”
Clara’s lips trembled, but her chin lifted. “I’ll go with you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Just let Lena go. Let Lotus go, too.”
Something ugly flashed in Oliver’s smile. “That’s my girl.”
Watchdog’s entire body roared with the need to move, to rip Oliver’s hand away from her face, but his voice remained calm in Lotus’s ear. “Keep him talking. Push him. Africa. Hansen.”
Lotus tilted her head, a predator disguised as prey. “So, tell me, Oliver, how much of this is really yours? Or are you just picking up the scraps Hansen left behind?”
Oliver’s jaw tightened, pride flickering hot. “Hansen was weak. Obsessed with his petty revenge. His death cleared the path for someone stronger. Someone who understands power.”
“And that’s you?” Lotus asked, disdain curling her words.
Oliver’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Who else?”
Watchdog caught movement on one of the feeds, Reaper’s dark shape ghosting up the stairs, rifle ready. His chest tightened as Clara rose on shaky legs, Oliver’s hand guiding her.
“If you follow,” Oliver warned softly, his words meant for the team as much as Clara, “she dies.”
Clara’s steps carried her to the edge of the river path, her spine stiff with terror and resolve.
Then the comms crackled.
“Target sighted,” Reaper whispered.
A muted pop sounded over the line, almost too quiet to be real.
“Sniper down.”
Watchdog exhaled once, sharp and controlled. One threat neutralised. But Clara was still walking away with the devil himself.