Chapter Thirty-Four – We Catch the Spider
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
We Catch the Spider
N orth Harrison is the kind of industrial cut-through even GPS forgets. One cracked road, faded yellow lines, chain-link fences curling in on themselves like dead vines. No storefronts and no pedestrians.
And there it is. The warehouse.
Three stories of concrete and black mirrored windows with no name and no logo.
The parking lot is empty except for one gray sedan parked against the loading dock. Cheap model, nothing like the fancy ones Aranya had in his garage. The same kind of cars that were parked on our street watching our every move — Jo’s every move. I bet this one’s plate is cloned too.
We kill the engines and step out.
Shane breathes in first, his nostrils flaring. “A human inside. Male. He’s here.”
Both me and Jay sniff the air too. The woman didn’t lie; he’s alone. I’m surprised by his confidence. He’s bold, I’ll give him that, but this is a fucking dumb move for a man who’s been smart for so many years.
He truly thought he would take Jo and we wouldn’t come for him. That we would sit peacefully and wait for the legal procedures.
Jay tilts his head, listening. Then I hear it too: classical music, faintly bleeding through the walls.
So he’s relaxed, playing music while he packs.
He must think he’s untouchable here, probably because this building has stayed invisible this whole time.
We had an entire federal task force on him, and this address never came up.
The FBI tore through his companies, his charities, and still missed this place.
We move silently and fast through the side entrance, rifles up.
The door is reinforced steel. There's a digital panel flush against the frame: magnetic lock, no keypad.
Jay runs his hand along the edge, already shaking his head. “Too clean. No way to pop it without tools.”
I nod once. “Then we break it.”
Shane steps forward, but before he kicks, we exchange a look. We know the moment he strikes, the fucker inside is going to know something’s wrong, so we have to move fast enough to keep him from calling for help.
Shane kicks it three times in rapid succession .
First, the metal creaks. The second cracks the frame. Third, the lock gives and the door flings inward with a hollow boom that echoes down the corridor like a warning shot.
We move fast in tight formation. The office is straight ahead: a sealed room built into the warehouse’s gut, all black-tinted glass from the outside, glowing soft and sterile from within. The glass door is ajar.
We bolt, getting inside in a second, guns locked on the figure at the far end of the office.
He’s dressed too clean, wearing a fitted button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow. There’s a duffel open on the desk beside him, half-packed with laptops and flash drives.
He turns when the door slams, and I can see the calm on his face, just a flicker of surprise under all that arrogance.
He’s not afraid. All this time he has never really been cornered.
The police could never get him. The law could never touch him.
Every time it came close, he buried it in paperwork, bureaucracy, money, influence.
He knows how to make the law fold. He knows the system bends if you push it with enough power.
It takes him a second to realize that this time he’s wrong.
His eyes scan the blood smeared on our clothes and our skin, then stop on our faces.
I watch the calm crack as it sinks in. This isn’t a raid.
This isn’t a cage he can buy his way out of.
We don’t want a confession for court. We’re not interested in a warrant or a plea deal.
Nothing he built to protect himself means anything to us, and because of that, there’s no way out for him.
I take a step closer and look him in the eye. This is the man who took Jo from me. The man who took my mother.
I’ve killed people before. Aegis units don’t get traffic stops or noise complaints. Most of the time we’re sent where violence is already happening, where someone’s going to die, one way or another. I don’t even know my body count anymore, but it was always duty, never pleasure.
This is different. This is the first time in my life that I feel the bloodlust, hot and sharp. But I can’t kill him. We need information, so we need him breathing.
I move before he can speak. One step. Two. He starts to raise a hand, maybe to talk, maybe to beg, but I grab his wrist and slam it down on the desk.
He screams and stumbles back a step, but Jay’s already behind him, driving him forward again and shoving him into the chair.
I trap his hand under mine. His face is scared now, his eyes frantic from each one of us to another.
“You want me to break fingers or knuckles?” I ask.
His mouth opens and closes.
I curl my fingers around his index and bend until I feel the snap. He screams, high and wet, his shoes scraping the floor, trying to twist, but Shane’s locking his shoulders down.
“Already chose for you,” I say. “So now you listen.”
Jay crouches beside him, sets one of the stolen rifles down, slow and casual. “Here’s how this works,” he says, like he’s explaining a menu. “You took something from us, and if you want to keep breathing, you’re going to give it back.”
Aranya’s eyes are glued to his hand, still trapped under mine. His breathing is fast, a small wince with every inhale.
“Our nyra,” I growl. “Where is she?”
“I—I don’t—” His voice cuts out when I take the middle finger in my hands and press until I hear the bone crushing.
His eyes go wild as he screams, drops of sweat pouring from his pale skin, already turning a little green. This piece of shit isn’t good with pain. Only two fingers and he’s ready to pass out.
My voice is even lower. “I’ll ask again, and if you don’t give me a direct answer, this time, I will slip my index finger inside your eye socket, and I will pull your eye out.” I stare into his eyes so he knows I’m not lying. “Where. Is. She.”
“Bushkill,” he pants.
It makes sense. Bushkill is a small, wooded area, quiet and remote. Far enough to hide someone with no one asking questions.
“Is she alive?” Shane asks.
“Yes! Just sedated!”
My hand moves to his pinky. He flinches, sweat dripping off his nose.
“What’s in Bushkill?” I ask.
“A house. She’s waiting there for her buyer. That’s it. Please.”
I feel the tremor under my ribs and my throat vibrating with a growl, the same low sound coming from Jay and Shane.
I can’t kill him.
I can’t kill him.
I can’t kill the man who sold my mate.
His breathing is shallow from the pain. His hand already looks like a balloon, swollen and red.
“When?” Jay snarls at him.
“Tonight. Anytime now.”
Jay hisses through his teeth.
We look at each other. We can’t go after her now; it’d be useless. She won’t be there by the time we reach Pennsylvania.
Jay looks at us and gives a tense nod, letting us know that he’s got a plan. Shane and I nod back; whatever it is, we trust him.
“This is what you’re going to do,” Jay says, the rage in his voice barely contained.
“You’re going to call them. No code. No signal.
Tell them the deal’s off, that you’ve got a new buyer.
An old, good friend of yours, someone who wants her bad enough to pay double.
But she needs to be brought here to him now. ”
Aranya’s eyes go even wider. “They won’t believe me,” he says, shaking his head over and over.
“Well,” I say quietly, “you’d better take a deep breath and make it convincing. She’s your life insurance now. If she’s not here in two hours, you’re dead. And I promise you it won’t be fast or clean.”
He swallows. “There’s a phone in the lower drawer,” he says.
Jay grabs it and flips it open. It’s a basic burner.
“The number,” he says.
Jay dials as Aranya dictates it, then puts it on speaker. The classical music still drifts in the background, but I leave it. Maybe they know Aranya listens to this shit. Let it sound normal.
The line clicks. Once. Twice. Then connects.
A man answers, his voice low, tired and distracted. “Talk.”
Aranya speaks, eyes still wide, locked on Jay. His voice is a little shaken, but subtly. “Change of plan. I got a new offer for the nyra. Twice the price.”
Silence.
Then: “Who?”
Jay’s finger hovers near the mute button, just in case, but Aranya seems more composed now.
“An old friend,” he says. “But he wants to see her before closing the deal. He’s coming to my office.”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“You sure?” the man asks, voice louder now. “Gussy must be arriving at the house to collect her. You sure you want to blow a deal with him?”
My hand tightens on the back of the chair.
Aranya’s jaw twitches. “I’ll deal with Gussy. I’ll find him another nyra,” he says. “This buyer’s a good friend, and willing to pay the right price.”
Another pause.
Then the voice shifts, more annoyed. “It’s on you, Miles. I’ll make sure Gussy knows you requested the nyra personally. And I want my share in my account tonight.”
“The client will wait two hours maximum,” Aranya presses.
“She’ll be there,” the man answers, and the line goes dead.
Shane steps out of the office without a word. We watch him through the tinted glass as he crosses to the far wall of the warehouse. He rifles through a utility shelf, kicks open a steel cabinet, and starts digging inside.
I pull out my phone and start typing.
Need help. We have Aranya. Jo’s being brought here. Two hours. Need quiet perimeter.
I attach the warehouse location and hit send .
Five seconds later, the screen lights up. Josh Solomon’s reply: On our way.
I pocket the phone. Now, all we can do is wait. But I’ll put that time to good use.
Shane comes back with zip ties looped around one wrist, duct tape in the other. He tosses them on the desk.