Page 81 of Kingpin's Secret Baby

Now.

I take a slow, steady breath, then shift my weight, pressing my shoulder against the trunk’s lid. A quiet pop, then the faintest creak as it lifts.

Arthur slides out of the trunk first, his movements smooth and deliberate as he hits the ground with barely a sound. I follow closely behind, making sure my boots land just as softly. Across from me, Roger emerges from the other car, moving silently.

We exchange a glance. No words needed.

Then, keeping low, we slip into the shadows and make our way inside.

The halls are dark, the silence thick. Every breath I take is measured, every step calculated. The old wood floors creak if you step in the wrong place, but I’ve spent my whole damn life learning how to move where I shouldn’t be.

Roger and Arthur move just behind me, their footsteps as light as mine. We grew up together, learned how to move unseen in the orphanage—sneaking food, dodging fights, slipping past curfews. We were hungry kids in a world that didn’t give a damn about us. Now, we’re dangerous men in a house that doesn’t know we’re here.

At the end of the hall, I pause, scanning the shadows. Then I glance at Roger, catching his eye in the dark. I make a quick hand sign—check left.He nods, peeling away silently. I motion to Arthur next—right.He disappears into the opposite hall.

I press forward, sticking to the main corridor. Harold wouldn’t keep a kid with his men—too risky. She’s close. I just have to find her before someone else does.

A faint sound—soft, hiccuping breaths.

I freeze. My pulse hammers. Then I move toward the noise, slipping into the shadows.

The glow of a phone screen flickers against the hallway’s dim light, casting the guard’s face in an eerie blue. He’s slouched against the doorframe, thumbs tapping idly at the screen, oblivious to the danger lurking just beyond the shadows.

Rookie mistake.

I press my back against the wall, motioning to Roger and Arthur to hold back. The bastard’s eyes are locked on whatever mindless shit he’s scrolling through, pupils shrunk to pinpricks from the screen’s glare. He won’t see a damn thing in the dark beyond it—not until it’s too late.

Silent as death, I move.

He barely gets a breath in before my arm hooks around his throat, yanking him back into the shadows. He sputters, phone slipping from his grip, but I clamp down hard, cutting off both air and sound. His body thrashes for a second, then slackens. Out cold.

I lower him to the ground and step over him, my pulse steady. I nod to Roger and Arthur.

“Let’s move.”

Roger and Arthur take their positions outside the door, their bodies blending into the shadows. I don’t wait. Easing the handle down, I slip inside, shutting the door without a sound.

The room is too big, too cold. Ornate furniture looms in the dim light, but my focus sharpens on the bed in the center—too large for the tiny form curled up beneath the blankets.

My breath hitches.

She’s small, barely taking up a fraction of the mattress. Tear tracks glisten on her cheeks, her lips parted around little hiccuping breaths, the kind that only come after crying too hard for too long. Even in sleep, her tiny fists clutch at the blanket like she’s holding onto it for comfort.

But it’s the hair that stops me cold. A mess of soft, untamed waves.

Bright.

Fiery.

Red.

Just like?—

Chapter 40

Piers

Itake a slow breath, forcing my hands steady as I crouch beside the bed. She’s so small, barely a bump beneath the blankets, and the last thing I want to do is startle her. If she screams, this whole mission is over before it even starts.

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