Page 38 of Hawk

“Time to play nice,” Wrecker said from the second van. “Been too long since I busted down a rich prick’s door.”

“Or blew one off the hinges,” Racer added dryly, making Wrecker chuckle.

“Definitely in the mood to drop an entitled bastard on his ass,” Storm drawled.

Maverick snorted. “I’d throw him through a wall.”

“Save the party tricks, boys,” Blade chimed in calmly. “Make sure Ellen walks out first.”

We parked two blocks from the mansion. Far enough to keep off the radar but close enough to move fast. The vans sat in the shadow of a hedge-lined property, engines ticking as they cooled.

My fists clenched as one car after another glided around the circular drive. Sleek limos and polished Town Cars. Men in designer suits stepped out, escorted by muscled bodyguards. Some had women on their arms—gorgeous and glittering as their diamonds caught the porch lights. They were more jewelry than clothing. None of them looked down. None of them knew or cared what they were walking into.

The time passed slowly while tension coiled around my shoulders. Every car that arrived ratcheted the pressure tighter, making my jaw tighten.

When Darren finally stepped out of his black Town Car at eleven sharp, surrounded by other smug bastards with snakeskin shoes and crooked smiles, I stilled. My blood went cold.

“That’s him,” I said flatly. “That’s the sick fuck.”

“Confirmed,” Deviant said in my ear. “Still no sign of Ellen. But the elevator? Guests go down. Most don’t come back up.”

Silence stretched for a beat, then Maverick said, “Send in Storm.”

I jerked my head toward him. “No. I go.”

Maverick didn’t look away from the monitors. “Not a chance. You’ll rip him apart before we know where Ellen is. You want it done clean? Let him ghost it.”

Storm clapped a hand to my shoulder. “You’re better on breach anyway.”

I didn’t like it. But they were right.

Ghost it—yeah. That was what Storm did. He melted into the shadows, silent as sin. And as much as I hated not being the first one through the door, I knew Maverick and Storm were right.

Fifteen minutes later, he came through the comms. “Got her. Second-floor bedroom. Out cold. Lingerie. Lights and a camera. That son of a bitch was photographing her.”

“Get her out,” I growled. “Now.”

Ten minutes later, Storm reappeared from the far side of the house, cutting through shadows while cradling a limp, unconscious Ellen in his arms. She looked fragile and pale, her limbs slack and her breath shallow. Blade opened the van doors and took her gently, checking vitals.

“She’s sedated but stable,” he confirmed. “We should get her to the hospital as soon as we’re home, but she’s not in immediate danger.”

Storm’s face was carved from stone. “This isn’t just a voyeur ring. I heard one guy talking. Darren gave him a pickup receipt. Said his purchase would be ready tomorrow.”

“Photos don’t need pickup dates,” Maverick muttered.

“No, they don’t,” I growled.

“Whatever’s in the basement,” Racer added. “It’s got to be there. And it’s something much damn worse.”

No one disagreed.

Maverick’s jaw clenched. “Let’s get this shit show on the road.”

“Time to go loud?” Wrecker asked.

“No,” I disagreed. “Time to go fucking deadly.”

We breached the mansion through the front, and I was first through the door—silent, lethal, purposeful. The scent of old money hit me the second I crossed the threshold.

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