Page 37 of Hunter's Game
“Movement at the service entrance,” one of the patches reported. “Four men, tactical gear under suit jackets.”
“Make that eight,” another voice cut in. “More coming in through the loading dock. These guys aren’t museum staff.”
Eden felt the shift in the air—the subtle tension that preceded violence. Around her, the party continued. Champagne flowed, cameras flashed, and Damascus steel daggers worth millions sat in climate-controlled cases, unaware they were about to become the catalyst for war.
“Katherine’s starting her speech early.” Hunter’s warning carried over the comm. “Eden, you’re up.”
She moved through the crowd with practiced ease, her fingers brushing the gun strapped to her thigh. The plan was simple: get Katherine away from Romano, secure the evidence she’d gathered,and expose the entire operation before anyone realized what was happening.
Simple. Right.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” Katherine Chen’s voice carried clearly through the gallery. She stood on a small stage, elegant in black silk that made her look more like a warrior queen than a museum curator. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sophisticated twist that emphasized her striking bone structure, while her posture—perfectly balanced and alert despite appearing relaxed—suggested years of specialized training.
When she gestured toward the artifacts, Eden noticed the controlled precision in her movements, nothing wasted or theatrical, just pure efficiency disguised as academic enthusiasm. “Welcome to the Institute’s newest exhibition: “Lost Treasures of the Ancient World.”
Eden positioned herself near the back of the crowd, watching Romano watch his wife. He stood in the front row, radiating cultured charm, but Eden saw the predator beneath the designer suit. His lean frame was wrapped in a tuxedo that likely cost more than most people’s monthly salary, the fabric moving with him as if custom-woven for his body. The silver at his temples provided distinguished contrast to his olive complexion, while his manicured hands—hands that had ordered countless deaths without ever getting blood on them—rested casually in his pockets.
His security teams were moving into position, cutting off exits.
“Every piece in this collection tells a story,” Katherine continued, her voice steady despite the tension Eden could see in her shoulders. “Stories of conquest and empire, of beauty and destruction. But some stories remain hidden, waiting to be told...”
The lights went out.
Chaos erupted immediately. Security teams moved toward the stage as guests panicked in the darkness. Eden was already moving, using the confusion to close the distance to Katherine.
“Now would be good,” she murmured into her comm.
The emergency lights kicked on, bathing everything in red. And that’s when the real show began.
The display cases throughout the gallery began opening, their supposedly unbreakable security systems deactivated by Eden’s viruses. Alarms blared as priceless artifacts became suspiciously accessible.
“Get her out of here!” Romano’s voice carried over the chaos as his men surrounded Katherine.
“Sir!” One of his security teams rushed forward. “We have armed intruders in the east wing. Looks like Devil’s Mark patches.”
Eden smiled in the darkness. Right on schedule.
“Lock this place down,” Romano ordered. “No one leaves until—”
The explosion cut him off.
It wasn’t a big blast—just enough to breach the wall between the new wing and the museum’s secure storage area. But it was exactly what they needed.
“Hands off my wife, asshole.” The new voice carried clearly through the smoke.
Eden felt her blood run cold. That wasn’t part of the plan.
Through the chaos, she saw him—Merrick Mitchell, very much alive and looking pissed as hell. His imposing frame dominated the space he’d claimed, his weathered face set in lines of cold fury.
The emergency lighting caught the silver in his beard and the hardness in his eyes—eyes the exact shade of green as Eden’s own, though his had never shown anything but calculation where hers occasionally revealed compassion.
Despite the blood spattered across his designer suit, he moved with the fluid confidence of someone accustomed to violence and its aftermath.
“Daddy’s home.” Eden’s whisper carried over the comm. “Hunter...”
“I see him.” His voice was tight. “Stick to the plan. Get Katherine clear.”
But the plan was already unraveling. Romano’s men were engaging the Devil’s Mark crew while actual museum security tried to protect theartifacts. Guests screamed and ran for exits that were rapidly being blocked off.
