Page 47 of Hunter's Game
“Your friend Darkness?” Aleksander’s laugh was cold. “The Blind Jacks president is currently dealing with his own problems. It seems several rival clubs chose this moment to dispute territory. Amazing coincidence, isn’t it?”
Eden’s mind spun through possibilities, calculating odds and angles. The Blind Jacks were tough, but a coordinated attack from multiple clubs would stretch them thin. And Hunter.
“What do you want?” She kept her voice steady even as her hands worked at the restraints.
“Everything.” Aleksander stood, straightening his already-perfect suit. “The backup files. The federal contacts you haven’t exposed yet. The names of every agent who helped you build the case against Viktor. And most importantly...” His smile turned shark-like. “I want the bearer bonds you redirected before my brother’s arrest.”
Now Eden did laugh. “You think I kept them? Those bonds were logged into evidence hours after the museum job.”
“The decoy bonds were logged into evidence,” he corrected. “The real ones—the ones worth nearly a billion dollars—disappeared somewhere between the airport and the federal building. And you’re going to tell me where they are.”
“Or what? You’ll kill me?” She met his eyes steadily. “We’ve already established that’s happening anyway.”
“True.” He nodded to one of his men, who moved to adjust the video feed. Now Hunter appeared on multiple screens, along with Darkness, King, and several other Blind Jacks. All of them with laser sights painting targets on their backs. “But how they die—quick and clean, or slowly and painfully, that’s entirely up to you.”
Eden went very still. In all her planning, all her careful manipulation of players and events, she’d miscalculated one crucial factor: she cared. Despite everything, despite knowing better, she’d let herself care about these outlaws who’d become the closest thing to family she’d had since her mother’s death.
And now that weakness would get them killed.
“Tick tock.” Aleksander checked his watch. “My snipers are very good, but even they get bored eventually. Their fingers might slip—”
“Wait.” The word tasted like defeat. “I’ll tell you where the bonds are.”
“I thought you might.” His smile was triumphant. “And the backup files?”
“Hidden.” She took a careful breath. “I’ll need access to a secure terminal to retrieve them.”
“Do you really expect me to fall for that?” But he looked amused rather than angry. “No, my dear. You’ll give me the location, and my men willretrieve everything. Then, if you’re very lucky, I’ll make your death quick.”
“The files are encrypted.” Not entirely a lie. “Biometric locks, time-sealed protocols. You try to force them and everything gets dumped to every law enforcement agency in the country.”
Aleksander studied her for a long moment, then nodded to one of his men. “Check her for tracking devices, then take her to the secure room. Watch her carefully. She’s more dangerous than she looks.”
“Sir.” The guard moved forward with a handheld scanner. “What about the bikers?”
“Keep them in our sights.” Aleksander headed for the door. “If she tries anything, kill them all. Starting with the handsome one she’s so fond of.”
Eden forced herself not to react as the guard checked her for trackers. Her plan had exactly one chance of working, and it required perfect timing.
The guard found nothing because there was nothing to find. Everything had been taken when she was captured—weapons, phone, even her boots. They’d been very thorough.
Which was exactly what she’d been counting on.
They led her to a small room dominated by computers and communications equipment. Everything high-end, everything secured behind multiple layers of protection.
“You have ten minutes.” Aleksander’s voice was cold. “After that, people start dying.”
Eden sat at the main terminal, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. In her head, she counted down from sixty.
Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven.
“The bonds first.” Aleksander moved to watch over her shoulder. “Then the files.”
She began typing, appearing to access hidden accounts while actually implementing a very specific sequence of commands. One she’d designed years ago for exactly this type of situation.
Forty-three. Forty-two. Forty-one.
“Sir!” One of the guards burst in. “We’ve got movement at the perimeter.”
