Page 46 of Forbidden Bonds
Then, bam!
“They’ve taken the bait…” I yank the cable out of the wall, drop the device on the concrete floor where I grind it under the heel of my boot. Can’t risk them tracing this back to me.
“That was fast,” Zeb says, tapping his communicator and yanking open the door. “Going mobile,” he says into the comms.
Chapter Nineteen
Larissa
The tunnels beneath the non-dynamic sector are expansive, as I learned during the pre-mission briefing. The domain of the criminal gangs and those who do business with them. Zeb is a zeta, although I know nothing about that dynamic beyond I thought them to be a myth. He has the look of a larger beta; his fellow soldier is an alpha, but on the smaller side of that dynamic, like Rhett. Any such men down here are the ones wielding power in Chimera’s underworld, and high up within the gangs. They will draw some attention but are also unlikely to be challenged, Woodrow explained, and in a confident way that said this was not their first such operation.
I took what comfort I could from that, and ignored what was looming on the horizon—the plan we went over, all the aspects of it, but especially the part where we’re captured. Without that, we will never get Cohen, and I will never be safe.
But that means I have to meet him again.
No mission is perfect. Risks exist, not only to me, but to everyone involved. I’m also putting my trust in a lot of people, including Ethan Black, the man I’ve watched kill me in his mind.The one whose mate I hurt unwittingly. The one who will never forgive me. And yet here he is, taking a key role in the operation.
Don’t think about that part.
Not for the first time, my life is in his hands.
The time for questions and concerns has passed. We’re already in deep. Rhett’s hand closes over mine, steadying me.
We pass three men lurking in a doorway, and their eyes follow our passage. Out of necessity, I slip into their minds, searching for threats in the way Cohen instructed me to monitor his alphas during the briefing, seeking anomalies in thought patterns…
These men react as expected: suspicious, but also wary, quickly looking away.
“Eyes down, asshole,”Zeb had growled earlier when we passed two men, loitering. He definitely gives off a fuck-with-me-and-you’ll-regret-it vibe at odds with his seemingly easy-going demeanor back in the briefing.
My pulse suddenly leaps. “Ahead,” I whisper. “Cohen’s name is in their thoughts.”
Zeb has drawn his gun and fired off two rounds before I finish speaking. Rhett yanks me tight into his body. A high-pitched scream rents the air. I don’t pull back my thoughts quickly enough, and their trauma slams into me.
I recoil. Agony that isn’t mine tears through my chest, imaginary blood bubbling in my throat. I clutch my ribs though I’m unhurt, the echo of his death rattling through me.
Not mine.
Not me.
“You’re okay, baby,” Rhett says, his touch helping me shove down the horror.
“Move,” Zeb says, voice low and steady.
We pivot and retrace our steps.
Woodrow had made it clear that this had to look believable, not staged.
Now two men lie down, groaning, maybe dying, and the whole thing already feels frayed at the edges. This sector doesn’t take prisoners lightly and the only bait in this is me. The risk to everyone else is considered acceptable if it makes my capture look real and gets us closer to Cohen. None of which makes me feel any better.
“They’re following,” I say quietly, breathless, trying to focus amid the churning angst. “More are ahead of us. Also working for Cohen.”
Rhett’s fingers tighten over mine.
Shapes emerge from the shadows ahead. Men. Armed. Menacing. I glance back to find the group following has blocked our escape route.
Trapped.
As we planned.
