The underground basement in Alpha's office smelled like a mix of defeat and anger.
Alpha Dark sat at his desk, bandages wrapped around his ribs where a bullet had clipped him during the retreat.
His surgically altered face was twisted with rage… with his jaw so tight it felt like it could snap.
Across from him, Maksim Karza kicked back in a leather chair, his recently bandaged shoulder making him look tough, a lit cigar resting between his scarred fingers.
Even with the pain showing on his face, he had a dangerous calm about him, the kind that hints at trouble brewing.
The silence between them weighed heavily.
"Thirty guys," Alpha finally said in a low, dangerous tone. "We brought thirty men, top-notch gear, and perfect intel. And we walked right into a trap."
Maksim blew out smoke, taking his time. "Not just a trap. A show. They knew we were coming. Every step. Every move."
"Someone fed us bad info," Alpha fumed, pounding his fist on the desk.
