Kaden stood over the table, his knuckles resting on the wood as he stared down at the detailed layout of Carlos El-Muerte's compound, an estate of main houses, guard stations, and high walls.
"The main gate is here," Marco's voice cut the silence. He pointed a finger at a specific point on the paper. A street kid Kaden had pulled from the gutter years ago, he was one of the few living souls Kaden didn't actively suspect of plotting his death. "Two men on the gate at all times, another two in the booth."
Kaden's eyes remained fixed on the spot. "Surveillance?
"Two cameras. One covering the main entrance, one on the corner of the station. There's a five-second difference between them." Marco tapped the spot. "It's a crack."
"The kind of crack," Kaden said, his voice low, "that gets our men killed if we're wrong."
"It's the only crack there is, Kaden," Marco countered, his tone respectful but firm. "The front gate is a kill zone. The rest of the place is locked down tight. This," he insisted, jabbing the paper again, "is it."
Kaden straightened, he processed the information in silence. Carlos was a paranoid fuck, but paranoia and carelessness went hand in hand. You focused so hard on the obvious threats you missed the leak in your own pipes. Kaden never made that mistake. He looked for the leaks. There were always cracks.
"We need a small team. Three men. No more. They go in—"
A knock at the study door cut him off.
Both men's heads snapped toward the sound. Every single person in the mansion knew the rule: when the door to this study was closed, an interruption required a life-or-death emergency. Anyone else was volunteering for a body bag.
Kaden didn't twitch. His first, immediate thought was of Malcolm. The entitled shit loved to test boundaries, to shove his way in just to prove he could. But Malcolm wouldn't knock. He'd just burst in.
Kaden tolerated it because it was, for now, inconvenient to correct with a bullet.
"Get in."
The door creaked open. Stephanie entered first, her steps faltering. Behind her, a middle-aged man Kaden didn't immediately recognize shuffled in, his head bowed so low his chin nearly touched his chest. A driver, by his uniform. Kaden hated when he couldn't place a face. He had to know every single person under his roof, every soldier, every maid, every fucking gardener. He had to know.
"Stop," Kaden commanded.
They froze just inside the door, their eyes fixed firmly on the rug. Kaden moved then, his steps slow as he circled the man. The driver's breathing hitched. A tremor started in his hands. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. He didn't dare lift his gaze. This, the raw fear, sent a dark thrill through Kaden's veins. This was a language he understood. Power. Control.
His gaze drifted back to Stephanie, her tits practically spilling out of the top of a tight white dress she wore,the dress clinging to every curve. He looked away, the boredom returning. His focus zeroed in on the drier.
"Your name," Kaden said, his voice barely a whisper, yet it seemed to suck all the air from the room.
The driver flinched. "J-John, sir. John Miller."
The answer came too quickly, laced with panic. Kaden's eyes narrowed. He knew that name. He'd been employed the previous week. Vetted.
The tension in Kaden's shoulders eased a fraction. "Ace hired you."
If Ace had cleared him, the man was clean. He trusted Ace's judgment without question.
Satisfied, Kaden turned his back on the trembling man and returned to the desk. Marco, understanding the unspoken command, began rolling up the layout, tucking it away from prying eyes. As he passed Stephanie, who had been standing silently by the bookshelves, he grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her into a brief, hard kiss.
"My room after," Marco told her, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Don't keep me waiting."
Kaden sank back into his chair, the leather groaning. His gaze settled on Stephanie and the driver. The driver looked ready to be sick. Stephanie was shaking, her chest heaving against the tight dress.
"Speak."
It was all the permission Stephanie needed. Her legs buckled, and she hit the floor with a painful thud. A choked sob escaped her lips. "It's Amelia!" she blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. "We had to stop! On the road, she ran into the trees to… to go, and she just… she never came back! The stupid bitch ran! She fucking ran away!"
For a few seconds, Kaden just stared at Stephanie sobbing on the floor. The words echoed in the silent room. She ran. He forced his face to remain still, but inside, the shock was a physical blow to his gut. He was always in control. Always. But this… he hadn't seen this coming from her. Not at all.
He had been too lenient. Too fucking soft. Maybe Ace was right. Maybe he should have kept her on a leash. But she was brave, he'd give her that. Recklessly, stupidly brave. To run from him. He would find her. And he would clip those wings once he got his hands on her.
He stood, reaching for the black coat draped over the back of his chair,shrugging it onto his shoulders. Then he picked up his pistol from the desk, the custom-made 9mm feeling like an extension of his own hand.
The driver, John Miller, scrambled back, his knees hitting the floor with a painful crack. "Please, sir! Spare me! I have a wife! Children! Please, I beg you!"
Kaden almost laughed. He was a lot of things, but he considered himself fair. The driver wasn't the one who'd run. The only person who would be on the receiving end of his punishment was his little dove. "The only person who will answer for this… is Amelia," Kaden said, his tone implying pain. A flicker of hope lit the driver's eyes. He was a pathetic, desperate thing.
He took a step closer, his shadow falling over the cowering man. "But then I recall… your specific job, John Miller, was not merely to drive. It was to ensure her safety. Her location. At all times."
He let the words hang, watching as the hope in the driver's eyes died.
"You didn't do that, did you?" Kaden asked, though it wasn't a question.
It wouldn't hurt for the man to lose a leg for his failure. But not now. Now, he needed to find that brat. If anyone in the mansion found out she'd slipped under his control… they'd look down on him. See him as weak. Unable to keep his wife in check. She ran on the second day of their fucking marriage.
Kaden turned and strode toward the door. He grabbed the driver by the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the man's neck with force. He hauled him to his feet as if he were a sack of grain.
"Please, sir, I can explain—" the driver choked out.
Kaden shoved him forward, propelling him toward the door. "Shut the fuck up," he snarled, his calm finally cracking.
He marched out of the study, his hand still a vise-grip on the driver's neck, and headed for the staircase. He took the stairs two at a time, practically dragging the stumbling man behind him towards the mansion's main entrance, a path lined with guards who each nodded, their greetings a chorus of "Sir." He didn't acknowledge them. He shoved the heavy door open himself.
His car was there. He yanked the passenger door open and shoved the driver inside. The man's head banged against the frame with a sickening thud, but Kaden didn't notice or care. He walked around to the driver's side, got in, and gripped the steering wheel.
"Now," he said, a calm whisper. "Where did she run off?"
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