POV: Rian
The warehouse in Sector 4 smelled of rust, sea salt, and old blood. It was the kind of place where people went to disappear, usually against their will.
My lungs burned as I sprinted through the sliding metal doors. I skidded to a halt in front of the makeshift office in the center of the floor—a glass box sitting in the middle of a concrete wasteland.
"I got it," I gasped, slamming the USB drive onto the rusted metal table.
My chest heaved. My legs felt like lead. The adrenaline from the jump at Varrick's penthouse was fading, replaced by the crushing weight of exhaustion.
"It's all there," I choked out, wiping sweat from my eyes. "The eastern shipping routes. The encryption codes. Everything you asked for."
Gable, the man who had held my life in his grease-stained hands for three years, looked up from his cards. He was a Beta, but he had the cruelty of a feral Alpha. He picked up the drive, spinning it between his fingers, a grin stretching across his face.
"Well, well," Gable mused, leaning back in his chair. The springs squeaked. "You actually did it. I honestly didn't think you'd survive the night. I had a betting pool going with the boys."
"I did the job," I said, my voice shaking. I took a step forward, my hand outstretched. "Our deal is done. Give me the discharge papers. Give me the key to Maya's room."
Gable laughed. It was a wet, ugly sound that made my skin crawl. He stood up slowly, pocketing the drive. He signaled to the two guards standing by the door.
They didn't move to open it. They moved to block it.
My stomach dropped. "Gable. We had a deal."
"Deals change, Rian."
He walked around the table, stopping inches from me. He smelled of cheap tobacco and unwashed clothes.
"See, that's the problem," he sighed, looking me up and down like I was a piece of livestock at an auction. "You proved you're too valuable. A thief who can break into the Varrick Estate and walk out alive? I can't let talent like that just... retire."
"I'm done," I snarled, backing away until my hips hit the edge of the table. "I paid the debt. Let my sister go."
"And go where?" Gable sneered. "She's sick, Rian. She needs dialysis. She needs meds. You leave me, and who pays for that? You?"
He reached out, his rough hand brushing my cheek. I flinched, slapping his hand away, but he just grabbed my wrist, twisting it painfully.
"You belong to me," he hissed, his face close to mine. "Until I say you're done. And looking at you... pretty little thing like you... I don't think I'll ever be—"
CRASH.
The skylight above us shattered.
Explosive glass rained down on the concrete floor. Before the shards even settled, the warehouse lights cut out, plunging us into darkness.
"What the hell—" Gable shouted, releasing my wrist to fumble for his gun.
Thwip. Thwip.
Two sounds. Soft. Compressed. Like spit hitting a hot pavement.
I heard the heavy thud of bodies hitting the floor.
"Light!" Gable screamed, his voice cracking with panic. "Someone get a light!"
A single red laser dot appeared in the darkness. It danced across the floor, climbed up Gable's chest, and settled directly in the center of his forehead.
"I wouldn't move if I were you," a voice commanded.
My blood turned to ice.
I knew that voice. It was low, cultured, and laced with a violence so profound it made Gable's threats sound like playground taunts.
The emergency floodlights flickered on, bathing the warehouse in a dim, yellow haze.
Varrick stood in the open doorway of the warehouse.
He wasn't wearing tactical gear. He was wearing a charcoal suit, immaculate and pressed, the trench coat billowing slightly around his legs. He stepped over the bodies of the two guards without looking down. They were dead, a single clean hole in each of their chests.
"V-Varrick," Gable stammered. The gun in his hand shook violently. He backed away from me, using the desk as a shield. "I—I can explain. This kid—he brought me this! I didn't know it was yours!"
"You ordered the theft," Varrick said calmly, walking forward.
His pace was slow. Predatory. He didn't even have his weapon drawn anymore. He didn't need to. The sheer weight of his presence filled the massive room. The scent of burnt cedar rolled over us, thick and suffocating.
"And then," Varrick continued, his dark eyes locking onto Gable, "you tried to change the terms of the deal. I don't like liars, Gable."
"I'll give it back!" Gable shrieked, throwing the USB drive onto the metal table. It skittered across the surface. "Take it! Take the kid! I don't care!"
Varrick finally stopped. He was ten feet away. He looked at the drive, then he looked at me.
His gaze was physical. It swept over my trembling form, noting the sweat, the fear, and the bruise forming on my wrist where Gable had grabbed me.
His eyes darkened.
"I intend to take both," Varrick said softly.
"Please," Gable begged, dropping his gun and raising his hands. "I'm just a businessman. I—"
BANG.
Varrick didn't even blink. He drew a silver handgun from inside his coat and fired a single round in one fluid motion.
Gable dropped like a stone.
Silence flooded the warehouse. It was heavy, ringing in my ears.
I was alone with him.
I pressed my back against the rusted table, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Varrick holstered his weapon with a smooth click. He adjusted his cufflinks, then began to walk toward me.
He didn't stop until he was invading my personal space, his tall frame blocking out the dim light.
He reached out.
I squeezed my eyes shut, expecting a blow. Expecting a bullet.
Instead, I felt leather.
His gloved hand brushed the spot on my cheek where Gable had tried to touch me. It wasn't a caress. It was a wipe—as if he were cleaning something dirty off a possession.
"Open your eyes," Varrick ordered.
I obeyed. I looked up into eyes that were black, bottomless, and utterly terrifying.
"You ran very fast," Varrick murmured, his thumb tracing my jawline, testing the pulse that fluttered there. "But you didn't run far enough."
"Are you going to kill me?" I whispered. My voice was barely a sound.
Varrick tilted his head, studying me like a rare artifact he had just acquired at a bloody auction. He inhaled deeply, smelling the fear on me.
"Kill you?" He chuckled darkly. "No, little thief."
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a biology I had tried so hard to suppress.
"You owe me a debt. And you're going to work it off."
He stepped back, gripping my arm. It wasn't painful, but it was unbreakable.
"Get in the car. We're going home."