His smile was worth every risk we were about to take. “Yeah?”
“Da. Many plans. Very detailed. Most inappropriate for royal setting.”
“Now you're just teasing.”
“You started it.”
We took the bike. Rain hammered down as I drove, Sebastian's arms wrapped around my waist, his body pressed against my back. Warm despite the cold. Solid despite the danger we were riding toward. His hands splayed across my stomach, fingers digging in when I took corners too fast, holding on like letting go would mean losing everything.
At a red light, his mouth found the side of my neck. Hot breath. Open lips. Teeth grazing skin.
“Distraction,” I warned.
“Motivation,” he corrected. “Get us through this alive, and I'll make it worth your while.”
“You are going to get us killed before we even arrive.”
“Then drive faster.”
The light changed. I opened the throttle. London blurred past, all wet streets and distant sirens and the weight of Sebastian against my back, his hands on my body, his breath in my ear promising things we might not live to collect.
Southwark rose from the dark like a graveyard. Abandoned factories. Rotting warehouses. The kind of neighborhood where screams didn't get reported and bodies took days to find.
Perfect for people who wanted to stay hidden.
I killedthe engine two blocks out. We moved on foot, staying low, using abandoned cars and dumpsters for cover. The data center squatted ahead, five stories of concrete and broken windows. Looked dead. But light bled from the basement level, faint and blue.
Server glow.
“North patrol just turned the corner,” Noah's voice whispered in my ear. “You've got ninety seconds before he comes back around.”
We moved fast. Reached the side entrance. Sebastian pulled lockpicks from his belt, worked the mechanism with hands that knew this dance too well. The lock clicked. We were in.
The interior smelled like mold and electricity. Water damage stained the walls. Ceiling tiles hung loose, revealing ductwork and exposed wiring. My boots crunched on broken glass.
“Heat signature moving toward your position,” Noah warned. “Second floor. Single target. Armed.”
I pressed against the wall. Sebastian melted into shadow beside me, bow already in hand, arrow nocked. We waited.
Footsteps on the stairs. Heavy. Deliberate. A guard descended, assault rifle slung over his shoulder, phone in his hand. Texting. Not paying attention.
Fatal mistake.
Sebastian's arrow caught him in the throat. Silent. Clean. The man's phone clattered to the floor. He followed it, hands scrabbling at the shaft, blood spraying hot and arterial. His eyes went wide. Then empty.
We kept moving.
“Basement access is ahead,” Noah said. “But you've got a problem. Two guards at the door. Both armed. Both alert.”
“Can you loop the cameras?” Sebastian asked.
“Already done. But they'll notice if both men disappear.”
“They will not have time to notice,” I said.
We reached the basement door. Two men stood there, exactly as Noah said. Professional stance. Eyes scanning. Fingers resting near triggers.
I looked at Sebastian. Held up three fingers. Counted down.
