Page 150 of Trapped Truth

“Falcon Team, in position?” I hear Hudson’s question through my earpiece.

“Copy,” Archer responds after a second. “We’re approaching the east wing on foot, no sign of guards. Ready to launch evacuation efforts.”

“Affirmative.”

“Assets are held in the basement.” Head on a swivel, Azrael guides us into the unknown. “Security remains tight in that location despite recent self-offs. We still have significant stock.”

“We’re not leaving without those women,” Ember growls at him.

“You’re in for a hell of a fight.”

“We’re not afraid of that.”

He visibly assesses her with not a single fuck given. “I’ve held up my end of the bargain. I intend to retrieve Angela and ensure she escapes alive. That’s it.”

“Direct us then,” Hudson orders.

“The basement is accessible through a service corridor underneath the staff kitchens, west wing. You’ll pass through no less than twenty armed guards, monitoring approximately thirteen occupied cells.”

“Thirteen?” Axel gasps.

“We had close to three figures at one point.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Ember turns a tad green. “So many people.”

“Many have been sold by now.”

Hudson relays this information into his comms, giving the Falcon Team a location to penetrate. With their mission assigned, it leaves us to focus on decimating Madden’s ranks and striking the kingpin himself. I’m not leaving without seeing his corpse.

Anticipatory silence welcomes us inside the stately home’s shaded interior. It’s cool in the winter chill. Drafty. Checkered marble floors swallow our footsteps, the opulent decor lit by grand chandeliers that dapple sparkling flecks on every inch of crystal and glass.

The emptiness is unnerving, every fine hair on my body bolting upright. I oscillate my gaze around the maze of formal rooms and fire-lit parlours, increasingly disgusted by the grossness of his illegal wealth.

Alarm forms a sizzling lightning bolt as steps descend upon our location. By the time two dark-clothed guards emerge, Azrael has moved faster than any of us can track, tackling them one by one with little more than a grunt.

The first body drops with an audible crack, neck warped at an unnatural angle. I watch in horror as he rapidly takes out the second target, their throat crushed under Azrael’s powerful and unrelenting grip.

“Cleared the way, huh?” Blaine taunts.

Azrael glares at him. “Not all plans are perfect.”

“How do we access the third floor?” I redirect the men.

Seeming to holster his rage, Azrael straightens, wiping his hands clean. “Follow me.”

Ember takes the lead in front of me where I can keep her within reach. I’m sure Hyland is feeling the same. Neither of us are willing to let her out of our sight. At least not until Madden is dead.

We’re led through a warren of lofty rooms, each more pointless than the last. Estates like this aren’t fit for living in. Not unless you want to navigate a hundred performative rooms with more furniture than purpose on a daily basis.

As we’re passing our third formal sitting room—complete with an empty fireplace and untouched baby grand piano—the next beat of steps interrupts our progress. Azrael raises a balled-up hand, indicating for us to pause.

“Hear that?” Hyland mutters.

Azrael’s head cocks, keenly listening for whoever stands in our path.

“…late again but continues to throw cash at this stupid vendetta…”

“I’m out of here as soon as I get paid.”