One of the enforcers. Balaclava. Black boots. A shadow made of muscle.
He steps forward.
“No—wait—” I try to scramble back, but he’s already swinging.
The punch lands square across my face, a brutal crack that sends me sprawling. Blood gushes from my nose, hot and thick, splattering the polished floor. My ears ring. The world narrows to a tunnel of pain and static.
Hands grab me—two men, one on each arm. They lift me like I weigh nothing, dragging me back toward the stairs.
Back up.
Back to the rooms.
Back to the nightmare.
I don’t fight. I can’t.
44
Cam
I actually miss that damned cat.
It’s stupid, but the silence without her is louder now. Every corner I turn, Nell is there—etched into the shadows, in the echo of her laugh, in the last look she gave me before they took her.
If I’d just been faster.
If I’d answered my goddamn phone. None of this would have happened.
I replay it over and over—every second I could’ve changed. Every moment I failed her.
But I can’t let myself think about what they’re doing to her right now. I can’t picture her in that place, her body treated like something less than human. The thought alone is enough to make my hands shake and my vision blur with rage.
The fury’s always there, simmering just beneath the surface. But I can’t let it take me today.
There’s work to do.
More sites to infiltrate.
More masks to wear.
More lies to tell until I’m close enough to burn this entire operation to the ground.
And when I find her—
God help the men who touched her.
The hotel room is sterile. Beige walls. Thin carpet. A bed that smells faintly of bleach and cigarette smoke. But it’s quiet, and for now, that’s enough.
I lock the door behind me, double-check the latch, then pull the blackout curtains tight. The moment the light disappears, I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding, and the mask slips off.
I shrug out of the jacket, toss the burner phone onto the bed, and sit at the desk, pulling my laptop from the false bottom of my duffel. The screen glows to life, and with it, the weight of everything I’ve seen today.
I plug in the flash drive I lifted from the office. It hums softly, loading files—names, dates, locations. Shipment logs disguised as “deliveries.” Photos. Some of them blurred. Some of them not.
I force myself to look.
Because one of those girls might be Nell.
