“Breathe,” Bás ordered, his own voice tight but steady. “Stay focused. We get her out clean, then we deal with the rest.”
But Watchdog barely heard him. All he could hear was Clara’s trembling breath, the quiver of fear she hadn’t even tried to hide.
And all he could see was Oliver, smiling that smug, perfect smile, pressing a gun to her ribs while threatening the people she loved.
Watchdog’s whole body vibrated with the need to move. To end him.
Oliver leaned back in his chair, casual as if they were discussing theatre tickets, his hand resting just out of sight beneath the table.“Here’s how this works,”he said smoothly, his eyes locked on Clara’s pale face.“You get up, you walk away with me right now, and everything stays…civil. Or my man puts a bullet straight through your little friend’s heart.”
As if on cue, a thin red dot wavered across Lena’s blouse, settling just over her chest.
Clara choked on a breath. Lena froze, her coffee sloshing as her hands shook.
Inside the van, Watchdog went still. The fury, the panic, the need to tear Oliver apart, all of it dropped away, leaving something colder, sharper. This was his element. The eye of the storm.
“Sniper,” he said flatly, his fingers already flying across the console. “High vantage. Likely riverside. South bank, maybe roofline.”
“Find the fucking nest,” Bás barked, already moving to direct Reaper and Bein.
Watchdog flicked camera feeds across the monitors in rapid succession, calculating angles, sightlines, dwell time. His hands didn’t tremble now. Every motion was precise, every breath controlled.
At the table, Lotus lounged back in her chair, outwardly calm. Her tone didn’t shift an inch as she said,“You’re playing a dangerous game, Oliver. Put the dog on a leash before someone rips your throat out.”
Oliver chuckled, the sound oily, obscene.“Ah, Lotus. Always so sharp. I see the rumours about you are true. Wildcat in the sheets, claws and all.”
Lotus’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.“You couldn’t handle me.”
Watchdog’s teeth ground together, but he forced his focus back to the feeds, scanning, calculating. One shadow lingered too long near a broken window two streets over. His gut told him that was it. “Reaper, Bein, two streets south, old tenement block. Third floor, right window. Move, now.”
“Copy,”Reaper’s clipped voice answered.
Oliver turned his attention back to Clara, reaching out to stroke her cheek, slow and possessive.“Be a good girl, darling. Show them how obedient you are.”
Clara’s lips trembled, but her chin lifted.“I’ll go with you,”she whispered, her voice breaking.“Just let Lena go. Let Lotus go, too.”
Something ugly flashed in Oliver’s smile.“That’s my girl.”
Watchdog’s entire body roared with the need to move, to rip Oliver’s hand away from her face, but his voice remained calm in Lotus’s ear. “Keep him talking. Push him. Africa. Hansen.”
Lotus tilted her head, a predator disguised as prey.“So, tell me, Oliver, how much of this is really yours? Or are you just picking up the scraps Hansen left behind?”
Oliver’s jaw tightened, pride flickering hot.“Hansen was weak. Obsessed with his petty revenge. His death cleared the path for someone stronger. Someone who understands power.”
“And that’s you?”Lotus asked, disdain curling her words.
Oliver’s smile was slow, dangerous.“Who else?”
Watchdog caught movement on one of the feeds, Reaper’s dark shape ghosting up the stairs, rifle ready. His chest tightened as Clara rose on shaky legs, Oliver’s hand guiding her.
“If you follow,”Oliver warned softly, his words meant for the team as much as Clara,“she dies.”
Clara’s steps carried her to the edge of the river path, her spine stiff with terror and resolve.
Then the comms crackled.
“Target sighted,”Reaper whispered.
A muted pop sounded over the line, almost too quiet to be real.
