31. ~Caspian~

“Last of the civilians are clear,” Luke’s voice sounded through my earpiece.

Good. The gas leak had worked.

Although it had been manufactured, my infiltrators had convinced Elijah’s people that it had been legitimate, so they’d evacuated the civilians within.

I stood at the edge of the tree line high up on the hill a couple of hundred feet from Elijah’s compound, the ugly concrete structure sticking out like a sore thumb in the valley of the forest below. A dozen of my men flanked me, decked out like me in heavy-duty tactical gear, but unlike me, they all had balaclavas hiding their faces.

I didn’t want mine hidden.

I wanted him to see me.

I wanted him to know it was me who was the architect of his destruction.

I wanted him to look into my unforgiving, merciless eyes as I took his life.

I tapped my earpiece and communicated down the line. “Confirm position.”

“On your word, prepared to move in via front entrance on north side.”

I switched frequencies and connected with my weapons master, “Launch BA-72.”

“Target locked, King. Thirty seconds until impact.”

“Copy that.”

Everything was eerily still around me as we all waited with bated breath.

I could feel the tension from my people at my back as they looked on for it to happen.

We’d all been working toward this for years now. They wanted to taste the long coming victory almost as much as I did.

I’d already gotten word that the feds had raided the casinos, that two of the arms warehouses had been taken and all hostiles decimated. A combination of mine and Dante’s people were in the midst of moving in on Elijah’s other residence now.

Everything was in motion and going precisely to plan, more than I’d even hoped for.

Sure, we’d planned it incredibly well, but things could still prove challenging, situations cropping up that couldn’t be foreseen by any amount of strategizing. Such was life sometimes.

But in this case, everything had been working exactly according to our tactical plans.

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as it happened.

The mammoth sleek metal projectile cut through the air, whipping past us several feet in the distance much like a missile, heading straight for the south side of the heavily fortified concrete compound to our left.

BA-72—or the Badger as we also called it—was a brainchild of mine specifically created for this war and developed into reality through the combined efforts of King-Tech and my arms division. It was colloquially known as the Badger for its supreme burrowing capabilities. The 72 referred to the maximum six-foot diameter of the holes it was able to create.

I watched as it hit the south wall, the titanium needles at the peak of the sleek homing head penetrating the concrete, latching just enough before the metal claws protracted in the next moment and begun spinning and burrowing, decimating the resistant material of the wall.

I’d seen it in action during testing, but in the midst of an actual live operation, it was all the more stunning and impressive to behold.

It did its job admirably, driving a hole right through the south wall, opening the way up for us.

And then it was time.

I tapped my earpiece. “Move in,” I communicated to Luke who was leading another dozen of our soldiers.

“Roger,” he responded.

I spun and gave word to my own team. “Decimate.”

Blockingthe fist coming at my face, I snatched the offender’s wrist, twisted brutally until a satisfying crack sounded and he screamed, then I hooked the back of his knee, wrenching his leg out from under him. As he fell hard on the metal steps, I hauled him up by the scruff of his shirt and smashed his face into the railing.

With him knocked out cold, I continued my descent into the basement, while my team finished up clearing the first floor, with Luke’s taking the second.

Movement behind me had me reacting swiftly and spinning in time to see another hostile trying to lunge at me and stop my progress. I drew a knife from my tactical pants, flipped it in my hand, then tossed it, watching it cut through the air, before it imbedded in the guy’s throat. Blood spurted and he choked, flailing and clutching at the fatal wound, then collapsing in the basement doorway.

With his death imminent, I turned away and continued on until I’d cleared the stairs and reached the basement.

Bright red leather couches and armchairs filled my vision surrounding a U-shaped bar.

No hostiles.

I pulled my gun and cocked it, delving deeper into the space.

I took in the spanking benches down the corridor, empty chains hanging from the wall, blood stains and the marks of other fluids that didn’t require much imagination all over the place. Bras, panties, and boxers were strewn around too. The red hues of the lights from above definitely added to the sordid atmosphere. The cheap atmosphere. It was definitely no Obscura. It was trashy all the way. Well, Elijah had never had any real class. He could barely even manage to at least imitate it in his best moments.

There were three doors to my left.

My gun at the ready, I kicked the first one open, clearing the room quickly.

A mammoth circular bed covered in rumpled red sheets was the focal point of the room. A dresser littered with dildos, butt plugs, clamps, whips, and chains sat off to the left side.

A set of ankle chains were bolted into the floor directly below a set hanging down from the ceiling. Blood stained the concrete all over. I screwed up my face. He’d definitely done some serious damage to those he’d dominated. Dominated? No, that wasn’t the word for it. It was beyond that, not even on the same level. It was sadistic abuse.

After tonight there’d be no more of that.

He’d never cause harm to anybody ever again.

Determining there was nothing of note within this particular room—namely, him—I headed back on out.

Just as I pushed back out into the corridor, a caught of flicker of motion a fraction of a second before two hostiles rounded the corner.

I fired off a shot through the heart of the closest one.

His accomplice roared as the guy went down, spluttering.

As he ran at me, I put a bullet through his right kneecap.

He shrieked and hit the ground on his still good knee.

And then he was abruptly silenced by a bullet to the brain.

I looked out to see Luke emerging then, tossing me a wink. He rushed up to me, informing me, “Second floor and first floor have been cleared. The teams will be down here any second to do the same here.”

“I told you to let me go it alone down here.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t do that, can I?”

A look passed between us, and I grasped his shoulder. “All right, my friend.”

He smiled, then we continued down the corridor, guns drawn, him flanking me. Definitely a metaphor for our years-long relationship dynamic.

I kicked open the door to another room and he brushed past me, clearing it before I could even step inside. I frowned. He was worried about me, my state of mind, my desperation to get to Elijah and finally end this thing bleeding out and making me more reckless than I’d ever normally be. The fact I’d come down here without waiting for the teams was a definite testament to that.

As he strode back out into the corridor, while I kept watch back the way we’d come, we carefully continued further down. One last door to go.

I caught sight of a trail of fresh blood just a few feet out.

I nudged Luke and he gave a nod, then silently signaled that he was going to enter first, while I threw open the door, then rushed in on his six.

It’s a go, I signaled back.

Taking position at the door, I waited until he was in position too, then I turned the handle and kicked it wide open with my boot. It smacked against the wall, the harsh sound echoing loudly in the silence of the space.

That silence came to an end a moment later as a gasp was heard.

Luke barreled in, but pulled up short barely inside, his finger hot on the trigger. “Fuck.”

I followed him inside, the blindingly-red walls making me squint for a few moments.

A BDSM dungeon was what we’d walked into.

A St. Andrew’s cross was positioned on the far left wall, the floors and walls were black and padded. Suspension ropes and bars hung throughout the space. Cages were stationed off to the side interspersed with torture racks.

There was a bed in the far corner, this one smaller, but with the same red sheets.

And it wasn’t empty.

A stout man with wiry dirty-blond hair was slumped back against the velvet headboard, clutching his gut and bleeding all over the place. He was pale, gaunt, even, and his glazed eyes weakly met mine and Luke’s.

He wasn’t just another one of Elijah’s guys.

No. This was Ben Harvey, his second-in-command.

“Where is he?” I demanded, striding closer, gun trained on his skull.

He gestured to his wound. “One of your shitheads did this to me outside. Should’ve checked they’d gotten me proper. Still breathing. Good for me, bad for you.”

“Where is Elijah?” I barked.

“Fuck knows.” He let out a sputtered laugh. “He must’ve known. Didn’t bother to tell us, though. Just took off. Thought he… thought me and him were tight.”

“That motherfucker is only out for himself,” Luke told him.

“Supposed to be different with me.”

Blood was roaring in my ears.

Adrenaline was sparking to a whole new level.

And worst of all—rage.

I could feel it coming, breaching the surface.

I nodded at Luke, gritting my teeth, unable to speak with it without letting it out all over the place.

He wasn’t here.

Elijah Bane wasn’t here.

Our chief target was out of range.

It was wrong… it was all fucking wrong.

This couldn’t… this wasn’t supposed to happen.

I was barely aware of Luke interrogating Ben further, bringing some torture into play too, shoving the barrel of his gun into his wound, pistol-whipping him, ensuring that what he got from him was the truth.

The guy didn’t hold up well and he was squealing in moments.

But it wasn’t anything that I wanted to hear.

Just begging for the pain to stop and swearing on heaven and earth and fucking hell itself that Elijah had really taken off like he’d first claimed.

“Fuck!” I roared, that rage finally taking me over.

I spun around and thrust my fist into the wall.

It didn’t stop there.

Before I knew it, it was a blur of untethered violence as I destroyed the fucking room.

“He’s not here! He’s not fucking here!”