Chapter 42

FORTY-TWO

The following morning, General Thorne sat at his desk, the quiet hum of his office a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing in his mind. Finger tapping impatiently on his phone screen, he tried, for the third time, to reach Stone. Nothing. The silence on the other end of the line was beginning to wear on him. Stone hadn’t checked in, and the kill team was MIA.

His jaw tightened. Accustomed to control, to orchestrating events from afar, now something was slipping. The usual satisfaction he found in reading the headlines about the fallout from Pinewood Falls couldn’t distract him from the gnawing doubt creeping into his thoughts.

The door swung open, abruptly interrupting his moment of reflection. Thorne’s head jerked up, and the faint irritation on his face gave way to shock.

Hatch stood in the doorway, her silhouette sharp and confident. There was no hesitation in her movement as she stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.

For a second, Thorne froze, his mind scrambling to make sense of her presence. “Hatch?” His voice was strained. He failed to mask the confusion. “Thank God, you’re alive! We thought?—”

“You won’t be able to reach him.” She stepped further into the room. “Stone’s out of the game.”

Thorne blinked, the words sinking in. He faltered. “Stone? I?—”

“Save it,” Hatch said, her voice sharp. She crossed the room in a few measured steps, coming to a stop in front of his desk. “I know everything. The hit on Sawyer. The plan to silence Maggie. The kill team you sent to clean it all up.”

Thorne stood slowly, trying to compose himself, but the shock hadn’t fully left his face. His hand rested on the back of his chair, as if steadying himself. “I … I was briefed by Tracy,” he began, his tone careful. “I was told Stone’s team engaged Bishop. It appears the team was killed in the exchange.”

Hatch’s eyes narrowed. “And since I’m standing here, alive, you’re wondering if Bishop is, too.”

Thorne hesitated, his mouth opening slightly before he closed it again. Clearing his throat, he attempted to regain control. “Hatch, you have to understand—this was never personal. You weren’t the target. Things escalated. You know how these operations go.”

“I know men like you, Thorne. Men who think they can move their people like pieces on a chessboard. Sacrifice here, manipulate there, all for the endgame.” Hatch took a step closer, her eyes locking onto his. “I’m not a pawn. Never was.”

Thorne raised his hands, placating, but the tension in his jaw betrayed him. “You were never a pawn, Hatch. I?—”

“I’m done with Talon. You don’t come after me, and I won’t expose your little arrangement with Crystal Springs and the senator. We call it a truce.”

There was a flicker of something in Thorne’s eyes—calculation, a momentary pause as he weighed his options. The silence stretched as his mind worked. “Of course. No one will come after you. You have my word. We can move on from this. You’ve proven yourself to be a true asset.”

Hatch read the lie in his expression as easily as if he’d spoken it aloud. But she didn’t react, didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing she’d caught it. Instead, she stepped forward, extending her hand. “A promise is only as good as the hand that shakes on it. Something my dad used to say.”

Thorne eyed her hand, suspicion darkening his features, but he couldn’t afford to refuse. Slowly, he reached out, his grip firm, almost as if trying to reassert control. “You remind me a lot of him.”

The moment their hands touched, Hatch pressed her thumb against the small dermal patch hidden in her palm. A soft, almost imperceptible pop followed. Thorne struggled to release his hand. Hatch held it a moment longer, wanting to ensure the venom found its mark.

He pulled his hand back, glancing down at it. His eyes already had begun glossing over. “What the hell…?”

“You made a mistake. A fatal one.” Hatch’s expression didn’t change. “I’m no pawn. I’m the queen. And this is checkmate.”

Thorne’s face contorted in sudden realization. His hand flew to his chest as his heart rate began to spike erratically. Panic flashed in his eyes as his body started to fail him. He staggered backward, reaching for the edge of the desk, but his legs buckled. His breath came in shallow gasps, his hand trembling as it moved toward his phone.

He never made it.

Fingers twitching uselessly, his heart faltered and then stopped altogether. His body slumped into the chair, lifeless, his eyes wide with the terror of his final moments.

Hatch stood there for a beat across from Thorne’s corpse. No emotion crossed her face. No second thoughts. She turned on her heel, walking toward the door, the soft click of the handle punctuating the silence in the room as she left.