Chapter 9

NINE

T he city pulses around me, a living, breathing entity of concrete and steel. But tonight, its familiar rhythm feels off, discordant. Something's wrong. I can feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seem to lengthen and reach for me as I approach my apartment building.

The lobby is deserted, the usual security guard conspicuously absent. My heart rate quickens, instincts honed by years of living on the edge screaming danger. I take the stairs instead of the elevator, my footsteps silent on the concrete steps.

Five floors up, I reach my door and freeze. It's ajar, the frame splintered around the lock. Ice floods my veins, but my mind remains crystal clear. They've found me. Not as Sphinx—that identity is still secure—but as a suspected member of the Hacker Alliance. Viktor Kazanov, in his paranoid fury, is casting a wide net. Bastard. He just can't handle that I was able to dismantle a leg of his organization without even trying.

I push the door open, wincing at the soft creak. The sight that greets me turns my stomach, even as my face remains impassive. My sanctuary, my carefully ordered world, lies in ruins. Furniture overturned, glass shattered, and my precious tech—my lifeline—reduced to sparking, broken husks.

"Amateurs," I mutter, eyes scanning for any remaining threats. The destruction is thorough but sloppy. They were looking for something specific—probably proof of my connection to the Alliance—but they clearly don't know what they're dealing with.

No time to mourn the loss. I move swiftly, gathering essentials. A concealed laptop, untouched by the destruction. Encrypted flash drives. A stash of cash and passports hidden behind a loose baseboard. My fingers brush cool metal, and I pull out a compact firearm, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency.

There's one more thing, the most dangerous of all. I pry up a floorboard, revealing a small black box. Inside lies enough information to bring Viktor's entire operation crashing down. It's my insurance policy, my leverage. And now, possibly, my death sentence.

A creak outside the door sends adrenaline surging through me. I glance at my smartwatch, a custom piece that links to the building's security feeds. Multiple unidentified figures, converging on my location.

"Showtime," I whisper, a grim smile playing on my lips. I may be outnumbered, but I'm far from outmatched.

As I step into the hallway, four men block my path, their expressions cold and predatory. I recognize the look in their eyes—the dead-eyed stare of men who kill without remorse.

"Going somewhere?" one sneers, his jacket shifting to reveal the gleam of a weapon.

I assess my options in a heartbeat. Four against one. Narrow hallway. Emergency exit at the far end, if I can reach it. My mind calculates trajectories, angles, weak points.

"Boys," I say, my voice dripping with false sweetness, "I don't suppose you'd believe I ordered a pizza?"

They don't waste time on banter. The first one lunges, all brute force and no finesse. I sidestep, using his momentum to send him crashing into the wall. His head connects with a sickening crack, and he crumples.

The second comes at me with a knife, the blade whistling through the air. I duck under his swing, grabbing his wrist and twisting sharply. The knife clatters to the floor as he howls in pain. A quick jab to his solar plexus, and he's down, gasping for air.

"Come on," I taunt the remaining two, falling into a fighting stance. "I thought Viktor only hired the best."

They attack in tandem, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. But I'm in my element now, my body moving on pure instinct and years of training. I weave and dodge, my fists and feet finding vulnerable points with surgical precision. Ribs crack, joints dislocate, and bodies hit the floor.

For a moment, I allow myself a flicker of satisfaction. Four highly trained killers, neutralized in under a minute. Not bad for a night's work.

But then more appear from the stairwell, and suddenly the odds shift dramatically. I'm good, but even I have limits. A heavy blow catches me in the side, and I stagger, gasping for breath.

Rough hands grab me, twisting my arm behind my back. Another goon moves to restrain my legs. For a moment, real fear grips me. This is it. This is how I die, in a dingy hallway at the hands of faceless thugs.

And then, like an avenging angel straight out of hell, Hawk appears.

"How dare you touch my woman," he snarls, his voice colder than I've ever heard it. The words send a jolt through me—equal parts shock, indignation, and... something else. Something I'm not ready to examine too closely.

But there's no time to dwell on it. Hawk moves like a force of nature, all coiled power and lethal precision. I watch in awe as he systematically dismantles my attackers, each blow calculated for maximum damage. Bones crack, bodies crumple, and all the while, Hawk's expression remains chillingly calm.

One man pulls a gun, but Hawk is faster. He grabs the thug's wrist, twisting until the bones snap audibly. The gun falls, and Hawk catches it midair, putting a bullet between the man's eyes without hesitation.

His brutality should horrify me. Instead, I feel a dark thrill. This is Hawk unleashed, raw and primal. And God help me, it's intoxicating.

I snap out of my daze, using the distraction to break free from my captors. Hawk and I fall into sync without a word, covering each other's blind spots, our movements a deadly dance. It feels right in a way I can't explain, as if we've been fighting side by side our whole lives.

"Behind you!" I shout, dropping low as Hawk spins, his elbow connecting with an attacker's throat. The man goes down, clutching his crushed windpipe.

I sweep the legs out from under another, following through with a brutal stomp to his knee. The crack of bone is oddly satisfying.

When it's over, the hallway is littered with groaning, unconscious bodies—and a few that will never move again. Hawk turns to me, concern flickering in his steel-gray eyes. "Are you hurt?"

I wipe blood from my split lip, suddenly aware of the various aches blossoming across my body. "Nothing I can't handle," I reply, aiming for nonchalance. "Though I had it under control before you crashed the party."

Hawk's lips twitch in what might be amusement. "Of course, you did. But they touched what's mine. That demands a response."

Irritation flares, warring with the part of me that wants to collapse into his arms. "I'm not yours," I snap, even as a traitorous part of me thrills at the possessiveness in his voice.

"Aren't you?" Hawk steps closer, his eyes burning with an intensity that steals my breath. "You're coming with me. It's not safe here."

I want to argue, to assert my independence. But the rational part of my brain knows he's right. I'm in over my head, and my sanctuary is compromised. "Fine," I concede, hating how small my voice sounds. "But this doesn't change anything. I don't need a protector."

Hawk's expression softens fractionally. "Maybe not. But even the strongest warriors need allies, Devin."

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. For a moment, I allow myself to imagine it—Hawk and I, a united front against the world. It's a seductive thought, and all the more dangerous for it.

As we leave, I notice the discreet arrival of unmarked vehicles. Hawk's people, no doubt, here to clean up the mess. It's a stark reminder of the power he wields and the resources at his disposal. And now, it seems, all of that is being mobilized to protect me.

The thought is both comforting and terrifying.

Hawk guides me to his car, a sleek, armored beast that practically screams wealth and danger. As we pull away from the curb, I stare out at the city lights, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

"Viktor's men," Hawk starts, "don't usually come in such numbers." He spares me a quick dark glance. "What did they want?"

"They are interested in my connection to the Hacker Alliance."

His head snaps sideways and pins me with his gaze. "You're a part?"

I stare right back. "I am."

"So you know Sphinx?"

I laugh. "The Alliance is large. Only a handful of very privileged people know Sphinx. What makes you think I do?"

His gaze focuses on the road again. "I didn't know you were part of the Alliance."

I shrug. "Was I supposed to tell you?"

We reach his building and he parks the car and turns to me, one hand going to my throat and making me wet. "I know everything about you, Devin." He leans into me, his face inches from mine. "But I didn't know that." The hand around my throat squeezes and my eyes close instinctively. He squeezes harder. "I don't like surprises."

I pull at his hand but his fingers are a vice around my throat. "It's not my fault you have idiots working for you," I choke out.

His hand moves to the back of my neck and yanks me forward, our lips clashing in a rough kiss. The kiss is a brand, a reminder that I belong to him. But I kiss him back just as hard, just as rough, and take it a step further and bite him. You're mine, Hawk . We're both breathing heavily when we part and neither willing to back down.

Hawk's knuckles whiten on the steering wheel. "I'll deal with Viktor," he says, his tone promising violence.

"No," I say sharply. "I can handle Viktor."

Hawk glances at me, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to do everything alone, Devin. Not anymore."

His words stir something in me, a longing I've kept buried for years. But I can't afford to give in to it. Not now, not with so much at stake.

"We'll see," I murmur.

He saved me tonight, but at what cost? The balance of power between us has shifted, and I'm not sure I like which way the scales are tipping.