The warehouse stank of gasoline and blood. Jaxon stood in the center of the c*****e, black-gloved hands dusted with ash and something darker. The air was thick with smoke from the torched crates behind him, evidence of Zane’s latest operation reduced to embers. A girl had been found in the back. Drugged. Chained. But alive.
The floor was slick underfoot. Jaxon didn’t flinch as he stepped through it, boots echoing across the silence.
Raven watched from the shadows, pressed against the cold brick wall, her heartbeat stuttering in her throat. He hadn’t spoken to her since they arrived. Not with words. Only looks, sharp, quiet, lethal and then he turned to Dante.
“Get me Zane.”
Dante hesitated. “Now?”
“Now.”
Jaxon’s voice was low, but it vibrated through the room like a loaded gun. Dante
