The storm had grown teeth.
Wind slammed against the broken warehouse walls as Jaxon edged forward, each breath sharp in his chest. The metallic groan of the structure masked his movements, but it also masked Viktor’s men. He could feel the shadows moving in the dark, boots scraping concrete, whispers laced with malice.
Lena stayed close behind him, her fingers brushing the back of his jacket. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t fear.
It was an invisible tether between them that tightened when danger crept near.
The dim hallway forked into three paths. Jaxon lowered himself, touched the cold floor, and found fresh footprints dragging toward the left corridor.
“Someone was pulled through here,” he whispered.
Lena stiffened. “Rafe?”
“Or another hostage,” Jaxon replied. But his gut said Ra
