Vicious Neon

C H A P T E R F I V E

The amber tranquility of the subterranean bath was obliterated by the piercing crimson strobe of the security terminal. The emergency sirens didn't make a sound inside the soundproof bunker, but the flashing red light painted the walls like fresh blood.

Ronin rose from the marble tub in a single, fluid motion, water cascading off his scarred torso. Without a second of hesitation, he stepped onto the slate floor, pulled a dark tactical robe around his waist, and crossed the room toward the central terminal. Roxy dried herself rapidly with a heavy black towel, her heart lurching back into high alert as she pulled on an oversized black cashmere sweater from Ronin's wardrobe.

She approached the glowing screens, standing beside Ronin as his long, calloused fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, decrypting the syndicate’s private comm channels.

— What is that? — Roxy asked, her voice tight as she read the scrolling code. — How did they link me to the Vance name so fast?

— Salvatore’s terminal had a dead-man's data dump — Ronin explained, his voice deadly calm, stripped of all the raw passion that had consumed him moments earlier. — When his heart stopped beating, his biometric ledger automatically uploaded the last hour of security footage to the High Council of the Syndicate in New Vega. Marco didn’t just find Salvatore’s body; he heard your confession on the audio feed before I terminated the line.

Roxy gripped the edge of the steel console, her knuckles turning white. — So every syndicate hitman on the eastern seaboard is hunting me now.

— They are hunting us — Ronin corrected, turning to look directly down at her. His gaze was fierce, unyielding, and darkly protective. — Salvatore was a lieutenant of the Golden Dragon Triad. The bounty on my head was already fifty million. With you identified as the Vance heiress and the insider who compromised his fortress, they placed an open bounty of thirty million credits on your head, dead or alive.

Roxy stared at the screen where an old surveillance photo of her—before the pink hair and the disguise—was plastered alongside a massive red target marker. Eighty million credits in total. In this city, men would slaughter their own brothers for ten thousand.

— You shouldn't have brought me here — she whispered, looking up at him. — You could have left me in that warehouse. You completed your contract. You got paid. Why keep me with you when I'm a walking target?

Ronin reached out, his large hand cupping the side of her neck, his thumb resting firmly over her pounding pulse. He stepped closer, crowding her against the glowing console until she had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze.

— I told you before, little bird — he murmured, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly rumble that sent a tremor of heat down her spine. — You belong to the shadows now. You opened that door for me, you spilled blood with me, and you took my mark in that water. I don't surrender what's mine to scavengers.

— Ronin... —

— I don't run from bounties, Roxanne — he interrupted, leaning down until his tattooed lips grazed the sensitive skin below her ear. — I hunt the people who write them.

Before Roxy could respond, the terminal chimed with an incoming encrypted transmission. A voice with a thick Eastern European accent distorted by a military voice scrambler crackled over the speakers.

— Ghost... we know she is with you. Salvatore was a dog, but he was our dog. Return the Vance girl to our compound by midnight, and the Council will forgive your breach of protocol. Keep her, and we will level every block of the Lower District until we find your bunker. —

Ronin didn't say a single word in reply. He reached out with his left hand, tapped the console, and severed the signal, purging the tracing frequency.

He turned toward the far wall of the bunker and punched a six-digit code into a hidden biometric safe. The brushed titanium wall slid open, revealing an armory that rivaled a private military corporation: racks of assault rifles, customized submachine guns, combat knives, tactical body armor, and crates of specialized ammunition.

Ronin reached in and pulled out a lightweight, custom-fitted ceramic combat vest and a sleek, silver-accented compact 9mm handgun. He walked back to Roxy, holding the weapon out toward her with the grip turned forward.

— Can you shoot? — he asked simply.

Roxy looked at the weapon, then reached out and took it from his hand. The weight felt familiar, grounding. She checked the chamber with a practiced flick of her wrist, released the slide, and clicked the safety off in under two seconds.

— My father taught me before he was murdered — Roxy answered, her eyes narrowing into cold determination. — I didn't spend five years pretending to be helpless just to die as a victim.

A dark, approving smirk curved Ronin’s lips. He stepped behind her, pulling the lightweight vest over her shoulders and tightening the side straps until it contoured perfectly against her curves. His hands lingered on her hips, pulling her back against his chest for a brief, intense second.

— Good — Ronin whispered against her hair. — Because by midnight, we aren't hiding in this vault. We're going to the Golden Dragon compound to hunt the Council.

Roxy turned in his arms, her gun resting steadily at her side as she met the unyielding darkness in his eyes. For the first time in five years, she wasn't running from the monsters of the city. She was standing beside the deadliest of them all, ready to burn their empire to the ground.