Chapter 125: The Lion's Hunt
Addicus returned to the mansion, the night’s deals leaving blood on his hands—threats made, lives ended, power secured. His veins hummed with the old hunger, the lion awake. He needed release, and Sharon was the answer. Stripping to his trousers, he grabbed his belt and tranquilizer gun, a smirk curling his lips. “Here I come, dear,” he murmured, heading for the tunnels.
The underground was cold, the air heavy with damp stone and buzzing generators. At Sharon’s door, he paused, asking the guard, “Who’s in there?”
“Martha, sir,” the guard said. “Brought her dinner.”
Addicus’s jaw tightened. Martha’s tears would ruin his mood. “I’ll wait,” he said. “Tell me when she’s gone. Don’t disturb me otherwise.”
“Yes, boss,” the guard nodded.
Addicus slipped into a nearby room, its bare walls lit by a single bulb. He sat, the chair creaking, and his mind drifted. Sharon at sixteen—her silhouette in the shower, water tracing her skin. He’d stood frozen, captivated, until sense pulled him away. Now, she was his to claim.
The guard burst in. “Sir, Martha’s gone.”
“Good,” Addicus said, rising. “Leave. No interruptions.”
He entered Sharon’s room, belt draped around his neck, gun in hand. Sharon’s eyes widened, fear flashing before hardening into defiance. “No,” she said, snatching a pillow as a shield. “I’ll fight you.”
“That won’t help,” Addicus said, aiming the tranquilizer.
A knock shattered the moment. “What?” Addicus roared. “I said no disturbances!”
“It’s Will, sir,” came the reply. “Urgent news.”
Addicus glared at Sharon. “I’ll be back.” He stepped out, facing Will. “This better be good.”
“It is,” Will said. “Peter Cooper—the assassin I hired caught him alive.”
Addicus’s eyes lit up. “Bring him here.”
“She wants more money,” Will said. “And insists you come yourself. Now.”
Addicus growled, torn between Sharon and Peter. “Fine. Let’s go. Bring plenty of men.”
As they walked, he snapped, “A woman doing a man’s job? Pathetic.”
Sharon, ear pressed to the door, caught every word. Her heart sank—Peter, captured? His rescue plan, shattered? “Oh, Peter,” she whispered, tears welling. “Please be okay.”
\---
Addicus dressed, his suit sharp, his mind sharper. He rallied a dozen men, their cars tearing into the night, tires screeching on asphalt lit by neon signs. The city pulsed, a distant jukebox crooning Tainted Love. He’d have Peter’s head, then Sharon’s submission.
Jinx watched from a treetop, her sniper rifle steady, the mansion shrinking in her scope. “The lion’s out,” she said into her walkie-talkie, voice low.
“Copy,” Peter replied, gunning his car toward the estate, the engine’s roar drowning out his fear.
Chris was already inside, having slipped past the gates as Addicus’s convoy left. “We’ve got thirty minutes ‘til he reaches the trap,” Chris said over the radio, crouching in the shadows. “If he survives the bomb, we’ve got an hour. No mistakes.”
“Jinx, what do you see?” Peter asked, weaving through traffic.
“Five guards left,” Jinx said. “I’ll drop ‘em; Chris cleans up.”
“Do it,” Peter ordered.
Jinx’s rifle cracked five times, each shot a headshot, bodies falling silently. “They’re down,” she said. “Chris, go.”
Chris darted forward, dragging corpses into the bushes, his breath steady despite the weight. The mansion loomed, its windows dark, but something felt off—a stillness too perfect, a trap within a trap. As Peter raced closer, whispering, “Hold on, Sharon."