Chapter 1083
“The encryption key,” The Butcher demanded. “For the Black Ledger. Harper Cole wants the names.”
“I told you,” Lucian gasped, sweat stinging his eyes. “I forgot it. I have a terrible memory for numbers. Ask me about Excel shortcuts, though — I’m a wizard.”
The Butcher drove a fist into his stomach. Lucian swung back and struck the wall. He curled his legs up, protecting his right thigh.
Inside that thigh, embedded deep in the muscle, was a microchip. Not merely the decryption key — it was the leverage. Before surrendering, Lucian had downloaded the entire communication log between Harper Cole and his mysterious backer. He had sliced his own leg open, pushed the chip inside, and stitched himself up with a hotel sewing kit.
It was infected. It was throbbing. But it was the only thing keeping him alive. As long as they didn’t find it, they couldn’t kill him.
“He’s coming for me,” Lucian whispered.
“Who?” The Butcher sneered. “Thorne? He thinks you’re dead.”
“No.” Lucian smiled, his teeth stained red. “He knows I’m not dead. Because I haven’t haunted him yet.”
A low rumble shook the cell. Dust sifted down from the ceiling.
The Butcher paused and looked up.
BOOM.
A second explosion — closer this time. The steel door rattled violently in its frame.
“What the hell?” The Butcher dropped the pliers.
Lucian let out a ragged laugh. “That sounds like C4. Alistair always uses too much C4. It’s his signature.”
“Shut up!” The Butcher yanked a knife from his belt. “If they’re here, you die first.”
He lunged.
Lucian swung his legs up, summoning the last of his strength to kick The Butcher squarely in the chest. It was a weak blow, but it bought him a second.
The cell door didn’t open. It dissolved.
A shaped charge blew the hinges clean off. The heavy steel slab fell inward, crushing The Butcher beneath it.
Smoke flooded the room. Through the haze, a figure emerged.
Alistair Thorne. Full tactical gear, assault rifle in hand. He looked like the Angel of Death.
And behind him, stepping through the smoke like a queen walking through hell, was Skye.
“You’re late,” Lucian croaked. “And you owe me a new pair of glasses.”
Alistair stepped over the groaning Butcher and cut Lucian down with a single swipe of his knife. Lucian collapsed into his arms.
“I got stuck in traffic,” Alistair said, his voice thick with something he wouldn’t name.
Skye was there instantly, her hands pressing against Lucian’s bleeding chest. “We have to go. Now. The whole rig is waking up.”
“My leg,” Lucian whispered, seizing Skye’s wrist. “The chip — in my leg. Don’t let them take it.”
“We’ll get it,” Skye promised. “We’ll get everything.”
The extraction was a blur of noise and violence. Alistair carried Lucian over his shoulder like a ragdoll, firing his rifle one-handed with terrifying accuracy. Skye covered their rear, the pearl-handled pistol cracking sharp retorts in the dark. Gabriel and his team held the corridor, creating a wall of lead between them and the oncoming guards.