Chapter 144: Hunt

CASSIAN

The dial tone echoed in my ear like a funeral knell. Alex’s voice, smooth and mocking, played on a loop in my skull. “We’re having a little fun here, Cassian… You’ve already lost.”

The rage that followed was a physical thing, a black, suffocating tide that drowned the logic I usually prided myself on. I stood in the center of the gala’s main hall, the glittering chandeliers and the forced laughter of the elite feeling like a personal insult.

I didn’t shove past people; I tore through them. I moved like a predator through a flock of sheep, my shoulders knocking guests aside, ignoring the indignant gasps and the spilled champagne. My eyes were frantic, scanning every cluster of suits, every silk gown, searching for a flash of Noah’s navy suit or the silver-tongued monster who had taken him.

I checked the bathrooms. Empty. The balconies overlooking the sea. Nothing. I stormed through the VIP sections, my presence a dark storm cloud that silenced every conversation it touched. They weren’t here.

I stopped in the middle of the ballroom, the music suddenly sounding like white noise. My mind, sharpened by the desperation of a man who had everything to lose, began to strip away the distractions. Alex was a narcissist. He wanted control, and he wanted it close. He wouldn’t have driven miles away. He wouldn’t have risked the city traffic if he wanted to “have fun.”

He was still in this building.

I pulled out my phone and hit the speed dial for Viktor, a tech specialist working for the Wolfe family.

“I need a location. Now,” I barked, my voice a serrated blade.

“On who?” Viktor’s voice was steady, the sound of rapid typing already clicking in the background.

“Alex Hendrix. He’s with someone. He took them somewhere private within the last fifteen minutes. He was last seen right here.”

“I’m on it. Checking the registry for his vehicles… three cars, all still in the parking structure. He hasn’t driven out.”

“He’s still here,” I whispered, the confirmation settling in my gut like lead. “But where would he go? The venue is crawling with people.”

“I’m pulling property records for the district,” Viktor said. “Hendrix owns a downtown apartment, too far. An estate twenty-five minutes north. An investment property on the west side, it’s under renovation. None of these fit a fifteen-minute window on foot.”

I looked up at the ceiling. The building was a historic landmark, a massive sprawl of stone and modern glass additions. “Viktor. Does Hendrix own anything in this building?”

A pause. The clicking of the keyboard intensified. “Checking building records… navigating the shell companies… wait. There’s a penthouse. Top floor. The ownership is buried three layers deep in a company called Hendrix Holdings LLC. Cassian, it’s his. It’s a private residence.”

My heart rate spiked, a painful thud against my ribs. “How do I get there?”

“Private access. East wing. It’s a separate elevator bank, unmarked. It requires a high-level key card. You won’t get in through the main lobby.”

I was already running.

The east wing was quiet, the air cooler and the carpet thicker. I found the unmarked door, a slab of dark wood with a discrete card reader glowing red beside it. I didn’t reach for a card. I didn’t have time for a hack.

I pulled my 9mm from its holster and fired.

The bang was deafening in the narrow corridor, the smell of gunpowder instantly sharp. The lock shattered, and I kicked the door open. Inside was a small, plush lobby. Two security guards, alerted by the shot, were already drawing their weapons.

“Sir, this is private property, ”

I didn’t let him finish. I fired twice. I wasn’t aimining to kill, not yet. One shot took the first guard in the thigh; the second caught the other in the shoulder. They went down with yelps of pain, their weapons clattering to the floor. I didn’t look at them. I stepped over them and hit the elevator button.

The doors slid open, revealing a mirrored interior. There were no buttons. Just another card reader.

I turned back to the guard on the floor, the one clutching his leg. I knelt on his wound, ignoring his scream, and ripped the lanyard from his neck. I swiped the card. The elevator hummed to life and began its rapid, silent ascent.

Behind me, I heard the heavy thud of boots. My own security team, led by four of my best men, burst into the small lobby.

“Sir! Wait for backup!” one of them shouted.

The doors closed. I was alone in the rising box of glass and mirrors. I watched the floor numbers climb, 10, 15, 20. I checked my magazine. Full. I had extra clips in my jacket and a knife tucked into my boot.

Underneath the deadly calm of my preparations, terror was clawing at my throat. Please, let him be okay. Please, let me be fast enough. I couldn’t think about what Alex might be doing. If I did, the rage would blind me, and I needed to see.

The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open.

Four guards were waiting in the private hallway. They didn’t talk. They didn’t ask for ID. They opened fire.

I dived to the left, my body rolling across the marble floor as bullets shattered a decorative vase behind me. I took cover behind a massive marble column, the stone chipping away under the barrage of lead.

I waited for the rhythm. One, two, three.

I leaned out and fired three shots in rapid succession. The lead guard dropped with a hole in his forehead. I shifted my aim and caught the second in the chest, his body spinning back against the wall.

The remaining two were smarter. They took cover, coordinating their fire. One began to flank me, moving around the far side of the column. I heard his footsteps, heavy and hurried. I waited until I saw the shadow of his gun barrel, then I lunged.

I grabbed the barrel, redirecting the shot into the ceiling, and slammed my forehead into his nose. I felt the bone crunch. As he staggered back, I put a bullet into his throat.

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