Page 11 of Fated by Fire (Dragonblood Dynasty #1)

Chapter 11

E lena

I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut, then frown at my computer screen once more. The message I just received from Blackthorn is pretty clear. Find something bigger or I’m off the case. I read it once more, rubbing the knot in my shoulder.

RE: SURVEILLANCE ASSIGNMENT

Ms. Ross

While we appreciate the work done thus far, it falls far short of our expectations of your skills. We require a significant breakthrough by the end of the week, or your services will no longer be required.

However, should you provide what we are looking for, there will be a bonus of $100,000, payable immediately.

B.

I rub harder at the knot, glaring at the email. $100k… or nothing. I make a low sound in the base of my throat.

“Ugh!” I growl under my breath as I get up and prowl in front of my desk, the email replaying in my mind like a bad TV infomercial on repeat.

$100,000 or nothing. That would change my whole life—pay off my debts, finally upgrade my equipment, let me breathe for the first time in years. But not having it? That hits just as hard. No parachute. I was on the bones of my ass the day their email arrived. That $20k advance covered the two months of rent that was owed, along with next month’s. The rest covered car repayments and my credit cards, which have been maxed to the hilt. Which means I’m back on those butt-bones. They’re holding me over the fire, and I’m pretty sure they know it.

I glance at the clock on the far wall: 9:36 pm. Too late for any sane person to be planning what I’m planning. But I’m not sane, am I?

“This is impossible,” I mutter aloud, tugging at the hair tie barely holding my ponytail together at the nape of my neck. “Why can’t they at least tell me what they want from me?”

My eyes flit to the stack of files on the corner of my desk. All my efforts over the past couple of weeks to discreetly gather intel on Craven Industries—and Caleb Craven himself—have led to a frustrating dead end. But I’m sticking with my theory. The actual goldmine, the real secret they want, is in the vault. It has to be.

Craven Towers’ notoriously secure vault has been the focus of my investigation this week. Supposedly, only Caleb and Dorian can access it. Fingerprint scanners, retina scans, the works. It’s state-of-the-art. Catching even a glimpse of whatever’s inside could be exactly the major breakthrough Blackthorn is demanding of me.

I walk toward the neon glow of my window, then back to my desk, then repeat the trip twice more before the knot of frustration and desperation boiling inside me finally unravels into something sharper. Resolve.

Screw it. If my back’s against the wall, I might as well throw a punch.

I reach for my phone and dial Mara.

“Yo, bitch! You’d better have a good reason for calling this late. I’m in the middle of editing a kickass piece on the moon landing.”

I can’t help but smile at Mara’s greeting. “I need your tech wizardry. How fast can you get me building schematics and security specs for Craven Towers?”

“Hold up.” Keys clack in the background. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“What I’m thinking is not relevant information.”

“Elena Ross, you are not breaking into—”

“Mara. Please.”

She sighs dramatically. “Give me two minutes. But I swear to God, if you get caught—”

“I won’t.”

More typing. A muttered curse. “Okay, accessing their system now. Damn, they’ve got some serious firewalls… but nothing beats my beautiful brain.”

My email pings with incoming files. I open them, scanning through the detailed floor plans and security protocols before printing them out.

“Listen,” Mara’s voice turns serious. “At least let me come with you. I can run interference from my car, maybe disable some cameras—”

“No. The fewer people involved, the better.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything monumentally stupid without backup?”

I pause, throat tight. “I promise.”

“You’re lying through your teeth, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Goddammit, Elena.” She huffs. “The vault’s got triple-layer security. Biometric scanners, motion sensors, the works. You sure about this?”

I spread the schematics across my desk, already mapping routes in my head. “No choice. It’s this or nothing.”

“There’s always a choice. Just… be careful, okay?”

“Always am.” I hang up before she can argue further and start gathering what I’ll need for tonight. Within minutes, I’m hefting a sturdy tote bag over my shoulder and smoothing my black polo neck over the top of dark jeans. The soles of my sneakers squeak on the linoleum stairs as I jog down to the parking bay.

The roads leading to downtown are mercifully quiet this time of night. My Jeep’s headlights cut sharp cones through the pitch-black as I navigate toward Craven Towers, its silhouette looming larger as I approach. Muffled rain patters against the windshield, and the rhythmic sweep of the wipers does little to calm my racing thoughts.

My plan—or lack thereof—is simple: break in, access the vault, and document what I find. It’ll take every ounce of skill I have, but what choice do I have? Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?

You’ll get caught and thrown in prison.

Surely not? If I don’t take anything, what would they charge me with? Breaking and entering? It’s a misdemeanor, at worst. I’ll tell them it was a crazy dare. To get into the most impenetrable room in the city.

God, Lennie, that’s just about the stupidest idea you’ve ever come up with

But one hundred thousand dollars… One. Hundred. Thousand. Dollars!

Come on. You can do this!

Parking a block away from the monolithic skyscraper, I tug on a pair of thin gloves and check my gear one last time. Lockpick tools? Check. Compact flashlight? Check. My phone on airplane mode so no wandering signals can give me away? Check. I take a deep breath and pull the hood of my jacket over my head. My heart pounds like a war drum as I slide out of the Jeep and sprint through the rain toward the building’s service entrance.

The iron door creaks softly as I lever it open with tools that any self-respecting PI shouldn’t admit to owning. I slip inside, heart in my throat as the sounds of the city fade into eerie silence. Dim emergency lighting casts the halls in a faint orange glow, making every shadow seem to creep closer.

I glide through the familiar corridors like a ghost, avoiding the few strategically placed cameras. I breathe a small sigh of relief when I reach the elevator in the east wing that I’d committed to memory from Mara’s schematics.

Her sarcastic drawl echoes in my head as I recall her instructions: “Remember, babe, this thing’s a fortress, but you’ve got it—unless your spidey senses let you down because, you know, I’m not there to help you.”

The light on the biometric panel glows red as I reach the elevator doors, and I take a deep breath as I pause there. I researched this panel before I came over, and I think there’s a way to bypass it. I take out the small kit in my bag and brace myself. If it’s linked to an alarm, meddling with it might set it off. But Mara’s files didn’t mention one, so I’m holding thumbs that I’ll be able to work with it.

Turns out I don’t need to. As I draw closer, I see that the light is flickering. The red flashes intermittently. I touch the panel tentatively, and miraculously, it turns green with a soft ding .

Fuck! Lucky break!

It must be faulty. I release a heavy breath. When the elevator door opens, I step inside.

The vault is on the lowest sublevel—three floors below ground. My pulse races faster with each descent. From within the belly of Craven Industries, the air grows colder and heavier, and I feel the pressure building.

The sublevel is as I expected—pristine, windowless, yet exuding a cavernous emptiness. The vault door dominates the far wall, all brushed steel and intimidating bulk. A strange sensation touches my skin as I pause at the entrance. A tingle that feels like a warm breath. I shudder instinctively, then shake my head.

Cut it out, Lennie.

Now’s not the time to give in to nerves. I approach it, and that’s when my plan—or what I’d call an “improvisation-in-progress”—hits its next snag. The retinal scanner blinks to life, casting a ghostly red light. I’ve seen plenty of action movies where someone removes an eyeball to hold in front of the scanner, but to be honest, that’s hardly my style.

I close my eyes and run through the mental notes I made from a site I found on the Dark Web. There are ways to fool these systems. And failing that, I could unscrew the damn thing and unlock the door the old-fashioned way.

Yeah, right.

Obviously, that’s not an option.

My grim determination is rapidly running out. I’ve reached this point through pure good fortune. The fingerprint scanner may have been glitchy, but the chances of hitting another break are zero.

God, you’re an idiot!

What was I even thinking coming down here? Rushing in blindly with the promise of a big payday. So stupid!

Then again, I’ve come this far. Maybe I just need a closer look.

As I lean in, the scanner suddenly flares… and processes my data. I jump back as it emits another ding, jarring enough to send goosebumps screaming across my skin.

“What the hell…?” I murmur, the door’s silent shift breaking my words as gears turn, allowing me entrance.

That was too easy. Just like the fingerprint scanner.

Were they expecting me? Is Caleb going to suddenly make his presence known and tell me they’ve been watching me all along? But that makes no sense. Why not just stop me?

And why would Caleb be hanging around waiting for me to break in? He has a security team for that. But I don’t linger on the thought. I step into the vault… and freeze.

The room glows faintly, bathed in an eerie reddish light. Centered on a pedestal is something I didn’t expect—a crystal. Large and jagged, it pulses faintly in the dimness like a heartbeat. Its light dances across the slick metal walls, and for some inexplicable reason, the sight of it makes my chest tighten. A strange sensation rushes through me, a weightless mixture of dread and familiarity that I can’t explain.

I step toward it cautiously, extending a hand. My outstretched fingers seem to be drawn to its surface.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper into air that feels heavy. I take another step.

And then, faster than I can react, a shadow emerges from my blind spot.

Fingers clamp down on my wrist, their grip ironclad as a low, measured voice cuts through the room like razors: “Care to explain what you’re doing here?”

I whip around, expecting to see a security guard or some watchful staff member. Or maybe Caleb.

But I don’t.

This man towers over me, the tailored edges of his suit precise and sharp, his presence a smothering weight. Every line of him is deliberate, from the crisp collar framing his neck to the polished silver cufflinks that catch the dim light. I glance up instinctively, and my breath freezes in my chest.

Ice-blue eyes. Piercing and unyielding, they drill into mine, measuring me in a way that makes my knees wobble. These eyes are unfamiliar, just like the angular planes of his face—sharp jaw, thin lips pressed into a line, every feature sculpted with chilling precision.

I don’t know him.

He’s not Caleb. He’s a stranger.

And I have no doubt he’s a threat.