Page 45 of Forbidden Empire (Sinful Gods #1)

A quick scan told me the others were just as tense, crouched in position, all of us coiled tight, ready to strike if it meant saving our brother.

The guard sat slouched in the dim, suffocating heat of the shack, screen glow painting his broad face a sickly, unnatural green. He was massive, dwarfing even Ares.

There would be no force against force here. The only option was surprise. I watched as Ares slipped into that familiar predatory quiet.

It was almost funny, the way he deployed the very skill I’d so often cursed him for. God, how many times had he startled me just for the hell of it?

Swore it was a habit from his military days, prowling through sleeping barracks like a shadow. I always found it unnerving. He found it hilarious.

Now, though, I watched him like an apprentice studying the master.

He moved with an almost unnatural patience, a slow, deliberate drift through darkness, every movement measured and spare.

Not so much as a crunch in the red Nevada dirt.

His gaze locked unblinking on the guard, the way a wolf might fixate on the softest part of its prey.

The tension in our little group was electric, thick enough to choke on, humming through the hot night air.

The guard snorted at his phone, oblivious. Instantly, Ares paused, every muscle tensed mid-motion, a statue sculpted from midnight.

I barely breathed. The moment stretched and snapped, and then Ares was moving again, circling behind the shack, keeping low, slipping out of the cameras’ sight lines as he closed in on the open entrance.

A handful of feet. That was all that separated them now.

Ares crossed the threshold, soundless, a ghost. The guard never stood a chance. One heartbeat, he was scrolling, chuckling under his breath, and the next, the cold mouth of a gun pressed into his temple, a bullet tearing through bone and brain before he could even scream.

He hit the floor with a wet, conclusive thud.

Ares didn’t hesitate. He dropped low, listening, every sense straining for footsteps, alarms, any sign the kill had been noticed. I swept the property with my eyes, heart hammering, searching for movement.

Nothing. Not a whisper.

Whatever strings we’d pulled inside, they’d worked. The guard was dead, and nobody else was any wiser.

Perfect.

“Let’s go,” I hissed, the instant Ares raised his hand. Instinct took over.

We dropped low, melting into the shadows, every movement silent and calculated. Ahead, Ares reached for the button.

The gate responded with a tortured, bone-deep groan, metal scraping against metal, as it yawned open.

We slipped through the gap like smoke, leaving the dead guard sprawled behind us in his gory, makeshift coffin. The stench of blood clung to my nostrils.

I kept one eye on Esme, the other on the door ahead, lungs tight with anticipation. A silent plea flickered across my mind: let us survive this.

Ares moved first, stalking ahead with predatory grace. He pressed his ear to the door, hand hovering over his weapon. Tension thrummed in the air.

He tested the knob, slow and cautious. “Locked,” he murmured, voice barely audible.

He didn’t waste time.

A single shot. The handle exploded in a violent spray of metal shards, echoing through the corridor like a war drum.

“Guess if they weren’t awake before, they are now,” I muttered, adrenaline sharpening my words.

“Damn straight,” Ares shot back, a wicked grin flashing across his lips. “Brace yourselves, kids. Here we go.”

We stormed through the door.

As expected, enemies surged down the corridor toward us, heavy boots pounding, weapons raised and lethal. The crack of gunfire shattered the air.

I shoved Esme behind me. Zeno, Thal, and Ares fanned out, unleashing a torrent of bullets. Bodies crumpled, momentum lost, blood painting the walls as they fell.

“One battle down,” Ares growled, stepping over the fallen with ruthless purpose. Thal grabbed their discarded guns, arming himself and the others. We pushed deeper, hearts thundering, into Rhea’s stronghold, every sense straining for the next fight, the next threat, the next inevitable clash.

We didn’t slow down. We couldn’t—not now.

Esme tried to shove past me, but I blocked her path, stepping in front again. She let out an annoyed scoff, sharp, brittle, but I ignored her. I wasn’t about to let a fight with her distract me—not now, not here.

Our leadership circle was small: Ares, Zeno, Thal, and me. But with our soldiers supporting us, we were like a small militia. If I failed, I knew the others would do whatever it took to keep Esme safe. But until that happened, she was mine to protect. My responsibility.

We marched down a dark corridor, boots echoing as we turned a corner.

The hallway opened suddenly into a cavernous two-story warehouse, shadows stretching high overhead.

Boxes lined the walls from floor to ceiling.

A balcony ringed the upper level, doors spaced evenly along the edge, the whole place wrapped in silence.

The kind of silence that prickled the skin. Too fucking quiet.

Ares strode over to the nearest box and cracked the lid. Inside: six assault rifles, stacked with precision, strapped down, and ready to ship.

“There must be hundreds of these,” Ares muttered, sweeping his hand over the endless rows of identical boxes lined up along the warehouse floor.

“They’re all boxed up to go,” Zeno said, flipping open a lid with an impatient flick of his fingers. His eyes scanned the label. “Colombia.”

Thal drifted over. He didn’t bother opening the box. He read the shipping label taped to the cardboard.

“Honduras,” he said.

Esme tilted her head back, gaze skimming the web of thick steel beams overhead, the iron hooks, that ancient pulley system clinging to the ceiling like it was waiting for someone to give it purpose again.

“What did this place used to be?” Esme asked.

Ares answered without glancing her way, “Old lumber mill.”

“That’s what I’m smelling,” she murmured.

“Sawdust,” he told her.

In the farthest shadows, beyond the reach of the dirty light, I caught the shapes of rusted saws scattered across the cracked cement, half-buried in piles of wood shavings and splintered, rotting logs.

In the corner, lumber racks hunched beside a kiln so ancient it looked like it belonged in a museum, not a warehouse.

Ares’s eyes went up, tracking the metal stairs to the balcony overhead.

He jerked his chin at it. “She’s up there. Word is, she knocked down the old office walls to make herself a little suite.”

“God forbid Rhea settle for anything less than a luxury hideout,” Esme said.

Ares’s jaw clenched. “Always wanted to be a fucking Mafia princess,” he growled.

The smallest smile tugged at my mouth. I didn’t take my eyes off the balcony, not even as I spoke. One door at the end glowed faintly, the glass catching a thread of light.

Every other room up there was dark, abandoned, empty as a tomb.

“Something’s off,” I said, the unease crawling down my spine.

“Yeah. Too quiet.” Ares’s tone was low, all tension. “Where are her men?”

“That’s just what I was?—”

My words died on my tongue as the overhead fluorescents blasted the warehouse in stark, blinding light. The metallic zing of bullets ricocheted everywhere, slicing the air with a barrage of violence.

Instinct took over, I grabbed Esme’s arm and yanked her with me, pitching us both behind the closest stack of boxes as rounds tore through the shadows.

We hit the concrete hard, ducking low, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear her furious whisper.

She shot me a glare, eyes burning like wildfire.

“What?” I snapped, adrenaline spiking.

“I can take care of myself!” she hissed, jaw clenched, fury nearly vibrating off her.

“I never said you couldn’t!” I barked back, but before I could say more, a bullet punched through the box right beside her head.

She flinched, ducking even lower, arms coming up instinctively to shield herself.

“Fuck, Esme, stay down!” I choked out, and without thinking, I threw myself over her, shielding her with my body as the world erupted in gunfire.

She squirmed in my grasp, desperate for freedom, and managed to scoot away, dragging herself backward on her ass until the crates shielded her body.

I let her have the space. For now, we were both half-hidden, crouched low, as bullets tore through the warehouse, ricocheting in sharp, metallic shrieks.

Gunfire exploded all around us, ours and theirs, so loud it made my teeth ache.

I risked a glance around the corner, pulse thundering in my ears, searching for the source of Rhea’s men and the direction their shots were coming from.

Up on the balcony, I caught a flash of movement.

Three men, guns drawn, hunched and firing. Behind them stood Rhea, untouched by the chaos, her silhouette striking in a gauzy, lemon-yellow dress that shimmered in the half-light.

Dark sunglasses perched, almost arrogantly, on her sleek hair. She looked every inch the socialite, more suited to a summer cocktail party than a midnight firefight on the edge of the desert.

But her expression…God, she was radiant.

A twisted sort of joy played across her lips, her mouth stretched in a wild, delighted smile as she watched the violence unfold.

A delicate flute of champagne dangled from her hand, red manicure immaculate even as bullets screamed through the air.

The surreal image burned into my brain, but I forced myself to focus. Where the fuck was Ares?

My eyes scanned the shadows until I spotted him, crouched low behind the kiln with Zeno and Thal, the three of them exchanging fire with Rhea’s crew.

Ares moved with lethal precision, lining up shot after shot, and I watched as he dropped one man, then the next.

Rhea’s smile faltered when only one remained; then she slipped into the office, her last guard scrambling behind her.

For a heartbeat, quiet reigned, a brief, tense pause as we all recalibrated. My chest heaved, lungs burning, but the silence didn’t last.

Another door burst open at the far end of the warehouse, spilling out a fresh wave of Rhea’s men. They moved as a pack, laser-focused on Ares and the others, unleashing an avalanche of bullets that chewed up concrete and metal alike.

“Fuck,” I hissed under my breath, snapping off return fire.

My aim was steady, and I dropped three, watched them crumple, but five more kept coming, relentless. They were going to overrun Ares if I didn’t do something fast.

Distraction.

I needed to draw their focus, buy Ares time. But a cold knot twisted in my gut at the thought of leaving Esme exposed, even for a second. Instinct made me turn, searching for her, and my heart stuttered, thudding painfully, when I realized she wasn’t there.

The space behind me was empty. She was gone.

What the fuck.

I hissed under my breath, catching the flash of her darting away, a spectral blur melting into the shadows and toward the open door, the staircase gaping beyond.

“Esme!” I shouted, but she was already gone, her feet hitting the steps before I could even push myself upright.

I glanced back at Ares, Zeno, and Thal, a split-second calculation, primal and electric.

Three of them. Only one Esme.

They’d be fine.

I lunged forward, adrenaline hot and reckless, chasing her into the dark, following every wild step as bullets tore through the air around me.

One clipped my arm, pain exploding, sharp and immediate, but I shoved it aside, teeth bared, rage at Esme burning brighter with every stride.

I wouldn’t stop. Not for anything.