Page 118 of Shadows of Steel

I pull in, cutting the engine. The moment the door clicks open, my fingers close around the weight of my gun. I move slowly, circling the car with lethal intent before yanking the trunk open.

A wiry figure flinches back, scrambling against the interior. A kid. No older than thirteen.

Torn clothes. Bruised face. Wide, assertive eyes that lock onto mine like a cornered animal, half starved, half-feral.

“What the fuck?”

The words slip out in a low mutter, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t speak. Just clenches his jaw, staring me down with a confidence that would almost be admirable, if I weren’t already in a mood foul enough to put a bullet in something.

I narrow my gaze. “Who the fuck are you?”

His voice is rough. “I ran.”

I tilt my head, assessing. “From who?”

His jaw tightens. “Them.”

Silence stretches as I study him. An Albanian? A spy? A runaway who stumbled into the wrong goddamn car at the worst possible time? Whatever he may be, one thing is certain, he’s an unknown variable. And in my world, anything unknown is a potential threat to my family.

I pull out my phone, voice clipped and controlled. “Mario. We have a situation.”

Gripping the boy’s arm, I haul him from the car and stride toward the house. The estate is eerily silent, too silent. An unfamiliar tension coils in my gut, though I can’t quite place why. I don’t know where my wife or my son are, but for once, their absence is a relief. I need to handle this before they return.

My gaze flicks downward. The boy is watching me like a caged animal, poised to flee at the first opportunity.

Not a chance.

A guard approaches, his stance rigid, awaiting orders.

“Take him to a room in the west wing,” I instruct, my voice devoid of warmth. “Far from my wife and son.”

He nods without hesitation, stepping forward to seize the boy’s arm. The kid resists, if only for a moment, until hunger betrays him.

“Bring him food and water,” I add.

The guard gives a curt nod.

“Keep him locked down,” I continue, my tone edged with steel. “No slip-ups. I want guards stationed at his door at all times.”

The boy finally speaks, his voice sharp. “I’m not your enemy.”

I tilt my head, studying him with the detached scrutiny of a man who’s seen too many liars to take words at face value. “That remains to be seen.”

The guard doesn’t wait for further instruction, dragging him away.

Now, I shift my focus to the only thing that truly matters.

Where the fuck is my wife?

A sharp vibration buzzes against my pocket. My eyes flick to the screen, one of Harlow’s guards.

I answer immediately. “Speak.”

“Sir, we’ve got a problem.”

Every muscle in my body locks tight. “Where. The fuck. Is my wife?”

“We are a few minutes from the house,” he rushes, breath ragged. “But… her stalker got close. Too close.”