Chapter 255: The Voss Blacksheep

Helena understood the rules: power wasn’t about being desired. Power was about being desired by people who would never touch you, never hold you, never even get close enough to leave a scratch. And Sloane? Left with fantasies that were basically unpaid internships in lust, chaos, and admiration.

"Sloane," Helena’s voice sliced through his mental worship like a katana through silk, "I can practically hear you fantasizing about my ass from across the room. Either report your intelligence or go jerk off in private... are you planning to stand there mentally fucking me, or do you have something to report?"

Crude. Precise. Lethal. Her honey-and-venom tone was basically a masterclass in humiliation. Sloane’s brain short-circuited, simultaneously craving and fearing her judgment—like watching a Ferrari speed toward a cliff and hoping it doesn’t explode.

"Apologies, ma’am," he muttered, forcing his eyes off the hypnotic rise and fall of her chest and onto her face, which somehow looked like it had been photoshopped by a bored god. "Critical communications failure at Facility C."

She pivoted, and the frontal view was catastrophic. Blue eyes locked on him like an MRI machine for his soul. Disappoint her? Not an option. Fail her? Also, not an option.

"Details."

"Total blackout five minutes ago. All frequencies jammed, satellite communications severed, even hardened military channels are dark."

Her lips pursed—tiny imperfection, massive devastation. Like she’d left a crack in perfection just to remind him who really ran the world. Sloane’s brain briefly filed it under.

"Equipment malfunction?" The words carried the weight of someone who knew that equipment only fails on its own in fairy tales and horror movies.

"No, ma’am. Active signal jamming within a five-mile radius. Coordinated electronic warfare assault."

Helena’s chest rose and fell in deeper, controlled breaths. Professional mask on, but the tension underneath was palpable. Sloane could almost see her fuming like a nuclear reactor disguised as a supermodel.

"Who has that level of capability?"

Sloane hesitated, because honestly, saying the answer aloud felt like tossing a lit match into a powder keg. "Intel and how fast an skilled, it suggests it’s your sister, ma’am. Ava Voss."

The Ice Queen’s mask shattered, if only slightly. Blue eyes flared with fury that could melt titanium, obliterate careers, or just ruin someone’s entire afternoon.

"That meddling little bitch," Helena growled, lips twisting into a snarl that somehow also looked like a smile. "Ava always did have terrible timing."

Sloane swallowed. He could feel that primal, dangerous edge in her gaze—like standing in front of a hurricane wearing flip-flops. And yes, he was still

secretly

noticing the way her silhouette was ridiculously perfect in the window light.

Dangerous

and

aesthetically criminal.

"She’s been tracking rogue operations for months," Sloane offered. "Inevitable she’d catch wind of us eventually."

Helena glided to the bulletproof window overlooking Miami. Even in silhouette, she looked like mythology had moonlighted as an assassin. Curves and posture designed to inspire worship or fear—sometimes both simultaneously.

"So, Facility C is compromised," she murmured, more to herself than him. "Dmitri’s weapons cache... now in federal hands. Maybe."

She turned, and Sloane felt blood run cold. Helena angry was dangerous. Helena calculating while angry? Apocalyptic.

"It doesn’t matter," she said, voice calm enough to make you wet yourself if you weren’t already scared. "That was Dmitri’s problem. Let him explain to buyers why their shipments won’t arrive."

"Anything else?"

"Agent Voss has been systematically targeting operations like ours for months," Sloane said. "Her team specializes in rapid facility seizure and asset liberation. I am afraid she’s catching up onto you, ma’am."

Helena moved back to the window, city lights painting her silhouette like a dark angel ready to crush mortal ambitions. "So, Ava wants to play family reunion. How delightfully predictable."

Sloane’s mind ticked through escape plans, fantasies, and a very inappropriate appreciation for her curves—all simultaneously. Because yes, he was a field operative, but apparently also starring in his own mental horror-comedy-slash-Netflix special.

Helena turned back to face him, and something in her posture shifted from frustrated executive to apex predator selecting her next prey.

"Take Ellis and Kane to Facility A immediately," she commanded, her voice carrying the kind of authority that made natural disasters change course. "Ensure our primary asset remains secure at all costs."

"Rules of engagement if federal agents attempt breach?"

"Whatever force necessary," Helena replied without hesitation. "Ava wants to save the world? Let her explain to Congress why her righteous crusade left federal agents bleeding on concrete."

Sloane nodded and headed for the door, already mentally coordinating the tactical response.

"One more thing," Helena’s voice stopped him at the threshold. "The Thompson girl is still avoiding contact?"

"All communication attempts have failed, ma’am. Complete digital silence."

Helena walked back to her desk, every step a lesson in how perfection moved through space. She picked up a secure phone and held it for a moment, staring at the device like it had personally offended her.

"Sloane," she said finally, "take Ellis and Kane to Facility A. Make sure nothing goes wrong with our primary asset."

"Yes ma’am. But... what do we do about the Thompson girl?"

"Charlotte Thompson is about to receive a personal visit," Helena replied, her smile carrying promises that had nothing to do with friendly conversation. "Since she’s chosen to make herself unreachable through conventional channels, I’ll deliver my message in person. I just have to find her location."

With Margret’s shares in their hands now, it was only time to get the whole thing.

Sloane nodded and turned to leave, but Helena’s voice stopped him at the door.

"And Sloane? When you reach Facility A, remind the guards that our ticket to Quantum Tech is worth more alive than dead. But if my sister’s people show up..." She paused, letting the implication hang in the air like expensive perfume. "Use whatever force necessary."

"Understood, ma’am."

As Sloane left to gather Ellis and Kane, Helena returned to the window. Miami stretched out below her like a chessboard where she’d been moving pieces for years. But now someone else was playing, someone who knew her moves before she made them.

"Ava," she whispered to her reflection, "you always were too clever for your own good."

Time to remind Charlotte Thompson that some conversations couldn’t be avoided forever. Delays would only create more complications, and Helena Voss had reached her limit for tolerating complications.

The Ice Queen was about to make a house call, and Charlotte had no idea what was coming for her.