Chapter 652: Shadows and Apex Predators

The foyer’s slaughter clung like a second skin, blood crust flaking off my suit in brittle shards, warm droplets still seeping from splatter, soaking collar with sticky heat, reeking raw iron and piss-soaked fear.

Ava hovered close, chest rising and falling in jagged bursts, sweat-beaded skin glistening under flickering lights, gore-matted hair clinging to her forehead, eyes locked on mine—pupils blown wide, feral hunger mirrored back.

Her fingers twitched, knuckles cracked white, breath hot and panting against my neck.

"Split up and search,"

I ordered.

My whole being screamed alert—tenfold nerves firing electric, every shadow pulsing threat, distant heartbeats hammering in my ears like war drums, scents assaulting: lingering cordite burn, fresh entrails steam, hidden sweat-sour terror.

"You take the east wing. Clear every room. Keep comms hot on."

"Got it," she rasped, voice husky and low, lips curling into a blood-smeared grin, tongue darting out to taste the lingering copper. "Just don’t go dying on me without backup, Eros. I wanna hear their screams... or yours when I fuck you later, so stay alive until then okay?"

She scooped up a fallen vibro-knife—blade whining high-pitched ultrasonic—and strapped it tight against her thigh with a sharp leather slap against skin.

"Happy hunting." She melted into the east corridor, hips swaying with predatory grace, footfalls ghost-silent on gore-slick marble, shadows devouring her curves whole.

Weaponed for war—HUD blazing across my retinas, arsenal nano-birthing in flashes: dual plasma pistols materializing in holsters, grips scalding my palms with charged heat, coils throbbing ozone pulse that tingled fingertips.

The west hall swallowed me whole—corridors narrowing oppressive, marble floors veined gold but cracked in spiderwebs from blasts, drips from shattered chandeliers plinking rhythmic into puddles, crystal shards crunching teeth-gritting under boots.

Pistols raised, muzzles sweeping slow, deliberate arcs, fingers curled just off triggers, pulse thudding steady kill rhythm.

Paintings loomed judgmentally—dark oils bleeding scenes of predators ripping throats open, eyes glinting wet mockery. Cold clawed down my spine, breath fogging inside the visor, scent thickening to cigar ash and vodka bite, underlying something rotten.

The grand hall yawned open sudden—cavernous void, ceiling vaulting fifty feet high, frescoes peeling flaking gods devouring mortals in eternal agony, moonbeams slashing through skylights like silver knives, dust motes swarming frantic in the beams. Columns flanked the sides, shadows pooling deep black, echoes amplifying my own heart’s roar.

Center dais raised, throne-like chair empty but beckoning.

I

froze

mid-stride, pistols locked up, tenfold ears catching faint rustles high above, breaths of dozens shallow and panicked.

A voice slithered down from the darkness—balcony overhang, thick Russian accent scraping like rusty blades on bone, amplified through hidden speakers, vibrating deep in my chest cavity:

"Impressive work out there, kid. You smell like my men’s guts—still steaming on your boots, huh? But here in my hall? We talk first. Or you can join the piles of meat downstairs."

I whirled slow, muzzles probing the void, grin splitting my lips wide, tasting lingering blood residue on my teeth. "Dmitri Volkov. Hiding up there like a

rat

in the rafters?

I was expecting a big bad bear roar... not this rat squeak."

He laughed back, deep and phlegm-choked, wet hack cutting through every guffaw, echoing off the walls like a madhouse chorus.

"Months ago, you sneak in and help that Quantum Tech girl, Charlotte. You take down the three experienced men circling her company—Vincent, Antonio, and me. I slip out of the prison you nearly threw me in, yeah? While the others rot away. You clean us out—18.5 billion right there in the open, another

7 billion

buried so deep I almost forgot where, and 800 million in cold gold bars.

"My fucking gold, my money! Billions you arsehole!" His anger could be felt.

"Smart little thief. You pit me against Vincent with those whispers, spin your web until everything cracks. My empire? It’s falling apart piece by piece—raids hitting Moscow hard, assets locked up in Dubai, allies disappearing in New York. All ’cause you hand the CIA my whole playbook."

"Come on, Dmitri. I did more, sing the praises!" I laughed. Thought that would anger him yet instead he laughed!"

"You grabbed my blackmail files, my insurance—the only hold I had on those big shots. Flip ’em on me, cut me off. No one’s coming to save my ass."

He paced up there, boots thudding heavy on the wooden balcony, creaks groaning under his weight, shadow stretching long across the frescoes.

"I started digging. I knew something was off. Who’s this ghost? Not just Charlotte—no, someone. Yeah! After weeks of following her, I realized who it was! A teenager pulling strings from the shadows with her."

"You must’ve felt proud, huh?"

"Weird, right? Why’s she always crashing with that one family, the Carters? Picture-perfect very ordinary Americans. And the helper? Masked up, gone in a flash. I’ve seen shit around the world, kid—

stuff no one would believe

.

Extraordinary

things the government does not want the public to know. Warlords vanishing into thin air, relics that curse you in your sleep, guys walking through walls.

"So, my head goes to the crazy place: these two teens... the one with the family hosting Charlotte, and the shadow helper... they’re the same damn person? Sounds nuts, huh?" His laugh cracked again, edge going full manic, voice climbing higher: "Totally insane! But it’s gotta be true, doesn’t it? Come on, tell me!"

I started to cut in—"Dmitri, listen—"

He barreled right over me, voice snapping like a whip: "So I test it out. Hit your birthday party—wait, no, the attack on what I thought was my shot at you."

"Actually, I was going to say cut the shit and we get this over with." He did not comment on that, committed to paly detective.

"I was going for two birds: figure out the puzzle and wipe out those

happy Thompsons

. But what happens? You and that Korean girl zip around faster than the bullets, grabbing the women, scooping up all 32 guests or whatever, getting ’em safe... unfortunately for me..."

Unfortunately," I jumped in, voice dry mockery, pistols dipping just a bit, tenfold senses mapping every balcony nook, "your bullets still clipped me."

"Yeah," he snarled, satisfaction dripping, "and then I just wait. See who comes storming in here to finish it. Mystery solved."

I chuckled, low and dark, rumbling up from my gut, air crackling tighter: "Gotta hand it to you—that was sharp. But that info? It’s the kind that gets people killed.

Oh wait

, I’m already here to kill you, so... yeah, no change there."

His laugh boomed triumphant, spotlights flaring on like blinding suns, burning into my eyes. Dmitri stepped out full, hulking frame sharp now, black suit straining, scar-pocked face twisting, sunken eyes black holes, gold teeth gleaming in a snarl.

"Think you’re the killer here, boy? You’re wrong. Tonight, you’re the one who ends up dead."

Balconies exploded alive—gunmen pouring out hidden doors, swarming the rails, muzzles glinting cold, red dots frantic on my chest, click-clacks filling the air with cordite tease. Rifles, shotguns, SMGs—barrels shaking with nerves.

Dmitri threw his arms out, booming like he owned a god up there: "I’ve seen all kinds—guys tank ten bullets, twenty if they’re freaks. Some ran faster that bullets sometimes But thousands of bullets? Nobody walks from that. Let’s see how many it takes to put you down for good, friend."

I laughed, easy and deep, eyes scanning them all, counting forty-two racing hearts. And there—Helena, raven hair wild, curves deadly in leather, eyes burning hate. "Helena! Small world, huh?"

She shrugged, voice smooth poison, lips twisting: "Hate your guts already, and this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on you. You torched everything I worked for you know."

"Sorry

about that," I grinned, voice playful but sharp, tension humming: "but I’ve got this thing for pretty girls in trouble. Couldn’t let Charlotte go down—she’s got those innocent

cute

eyes, that killer smile.

Gods, she’s too pure for your world.

"But you know the laws of jungle better than anyone, Helena, don’t ya? It’s a survival for fittest. Eat or be eaten outta here and it was the same for us. It was eat or be eaten, so yeah... I ate. Came out on top as the apex. You can’t fault a guy for surviving, right?"

She laughed, low and rich, shaking her head, hair whipping: "Nah, as much as I to admit it, I cant blame you for that, that’s exactly why I’m sitting this cowardly fight out. Gang on a single guy with tens of guns? Not my style—this one’s too lopsided and chickenshit. I’m gone. Catch you in hell maybe... love to stare at that face again, it’s so out of the world. Who knows, we might even fuck down there with the devil as a witness top our reunion."

She slung her rifle, spun, hips swaying as she strode off.

"The honor’s all mine!"

I added after her, grinning real.

Dmitri bellowed, veins popping: "Helena! What the hell? I paid you good!"

Her voice faded back: "Money’s in your bedroom, Dmitri! Time for a quiet life!"

"You can’t just betray me like this!"

"Watch me—I just did."

"Hey, Helena!" I shouted, cupping hands: "Got a surprise for you at the Celestial Grand Hotel. Swing by, drop my name!"

No answer—just her footsteps echoing away.

Dmitri snarled, face purpling, spit flying: "

Enough bullshit! Fire—"