Obsidian: The Sentinel Code Book One, page 34
The man was crying now. Snot and tears mixing with blood. “Please. Please I don't know anything useful.”
“You know more than you think.” Sebastian stood. Nodded to me. “His left hand. All of them.”
I broke three fingers in quick succession. The man's screams turned to sobs. Incoherent. Broken.
“Ghost Zero!” Sebastian's voice cut through the crying. Sharp. Commanding. “How do you receive orders?”
“Encrypted. Email. Dark web servers.” The words came fast now. Desperate. “We never see his face. Never hear his voice. Just text. Instructions. Targets.”
“What kind of targets?”
“Politicians. Businessmen. Anyone. Anyone he wants watched or eliminated.”
“The royal family?”
“Yes! Yes, we've been watching them for months! Reporting schedules, security changes, everything!”
I grabbed him by the hair. Forced his head back. “What is Ghost Zero planning?”
“I don't know! I swear I don't know! He doesn't tell us the big picture! We just follow orders!”
“Bullshit.” I slammed his head against the pipe. Once. Twice. Blood ran from his scalp. “You know something. Tell us or I start breaking bones that don't heal.”
“Wait! Wait!” He was hyperventilating now. Panicking. “There's. There's a meeting. I heard about a meeting.”
Sebastian and I exchanged a look.
“What meeting?” Sebastian asked.
“They're coordinating something big. Something that happens soon. That's all I know. I swear that's all I know!”
“When?”
“I don't know!”
“Where?”
“I DON'T KNOW!” He was sobbing now. Completely broken. “They don't tell us! We're just foot soldiers! Expendable! We get orders and we follow them or we disappear!”
I pulled out a bucket. Filled it with water from the tap that still worked. Came back.
“What are you doing?” the man asked. Eyes wide. Terrified.
“Waterboarding. You are going to tell me everything you know about Ghost Zero. Every detail. Every message. Every instruction.” I grabbed a towel. “And you are going to do it now.”
“No. No please. I can't breathe underwater. I have asthma. Please don't—”
I put the towel over his face. Poured water. He thrashed. Choked. Couldn't breathe.
I counted to fifteen. Pulled the towel away.
He gasped. Coughed. Vomited water and bile.
“Ghost Zero,” I said. “Talk.”
“He's. He's methodical. Plans everything. Months in advance.” The words came between gasps. “The motorcade attack. That was just a test. Testing security response. Testing how close they could get.”
“What's the real target?”
“I don't know. I swear. But it's big. He's been moving pieces into place. Getting people inside. Building networks.” More coughing. “He's patient. Willing to wait years if he has to.”
“Years for what?”
“To destroy the crown. That's what he says in the messages. Not just kill. Destroy. Make it so broken it can never recover.”
Sebastian's hand settled on my shoulder. “Viktor. That's enough. He doesn't know more.”
“He might be lying.”
“He's not. Look at him. He's telling the truth. He's just a foot soldier. They don't tell foot soldiers the real plans.”
I looked at the man. Broken. Bleeding. Barely conscious. Sebastian was right. He'd given us everything he had.
We couldn't let him go. He'd seen our faces. Heard our voices. Could identify us if Ghost Zero found him first.
And Ghost Zero would find him. Would torture him for what he'd told us. Would know that the prince and his bodyguard were hunting together.
Would know we'd crossed every line that should've kept us separate.
I drew my weapon. Fitted the suppressor. The threading was smooth. Familiar. I'd done this before. More times than I wanted to count.
“Wait.” Sebastian's hand caught my wrist. Firm. “Wait.”
I looked at him. “He is liability. He knows too much.”
“He's also barely conscious. Broken. Not going anywhere.” Sebastian crouched in front of the man. “What's your name?”
The man's eyes opened slightly. Unfocused. “Thomas.”
“Thomas what?”
“Miller. Thomas Miller.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Please. I have a daughter. She's eight. I just. I just needed the money. Her mother's sick. Medical bills. I didn't know what else to do.”
The words hit different than I expected. Made him human instead of just target. Made this complicated in ways I didn't want.
Sebastian's expression shifted. Something in his eyes changed. “What's her name? Your daughter.”
“Riley.” Thomas coughed. Blood on his lips. “She likes horses. Wants to ride them when she grows up. Tell her. Tell her I'm sorry I couldn't be better.”
“You're going to tell her yourself.” Sebastian stood. Looked at me. “Put the gun away.”
“Sebastian—”
“Put it away, Viktor.”
I didn't move. “He is witness. He can identify us. If Ghost Zero finds him—”
“Then we make sure Ghost Zero doesn't find him.” Sebastian pulled out his phone. “Call Adrian. Tell him we need extraction. Someone who can take Thomas somewhere safe. Medical attention. Protection.”
“This is mistake.”
“Maybe. But it's my mistake to make.” Sebastian's jaw set. Stubborn. Final. “I'm not killing a man in front of his daughter's name. Not for this. Not when there's another option.”
I stared at him. At this prince who'd just helped torture a man for information but drew the line at execution. Who could be ruthless when necessary but chose mercy when possible.
“Adrian will not be happy about this,” I said.
“Adrian will understand. He has Noah. He knows what it's like to have something worth living for.” Sebastian crouched again, met Thomas's eyes. “Listen to me carefully. We're giving you a chance. One chance. You're going to go with the people we send. Get medical attention. Then you disappear. New identity. New city. You and your daughter both.”
Thomas nodded. Weak. Desperate. “I understand. Thank you. Thank you.”
“Don't thank me yet. You're not safe until Adrian says you're safe.” Sebastian stood. Looked at me. “Make the call.”
I pulled out my comm. Reluctant but recognizing when I'd lost this argument. “Adrian. Need extraction and medical. One witness. Non-hostile. Needs protection and relocation.”
Static. Then Adrian's voice, sharp and questioning. “You're keeping a witness alive? That's not protocol, Viktor.”
“Is not my call. Is prince's call.”
A pause. Long enough that I thought Adrian might refuse. Then: “Coordinates?”
I rattled them off. Heard Adrian relay orders to someone in the background. Luka, probably. Or one of his people who specialized in making problems disappear without leaving bodies.
“Extraction in twenty minutes,” Adrian said. “And Viktor? This better not come back to bite us.”
“If it does, I will handle it personally.”
“See that you do.” The line went dead.
Sebastian was already moving to the sink. Filling a cup with water. He brought it back to Thomas. Helped him drink despite the broken fingers. Despite everything we'd done to him.
“They'll be here soon,” Sebastian said. “Stay awake. Stay quiet. When they arrive, do exactly what they tell you. No questions. No hesitation.”
“My daughter—” Thomas started.
“Will be safe. I give you my word.” Sebastian's voice carried weight. Authority. The kind that made promises feel like oaths. “But you have to hold up your end. Disappear. Stay disappeared. Live quietly. Be the father Riley needs you to be.”
Thomas nodded. Tears streaming down his face again. But different tears now. Not pain. Something closer to hope mixed with disbelief.
We waited in silence. Sebastian standing guard by the window. Me watching Thomas. Making sure he didn't try anything stupid. Making sure he stayed conscious long enough for extraction.
Twenty minutes felt like hours.
Then headlights cut through the darkness outside. A van. Unmarked. Luka climbed out first, followed by two men I didn't recognize. Professionals. The kind who knew how to move people without questions.
I opened the door. Luka looked at Thomas. Then at me. Eyebrow raised.
“Prince's orders,” I said.
“Prince has a soft heart.” But Luka was already moving. Checking Thomas's injuries with practiced efficiency. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
“Good. Then let's go. Long drive ahead.” Luka glanced at Sebastian. “Adrian says you're paying for medical and relocation. Hope this one's worth it.”
“He will be,” Sebastian said. “Or Viktor will make sure he isn't a problem anymore.”
Luka grinned. Sharp. Predatory. “Fair enough.” He hauled Thomas to his feet. Gentle despite his size. “Come on, Thomas Miller. Let's get you and Riley somewhere safe. Somewhere Ghost Zero will never find you.”
Thomas looked back at us as they led him out. Mouth forming words he couldn't quite say. Gratitude or disbelief or some combination of both.
Then he was gone. Van pulling away into the night. Taillights disappearing into rain.
Silence settled over the farmhouse again.
Sebastian exhaled. Long and slow. “You think I'm weak.”
“No.” I moved beside him. “I think you are better than me. Better than this world deserves.”
“I'm not better. I'm just tired of death.” He looked at me. “Too many people have died already. If we can save one. Just one. Maybe that means something.”
“Maybe it does.”
“Or maybe I just condemned us both by letting him live.”
“Then we deal with it. Together.”
His hand found mine. Laced our fingers together. Both of us still covered in Thomas Miller's blood. Both of us hoping mercy wouldn't be the thing that killed us.
“Let's go,” Sebastian said. “We're done here.”
We left the farmhouse behind. Rode back through rain and darkness. Toward the palace. Toward whatever came next.
But for once, we rode knowing we'd chosen something other than violence.
And maybe that mattered.
Maybe it was enough.
19
VELVET AND GUNFIRE
SEBASTIAN
The mirror didn't lie. I'd made sure of that years ago when I'd stopped trusting anything else.
Lamplight caught the gold thread in my formal jacket, the kind of tailoring that cost more than most people made in six months. Velvet lapels. Silk lining. Every stitch measured and deliberate and suffocating. My hands moved on autopilot, adjusting cufflinks that didn't need adjusting, straightening a collar that was already perfect.
The opera gala. Of course it was an opera gala. Because what said “we're fine, everything's normal” better than watching tragic love stories play out on stage while pretending you weren't living one yourself?
I ran my fingers through my hair for the third time. Still looked like I'd just rolled out of bed, despite twenty minutes of trying to tame it into something respectable. The scar along my temple had finally faded enough that makeup could hide it. The bruises from last week's “training accident” were gone. The split knuckles had healed.
All evidence erased. All lies maintained.
Perfect prince. Perfect smile. Perfect mask.
I looked at my reflection and saw a stranger wearing my face.
The door opened behind me. No knock. He never knocked anymore.
Viktor stepped into my dressing room like he owned the space, and something in my chest went tight at the sight of him. Black formal suit, tailored to his frame with the same ruthless attention to detail as my own. The jacket fit his shoulders like it had been poured on, concealing the holster I knew was there, the knife strapped to his ribs, all the violence he carried like breathing.
His hair was slicked back. Clean-shaven. The scar above his eyebrow was visible tonight, a thin line of silver against tanned skin. His steel-grey eyes found mine in the mirror, and for a second neither of us moved.
He looked... dangerous. Not in the way he usually did, all controlled threat and coiled muscle. This was different. Polished. Refined. Like someone had taken a wolf and dressed it in silk and somehow made it more lethal, not less.
“You clean up well,” I said.
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “You look dangerous.”
I turned from the mirror, facing him properly. He'd stopped just inside the doorway, like he was waiting for permission to come closer. Like we hadn't spent the last three months in each other's pockets, breathing the same air, learning the rhythm of each other's movements.
“Dangerous,” I repeated. “That's what you're going with?”
“Da.” His accent thickened slightly, the way it did when he was trying not to say something. “Is accurate.”
I stepped closer. Watched his jaw tighten, watched his hands flex at his sides like he was stopping himself from reaching for something. For me, maybe. Or a weapon. Sometimes I wasn't sure which impulse was stronger in him.
“Your tie's crooked,” I lied.
It wasn't. But he let me fix it anyway.
My fingers found the silk, warm from his skin. I could feel his pulse through the fabric, steady and strong, the most honest thing in this room full of mirrors and masks. He stood absolutely still while I worked, barely breathing, like he'd turned himself into stone.
“You're staring again,” I whispered.
“Can't seem to stop.”
The admission gutted me. Three words, delivered in that rough accent, and I felt them everywhere. In my chest. My throat. The base of my spine.
I looked up. Met his eyes. Found him watching me with an intensity that made my fingers stumble on the knot.
“We should...” I started, but the words dissolved.
Because he’d lifted his hand. Slowly, deliberately, giving me every chance to pull away. His fingertips traced my jaw, callused and gentle, like I was something fragile he was afraid of breaking.
He kissed me. His mouth crashed against mine, forcing the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping into his heat, his taste, his grip. My body bent to his will before my mind caught up, lips parting, tongue tangling with his, the slick slide of want and memory making my head spin.
His hands found my waist, fingers digging into the fine fabric, wrinkling silk and crushing velvet, dragging me up onto my toes, forcing my body flush to his. The force of him was a storm—hard, barely restrained, the kind of hunger that left bruises and confessions in its wake. My fists caught in his jacket, dragging him closer, needing more, always more.
He pivoted, pressing me back until my shoulders hit the wall with a thud that vibrated through the polished wood paneling. My breath stuttered; his weight boxed me in, thigh shoved between my legs, grinding up, making my cock throb inside tailored slacks. I moaned into his mouth, careless, shame and fear forgotten for the space of a stolen minute.
“Fuck, Sebastian,” he growled, words muffled against my lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
His mouth dragged down my jaw, teeth scraping the skin beneath my ear, tongue flicking the pulse hammering there. His hand bracketed my hip, holding me in place, grinding me against the solid heat of his thigh. Every brush of his body sent sparks flying up my spine, every drag of silk and wool and skin made my head spin, made me desperate to let go.
“We’ll be late,” I managed, the words barely a gasp as he sucked a bruise into the line of my neck, hidden just beneath my collar. “They’ll notice—”
“Let them,” Viktor muttered, voice dark with something dangerous. “Let the whole palace wonder why your lips are swollen, why you walk out of here with your pulse racing.”
His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, claiming, tongue plunging, lips bruising, hand sliding down my chest to grab my thigh and hitch it up, pinning me tighter to the wall. My cock pressed against him, trapped by layers of luxury, aching for more friction, more contact, more of the desperate, wild heat he always brought out in me.
Viktor’s hand dropped from my thigh and gripped my shoulder, guiding me down. The power in that single touch unraveled me, my knees hitting the thick rug without hesitation, formal slacks tight, breath ragged. I stared up at him, every inch of me thrumming with hunger and submission.
He looked down, eyes dark, jaw tight, cock already straining against the front of his tailored trousers. “Want your mouth on me, now,” Viktor said, voice wrecked and rough, need bleeding through every word. “Been thinking about it all night. Can’t get you out of my fucking head—your mouth, your tongue, the way you take my cock like you were born for it.”
His hands moved with practiced urgency, working open his belt, unzipping his fly, freeing himself from the press of the expensive fabric. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, the head already wet, the sight enough to make my mouth water, my own cock throb against the seam of my trousers.
“Open,” he growled, hand curling into my hair, guiding my face closer. “Show me how hungry you are. Show me why I can’t think about anything but you.”
I opened for him, lips parted, tongue out, greedy and eager, eyes locked to his as he pressed the heavy weight of his cock against my lips. The taste of him, salt and musk, flooded my senses as I sucked him in, jaw straining to take as much as I could. His grip tightened, hips rocking forward, the blunt head pushing over my tongue, filling my mouth, stealing my breath.
“That’s it, prince,” Viktor groaned, a tremor running through his whole body. “You look so fucking good on your knees for me. This mouth was made for me—don’t ever forget it.”
He began to fuck my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, careful not to choke me, but making sure I felt every thick inch, every desperate pulse of need. I moaned around him, letting spit drip down my chin, hands fisting in the fabric of his trousers, using him for balance as I let him use me for pleasure.
