Total pages in book: 218
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 862(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
He put himself directly in front of a monster, never stepped aside, and never accepted the offer.
Bees swarm my stomach as the pieces click into place. Jag and Dove on the run, always half-packed and ready to disappear. The way Jag hovered without hovering, following Dove from city to city, never leaving her unprotected, never telling her about her past.
His control wasn’t about ownership. It was about distance from her raping sperm donor, a human sex trafficker who would see her as a business deal instead of a person.
Jag watched everything. Cameras where they didn’t belong. Feeds no one else knew existed. He tracked patterns, who circled too close, who asked the wrong questions.
When he hacked, it wasn’t about money and power. It was surveillance.
When he stalked, it wasn’t desire. It was protection.
Even the way he curated her companions makes sense now. The boundaries, betrayals, and constant friction… He needed her angry enough to push back, sharp enough to run when she had to, smart enough to surround herself with loyal people, and mean enough to survive without him.
He didn’t just guard her body. He guarded her origin. She didn’t know who sired her. Didn’t know who hunted her.
I bet she knows now.
My rib cage shrinks, crushing my lungs until every breath hurts. I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth and stare at the dead space on the screen where the truth finally showed itself.
“That is why Jag Rath watched him for twenty years.” Mikhail closes the file. “He protects his stepsister.”
Wet blotches invade my vision, and the floor sways beneath me.
Jag watched Crowe for twenty years, knowing this day might come. Knowing exactly what kind of monster would come for her.
“Dove’s mother…” Mikhail skims through Jag’s notes. “She appeared in Crowe’s network thirty-three years ago. A retreat in California. She vanished six months later. New name. New town. No paper trail.”
“She was sold.” Fury floods my veins. “Does it show who bought her?”
“No. She ran. Must have escaped during transport to the buyer or wherever she was taken. Jag’s note says Crowe searched for her for eight years. Quiet, paid searches.”
“And now he has Dove.” I drag in a breath that barely works.
Crowe has her, and Jag still stepped forward, dropped to his knees, and traded himself for… What? Does he have a plan? Is he buying time?
Rage rises in my chest, burning through grief, fear, and guilt until there’s nothing left but purpose.
Crowe didn’t just take Dove. He touched a line Jag guarded for decades.
And now?
Now it’s my turn. I’ll get them back.
“Can you find them?” I hover closer.
“Already started.” Mikhail hunches over the keyboard, hood down and eyes sharp as the screens crawl with maps, data streams, and strings of characters that pull shell companies and commercial properties layered so deep they almost disappear.
“Crowe funds private acquisitions,” Mikhail switches screens. “People. Tech. Talent. Real estate. Sometimes silence.” His fingers pause. “He prefers assets that do not belong to governments.”
“Jag is an asset Crowe wanted.”
“Yes.” He finally looks at me. “Dove Rath was leverage. Crowe did not take her to sell her. He took her to control Jag.”
“So this is about Jag’s hacking skills?” Monty stands off to the side, arms crossed. “Jag is that good?”
“I have seen cartel systems, state systems, and private intelligence systems.” Mikhail brings up pages of logs. “This is better than all of them. I am not even inside yet. I am only touching the surface. He built layers inside layers. Traps that do not announce themselves. I make one wrong assumption, and it will eat itself.”
“So he’s better than you.” My neck tenses.
“Yes. I can unravel some of his work, but I cannot build anything close to this. In my world, organizations kill each other to own a mind like his. Wars start over less. And now, he is in the hands of Adrian Crowe. That is very bad.”
“Find them,” I say quietly, my voice ironed by fury. “And I’ll bring them home.”
The room hums with machines, decisions lining up, and looming objections.
“No.” Monty pivots to me. “This isn’t a hunt in the Arctic, Wolf. You can’t go in with guns half-cocked.”
“Oh, I’m fully cocked and done waiting.”
“Crowe isn’t some back-alley criminal. He’s insulated, connected, and powerful. I won’t lose you after everything. I only just found you.”
“This is why I’m here.” Oliver steps in, calm and stern. “I will do the extraction.”
My fists flex. “If you expect me to watch from the sidelines—”
“You’re not risking your life.” Monty thrusts a finger at me.
“Tell Jag that.” I laugh, and it comes out ugly.
“You will not—”
“I already did. The second they took Jag and Dove.”
He opens his mouth again, ready to pull rank or blood or both, and the door opens.
Frankie rushes in, breathless, hair damp from the drizzle outside. Her eyes sweep the room, land on me, and soften. Then she sees The Ghost.