The rain didn't let up. It pounded against the pavement like a war drum, each drop a reminder that time was running out. Alex pulled his jacket tighter around himself, his mind already piecing together a plan as he walked through the dimly lit streets. The city was alive in the worst ways—shadows moved where they shouldn't, eyes watched from alleys, and danger lurked behind every unassuming door.
Maya Trent.
She wasn't just another missing person. If she were, Alex wouldn't be waist-deep in cartel business. No, she was important to someone, someone with enough money and power to hire him and make sure he didn't stop until she was found. But now, with Ellie's warning that someone else was looking for Maya, the job had become more than just a paycheck.
It was a goddamn race.
The Warehouse
The location Ellie gave him wasn't far, just outside the city limits where abandoned buildings rotted under the weight of time. The drive there was short, but it felt longer. His gut told him this wasn't going to be easy. Cartels didn't leave loose ends, and if Maya had seen something she shouldn't have, she was either already dead or being kept alive for a reason.
Alex parked his car a few blocks away and approached on foot. The warehouse loomed ahead, a skeletal structure against the dark sky. A single dim light flickered above the entrance, casting long, jagged shadows across the cracked concrete.
No guards outside. That was either a good sign or a trap.
He moved quietly, his boots barely making a sound against the wet ground. His hand hovered over the gun at his hip. He preferred not to use it unless necessary—guns were loud, messy. His fists got the job done just fine.
He reached the door and pressed himself against the wall. The lock was broken, the door slightly ajar. Someone had been here before him.
Alex cursed under his breath and stepped inside.
Inside the Beast's Den
The warehouse smelled of mildew and rust, the air thick with dust and something else—blood. The kind of scent that told stories of pain and violence, of bodies that had been beaten and left to rot.
He moved cautiously through the darkness, his eyes adjusting to the faint glow of a flickering overhead light. Empty crates and broken machinery littered the space, creating a maze of cover. He strained his ears for any sound—breathing, footsteps, the click of a safety being released.
Nothing.
Then—
A muffled sound.
Alex's body tensed. It was faint, but he knew what he'd heard. A struggle. A voice. A woman.
Maya.
His heart pounded as he followed the sound, slipping through the shadows like a predator closing in on its prey. He rounded a corner and saw them.
Two men. One holding Maya, the other pressing a knife to her throat.
She was fighting, her arms straining against her captor's grip. Her dark hair was tangled, her clothes torn at the edges. But her eyes—those were alive with fire, defiant even as the blade kissed her skin.
Alex didn't think. He moved.
His fist collided with the first man's jaw before the bastard even registered his presence. Bone cracked beneath his knuckles, and the man dropped like a stone. The second man turned, raising his knife, but Alex was faster. He grabbed the thug's wrist, twisting until the knife clattered to the floor. Then he drove his knee into the guy's gut, knocking the wind out of him.
The man gasped, but Alex wasn't done. He grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the nearest crate. The thug's head snapped back with a sickening thud, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Silence.
Alex turned to Maya.
She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. Blood trickled from a small cut on her neck, but her eyes were locked onto his—wide, assessing.
"Alex Cross," she said, her voice a mixture of relief and suspicion. "Took you long enough."
He smirked, brushing dust off his knuckles. "Yeah, well, traffic was a bitch."
Maya exhaled, then glanced at the unconscious men. "You didn't kill them."
"Didn't have to."
She tilted her head. "You might regret that."
A sound behind them.
Alex barely had time to react before a gunshot rang out. He grabbed Maya and pulled her down just as a bullet slammed into the crate behind them. Splinters flew.
More men.
Shit.
A Fight Worth Remembering
Alex didn't hesitate. He grabbed a metal pipe from the ground and swung it as the first man charged. The pipe connected with the thug's ribs, a sickening crack splitting the air. The guy crumpled, wheezing.
Maya was already moving, her fists landing hard against another attacker's face. She wasn't just some helpless victim—she knew how to fight.
Alex took on the last man, dodging a wild swing before driving his elbow into the bastard's throat. The guy gurgled, clutching his neck, and Alex finished him with a brutal kick to the ribs.
Within seconds, it was over.
Maya wiped blood from her lip, looking at Alex with something close to amusement. "You're not bad."
He grinned. "I get that a lot."
But there was no time to celebrate. Sirens wailed in the distance. Someone had called the cops.
"Time to go," Alex said, grabbing her wrist.
She pulled away. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me who the hell you are and why you're looking for me."
"Not now," he said. "You wanna wait around for the cops?"
She hesitated, then shook her head.
"Then move."
They ran into the night, the city swallowing them whole.
But Alex knew this was just the beginning.
Because Maya Trent wasn't just another missing person.
She was something else.
And now, she was his problem.