Run With The Devil

The Target

Deon

Deons pov

The room is quiet. Too quiet. My men are sitting around the long table, eyes down, waiting for me to speak. They know better than to say anything before I do. I run a tight ship, and I don't waste time with pleasantries. I don't care about their opinions or their nerves. What I care about is results.

I flick the folder open in front of me. Black and white photos spill out, grainy images of a lab that looks ordinary on the outside but isn't. It's hidden under layers of false fronts-an old pharmaceutical company on paper, but in reality, it's something far more profitable.

My eyes narrow on the most recent picture. A building with high, sterile walls, deep in the middle of nowhere. The kind of place people forget exists. The kind of place people don't leave.

"Tell me what you found," I say, my voice low but carrying the weight of command.

Vincent, one of my most trusted men, clears his throat. He looks up, his hands fidgeting with the edges of the table, but he knows better than to make me wait.

"The lab's officially off the radar, boss. We tracked its finances, but they're funneled through dummy corporations and offshore accounts. Whoever runs this place doesn't want it found, not by anyone outside their circle. And there's a reason for that."

He nods to another man at the table, Angelo, who opens a laptop and spins it toward me. Screens full of data flash in front of me-blueprints, shipping manifests, coded documents. All part of a puzzle, one I'm starting to piece together.

"They've got drugs in there, Deon," Angelo says, his voice sharper than Vincent's. He's been with me long enough to know how I operate. "Serums. Experimental stuff worth millions on the black market. Maybe more. We're talking performance enhancers, some kind of speed mutation. But that's not all. They're testing it on live subjects. Humans."

I keep my expression neutral, but the thought of it pulls at something deep. Human experiments. Dark, ugly business. Even in my line of work, you have to be cold to pull something like that off. But then again, I'm no saint either.

"How secure is the facility?" I ask.

Angelo leans forward, tapping the screen. "It's locked down tight. Armed guards, electronic surveillance, biometric locks. This isn't just some shady drug lab. It's government-grade. But that means the payout is going to be huge. There's enough product inside to flood the market. We're talking tens of millions."

My fingers drum on the table, the only sound in the room. I feel every eye on me, waiting for my decision. Waiting to know what I'll do next. The operation isn't just about the money, though that's a damn good motivator. It's about control. Power. Information. Whoever owns this place thinks they're untouchable, hiding behind walls and their expensive tech. They think no one can reach them.

They don't know me.

"How soon can we hit it?" I ask, cutting straight to the point.

Vincent glances at Angelo, then back at me. "We'll need to run recon for another week to make sure we know the layout. Guards, shifts, vulnerabilities. But once we're ready, we can move fast. Take it down in one hit. Clean. Quiet."

I nod slowly, weighing the options. Risks are part of the game. Always have been. But this lab, with its secret experiments and multi-million dollar stash, is more than just a financial opportunity. It's a statement. A power play. We hit them, we take what's theirs, and we send a message. No one hides from me. No one's untouchable.

"Do it," I say, my voice hard. "Run the recon. Find me the weak spots. I don't care how tight their security is. I want every guard's routine, every locked door, every camera feed. When we go in, we leave no trace. And we take everything."

There's a pause. I see the look pass between Vincent and Angelo, like they're waiting for something else. I know what they're thinking-this place isn't normal. They think I should be more cautious. Maybe I should be. But caution is for men who are afraid to lose. I don't lose. I never do.

"And one more thing," I say, leaning back in my chair. "If there's anyone left inside when we're done-anyone useful-bring them to me."

They nod, but I can see the uncertainty in their eyes. They don't ask questions. Not out loud, at least. But I can read it in their faces. They want to know why I'm interested in what's inside that lab. Why it's not enough to just take the drugs and be done with it.

They don't need to know. Not yet.

What matters is that I'm in control. That's what my men need to understand. And when I say jump, they do it. No hesitation. No second-guessing.

I stand, and they all follow, their chairs scraping the floor in unison.

"Dismissed," I say, turning toward the door. They file out quietly, leaving me alone with the folder and the silence.

As I stare at the grainy images of the lab one more time, a strange feeling creeps into my chest. I push it aside. Feelings don't matter. Not in my world.

But there's something about this place. Something that doesn't sit right.

And when something doesn't sit right with me, I tear it apart until I find out why.