1:47 A.M. — Shoreditch, London
The city never really sleeps—just changes its mask.
Heidi and Marima moved like shadows, dressed in matte black tactical gear under the cover of a light drizzle. No badges. No emblems. Just cold steel eyes and muscle memory carved by years of training.
They weren’t here for glory.
They were here for intel.
Marima clicked her comm once. A coded signal to Riza: Moving in.
Heidi crouched by the fire escape of an old banking firm recently bought out by a shell corporation—one linked to Davikah Hoorne’s offshore laundering web. The building was supposedly “vacant.”
It wasn’t.
Infrared lenses revealed at least four guards pacing inside. Non-uniformed. Armed.
“They’re not security,” Heidi murmured. “They’re ex-private military.”
Marima smirked. “We’ve eaten worse.”
In one swift movement, Marima scaled the fire escape while Heidi picked the back lock with a custom magnetic override chip.
Inside was colder. Quieter.
They moved past cracked tiles and empty desks until they found it: a reinforced basement door.
“Eyes on the prize,” Heidi whispered, planting a noise-canceling charge. The lock blew with a dull pop, swallowed by the sound-masking tech.
They entered a small underground vault lit by sterile white light. A stack of crates lined the wall—firearms, encrypted comms, and folders stamped with the Hoorne crest.
And in the middle: a digital briefing table, still active.
Marima plugged in a Waraha-scrambler drive. The screen blinked—and then loaded a map.
Belgrave Estate. Security Zones. Internal schematics. Guard rotations. Drone patrols. Hidden bunkers.
Heidi leaned closer, her heart spiking.
“He’s preparing for siege. This isn’t defense—it’s containment. He’s keeping something in.”
Marima glanced at her. “Or someone.”
Suddenly, their comms hissed.
Riza’s voice: “You've got ninety seconds. Patrol loop’s shifted—get out, now.”
Marima was already scooping the hard drive. Heidi laid a time-delay EMP charge on the panel.
They disappeared like they’d never been there.
By the time the patrol swept through, the room was pitch-black—electrically fried, cold, and clean.
---
3:03 A.M. — Back at The Hollow Rose
Engfa studied the retrieved schematics, her jaw tight.
“You got it all?”
Heidi tossed the drive onto the table. “With seconds to spare.”
Marima sat across from her, peeling off her gloves. “And he’s hiding something. We’re not just walking into a fight. We’re walking into a story he doesn’t want the world to read.”
Engfa turned to the others.
“Then let’s make it a headline.”
---
Belgrave Estate – London, 4:15 A.M.
Storm clouds hovered low over the mansion that once belonged to a quiet oil heir. Now, it was Davikah Hoorne’s fortress—surrounded by laser tripwires, motion-activated turrets, and mercenaries bought with blood money and secrets.
Inside, Davikah stood shirtless in the war room, sweat clinging to his skin as he stared at the holographic display of the estate's perimeter.
He had just received word.
They were here.
Waraha’s ghosts had landed in London. And worse—two of them had already breached his vault and walked out without a scratch.
He clenched his jaw.
“She always sends her women first,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Heidi. Marima. The polished pets of Charlotte Austin. Trained in heels and now killing in silence.”
He slammed a hand onto the table.
“Where is she?”
No one answered.
His lieutenant, a scarred mercenary named Korben, stood behind him. “We’re tightening the net. If we push now, we can move on their safe house. Find the kids.”
“No,” Davikah said, voice smooth but venomous. “The kids are bait. Let them feel safe. Let her believe she’s won.”
He walked over to a glass cabinet and opened a velvet drawer. Inside: a faded photograph of Charlotte, clipped from a magazine. Her smile still burned into him. Next to it, a torn photo of Engfa—from high school. He had circled her face.
“I took her from you once,” he whispered. “And I’ll do it again. One wife at a time.”
Korben looked unsettled. “Sir, this is more than revenge. This is a war now. We need an edge.”
Davikah smiled wickedly.
“We have one.”
He reached into a hidden safe and pulled out a crystalline key—the activator for an AI-controlled satellite weapon system left over from an abandoned Hoorne defense contract. The program, long thought dismantled, had been silently reassembled under Davikah’s name.
“Let them come,” he whispered. “Let them dance in the shadows. The moment they touch my gates…”
He pressed a button and multiple holo-targets lit up around London—Waraha movement, possible rendezvous points, intercepted comms.
“…I’ll burn this city to remind him who really rules the empire.”
🐶🐰
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BEHIND US
FanfictionWould they still survive the second hit on their relationship now as husband and wife? Note: Read BEHIND YOU IS ME, then you can follow to read this BOOK II - BEHIND US #1 - Snack #2 - Snack #3 - Snack #6- rainbow #7 - Snack #8 - Snack #10 - Snack...
