She had never been to this part of Alexander, and never thought she would.

They were a short jog away from the Jackson property, hunkered down in the van. The interior, already cramped from Ryder’s belongings, was positively claustrophobic with three teenagers inside. Thankfully, Watson had elected to take his SUV instead.

The day had been spent gathering materials, planning, and avoiding Jackson’s roving teams of armed thugs. It seemed killing four of his men had only enraged the criminal lord further, doubling the patrols he had put in place for Jane and her group.

Victoria raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes, nearly knocking over the empty liquor bottle from the night before.

“Geez, I’ve seen pics, but this is huge,” Victoria muttered.

“My grandfather built the main building. The rest is all my dad,” Ryder replied.

Jane was gripping her own pair of binoculars, provided for by Watson’s seemingly endless arsenal of police equipment.

According to Ryder, the men within his old home were the least of the problem. His father was a thorough criminal with an inclination for paranoia. Nearly every inch of the building was wired to a variety of security systems, none of which would be pleasant if activated.

Through the binoculars, Jane examined the first obstacle they would need to bypass to get inside; a wrought-iron gate, flanked at either end by cameras, an alarm, and a bored-looking security guard. Standard things to have at your house.

Beyond that, a short expanse of green, ending in a pair of double doors twice as tall as Jane herself.

Ryder had assured them that, once inside, there would be no security systems to overcome. They were designed to keep people out, not inside. That left only the men and their guns.

For a moment, the old anxiety uncurled within her. This was too much. She looked over at Ryder, who was donning a skin-tight black shirt, and couldn’t help but worry.

A burst of feedback emitted from their earpieces, causing the three to wince.

“Dad!” Victoria complained, massaging her ear.

Jane had outfitted each person with a tiny ear piece, invisible at a glance. She hoped that, if something went wrong, it would allow them to stay in contact.

“Sorry, sorry.” Watson was across the compound, waiting by the back garden, but his voice rang true and clear through their ears.

The wonders of short-wave radio, Jane mused.

“Okay, here goes. Going dark. Good luck, kids,” Watson’s scratchy voice was tense. An understandable emotion, considering the situation.

The minor static was cut off as Watson removed his ear piece, and entered the compound.

“Are you worried?” Jane asked Victoria.

The tattooed teenager paused. “Like, kinda? It’s not like he hasn’t been doing this my whole life, but…”

“But there’s always a chance this time’s different,” Ryder filled in, speaking from personal experience.

Victoria nodded.

“Let’s hope this is the last time.” Jane, hood pulled over her head, watched through the cameras as Watson entered the mansion. Unbeknownst to whatever security lay inside, Jane had frozen their surveillance feeds, and made them her own. Their eyes were hers now.

Ryder’s hand touched her jaw, a gentle beckoning. Jane tore her gaze from the screen. Eyes widening as his lips met hers once more, as hungry as they’d ever been. There was a tension between them, an electricity that stood their hair and set their teeth on edge. Whatever happened tonight, the days of being hunted would be over. They would be safe.

Or dead, the voice reminded Jane.

Victoria made an exaggerated sound of disgust as Ryder pulled his mouth away, his eyes fixed on Jane’s.

“Stay in the van, okay?” His voice was tight with worry, both for himself and for the girl he loved.

“I’ll be in your ear the whole time,” Jane said.

“Ready, superman?” Victoria asked, cheeks coloring in mild embarrassment.

Ryder nodded, sliding the passenger door aside. “Time to win our freedom.”

Heart heavy, hands shaking, Jane watched as her friends marched into the dragon’s den without her.

“What-” the guard at the gate began, mouth open in shock.

“I’m here to see my father,” Ryder replied.

The guards expression was one of utter confusion as he sized up the Jackson family heir. He raised his walkie-talkie and spoke into it, requesting orders from someone with more authority.

Through her laptop, Jane listened.

“Sir, uh… Ryder Jackson just walked up to the front gate.”

“Wait, what?!” Came the garbled reply.

Ryder was ramping it up, drawing on Beatrice’s personality to heighten the impatience in his words. “Look, man, just open the gate.”

The guards thumb raised from the walkie-talkie button, conflicted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryder watched as Victoria climbed the wall, mere feet away from the gate, just barely hidden under the cover of darkness.

The guard half-turned, nearly catching her in the act, but Ryder reached out with a firm hand. “Open it, or I walk. My father will not be happy about that.”

There was the muffled sound of Victoria landing in the bushes as she finally cleared the wall.

Ryder released the guard, who reluctantly moved to open the gate, features still set in a mask of confusion.

The screech of metal on concrete filled the night, piercing through the ear piece. Jane watched with bated breath as Ryder entered, Victoria’s own covert entry into the compound just as successful.

Together yet apart, the two approached the hulking mansion, light spilling onto the carefully maintained lawn from the stained glass windows.

High above, overlooking the grounds, a lone bulb remained lit in his father’s study. Ryder’s jaw clenched, and, for the first time that night, he doubted whether the plan would work.

To his right, Victoria ducked beneath a patio, eyes scanning around. In one hand, she held a screw driver, which she used to force a vent open.

Ryder smoothed his hair back, and forced himself to focus. One breath in, one breath out. Then he opened the door.

It was as if the house had transformed itself in the few days he had been gone. No longer was the grand staircase wide and inviting. Instead, an ominousness seemed to emit from it, foreboding and threatening.

A stampede of footsteps approached, the chorus of boots echoing through the otherwise silent foyer. Ryder gulped as he realized exactly what the military crates had held.

A small contingent of men rounded the corner, assault rifles at the ready, each pair of eyes focused on him. His father had rolled out the welcome mat.

Slowly, Ryder raised his hands over his head. “Relax. I’m unarmed.”

One amongst the men approached, patting Ryder from jacket to foot. Satisfied, he grunted, and motioned Ryder up the stairs.

Climbing the once familiar steps felt like ascending a mountain, every inch bringing him one moment closer to his father. An inevitable conflict was waiting for him there, at the top of the staircase, at the end of the hall, in his father’s office.

The hallway too, lined with its many doors, was now alien to him. Battle-scarred men lined the walls, features hardened into scowls. These were not his father’s usual thugs. Ryder recognized his A-team, each formidable and willing to die for Jackson.

“You seeing this?” Ryder whispered, wiping his mouth to hide the movement of speaking.

“I-… That’s a lot of guns.” Jane’s voice, while distorted somewhat by the unstable signal, was unmistakably worried.

Further he walked, tension building within his chest. He could not move any slower without arousing suspicion. Victoria was taking too long.

“Vicky?” Jane asked, through the ear piece.

There was silence over the communication channel.

“Come on…” Ryder whispered, beneath his breath.

The man whom had patted him down, apparently, had a superhuman sense of hearing. “What was that? Who are you talking to?”

A gloved hand closed over Ryder’s shoulder, whirling him around. He found himself face-to-face with the end of a rifle, the matte barrel a dull gray.

“Who are you talking to?” the man repeated.

A shock of adrenaline shot through Ryder, preparing him for whatever may come. Fists clenched, he opened his mouth to speak, but Victoria’s distraction interrupted him.

The explosion struck like an unseen opponent. The very mansion itself seemed to shiver from the initial thump, the windows rattling in their frames. Loose objects within the rooms could be heard shattering as they fell to the floor.

Shouts erupted all around Ryder as the A-team flew into action, sprinting down the staircase past him, their boots thumping against the wood. Much of the armed escort trailing Ryder followed them, allowing the more experienced men to take the lead.

Another explosion rocked the building, this one closer, the impact nearly knocking Ryder over. It was only because he had been expecting it that he managed to keep his footing.

The man who had remained behind to guard him was not so lucky. Already strained by his bulky equipment, he toppled to the floor, shouting in alarm.

And as well-equipped as he was, he had forgotten the most important device anyone in his line of work could have. A helmet.

Wired with adrenaline, and spurred on by the goon’s discombobulation, Ryder wasted no time. With a speed borne of years on the field, he launched a pair of kicks into the man’s skull, knocking him unconscious.

Ryder whooped, throwing his fists in the air. He’d done it, somehow. He’d pulled it off!

“Ryder, go!” Jane shouted, her voice interrupting his momentary celebration. “I lost track of Vicky, I think they got to her. Grab the watch before-”

She stopped speaking as the now-familiar click of a pistol resounded behind Ryder, audible through the ear piece.

“Hello, son,” Jackson said, face grim, eyes hard.

The older man was experienced enough to keep his distance, ensuring Ryder could not whirl around and disarm him.

“Dad.” Ryder’s voice dripped with sarcasm, belying the sudden fear he felt. He was cornered.

His father raised a hand radio to his mouth, a series of beeps announcing his message. “Cut the feeds. Activate the jammers, as well.”

And then Jane’s digital eyes went out, leaving her alone in the dark once more.