Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 25

Her Obsession.

Broken Vantage.

I shut off Conner’s access to my cameras without a word. The last thing I needed was his eyes on my back now that I’d lit the fuse. One by one, the screens blinked out, silent, dark reminders that control was mine alone. No distractions, no second guessing. Just cold, hard vigilance. With him cut off, I plunged deeper into the tangled digital labyrinth of Mirov’s empire. Servers humming in hidden basements, firewalls more complex than any I’d seen before, endless proxy chains designed to throw off even the most skilled hackers. His network was a fortress, an intricate web of deception and secrecy, but no fortress was impregnable.I tore through his encrypted layers like a ghost possessed. Every bypass, every crack in his defenses, I exploited with precision and fury. I sent subtle disruptions through his supply chains, whispering chaos into his carefully curated order. I leaked fragments of his darkest deals to contacts who would make sure the information spread like wildfire. I pulled strings behind the scenes, setting off ripples that would shake his organization to its core. Hours slipped by unnoticed. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows through the slats of my blinds. My body screamed for rest, my brain fuzzy and exhausted, but none of it mattered. Nothing could shake me from the hunt. Then the message arrived. It blinked into existence on my main monitor, an encrypted text buried deep in layers of code, slipping past my defenses like a phantom. The sender’s name burned bright: Aleksei Mirov himself.

“You think you can burn my empire and walk away? Your war with me has just begun. Because of you, Conner O’Neill will bleed. I’m coming for him. You’d better get there fast.”

The weight of those words hit me like a stone sinking in icy water. Mirov wasn’t just warning me, he was sending a message, one meant for both of us. And he wasn’t bluffing. Adrenaline snapped through my veins. I grabbed my gear without hesitation, guns, knives, spare mags. I pulled on my mask and boots, my hands steady despite the storm raging inside me. Quick fingers tapped out a message to Conner: “He’s coming for you. Now.”

No fluff. No room for misunderstanding. I dashed outside, yanked the tarp off my bike, heart pounding as I hoped it would roar to life after sitting silent too long. I shoved the helmet on, and with a shudder and a roar, the engine came alive beneath me. Time was running out. I was already on the move. I dumped the bike well off the main road, hiding it deep in the shadows of a scraggly copse of trees where the dull rumble of its engine wouldn’t carry. The last thing I needed was for anyone, especially Mirov’s men to track me back through noise. Every second counted now. I dropped the helmet, bent to catch my breath for just a heartbeat, then pushed forward with everything I had. My legs burned as I sprinted through the darkened streets, pounding pavement and gravel, my breaths sharp and ragged. The cold night air clawed at my lungs, but I ignored it, focused solely on one goal: get to Conner’s home. From a distance, I could see the silhouettes of his men, sharp, disciplined, spaced with military precision like they were bracing for a siege. Their eyes flicked to every shadow, every sound, every flicker of movement. But even the best defenses had their cracks. I darted between the faint pools of streetlight and shadow, melting into the darkness, slipping past patrols as if I were one of the night’s own phantoms. Where the fence ended, I moved silently, blending with the brush, keeping low. I scaled the wall with practiced ease, fingertips finding purchase on rough brick, feet searching for ledges and cracks as if the building itself was familiar ground beneath my hands. I had done this climb a hundred times before, each movement muscle memory honed by years of running, hiding, surviving. At the top, I paused for a moment, chest heaving, eyes scanning the compound below. The yard was lit faintly by security lights, but my vantage point was cloaked in shadow. I pulled a small pair of binoculars from my jacket and swept the perimeter. Men shifted their positions, but I caught no sign of Mirov’s wolves moving in yet. I set up quickly. This was my nest now, high, hidden, untouchable. From here, I could see every approach, hear every whisper of movement, and send warnings if danger came creeping close.

From my vantage point on the roof, the night stretched out beneath me like a chessboard. Shadows started to move with lethal intent, Mirov’s men swarming the perimeter, pushing hard against Conner’s defenses. Below, his men fought desperately, but the pressure was mounting. It was up to me to hold the line from above. I crouched low, rifle steady against my shoulder, breath slow and measured despite the adrenaline thrumming through my veins. The scope’s crosshairs centered on a silhouette creeping between the trees, weapons glinting in the moonlight. I squeezed the trigger with surgical precision, one shot, then another, watching bodies drop before they could reach the walls. The cold night air bit through my clothes, but I barely noticed. My eyes darted across the dark landscape, tracking every movement with practiced ease. Each target was another threat to Conner, another potential bullet headed for his people or his home. I couldn’t afford to miss. Below me, gunfire echoed, punctuated by shouts and the harsh clash of combat. My presence was unseen but felt, a guardian ghost in the night, striking swiftly and vanishing into the shadows. The rooftop was my sanctuary and my battleground, the perfect perch for a sharpshooter who’d been trained to take lives silently, efficiently. Despite the tension, I stayed focused, tapping into years of muscle memory. When a group tried to flank the east side, I caught them first, two quick, clean shots cutting down the lead attackers before they could raise the alarm. I moved my aim smoothly across the battlefield, calculating wind, distance, and trajectory. I was lethal, cold, calculating every nerve honed to razor sharp focus, eyes glued to the shifting shadows below, fingers steady on the trigger. The world narrowed to crosshairs and breath, a cold rhythm of precision and survival. Until I wasn’t. A shout broke through the chaos, a raw, urgent yell that cut across the gunfire and shouted orders. It was Conner’s voice, loud and clear, carrying from somewhere down in the fray below. For a fraction of a second, I broke my tunnel vision. I pulled my gaze from the scope and glanced toward the sound, just wanting to make sure he was still standing, still fighting. That was all the time I gave the bastard. Pain exploded in my shoulder, hot, searing, like a brand pressed into flesh. A bullet had found me, cutting through muscle and bone with terrifying ease. My footing slipped on the slick rooftop tiles. My body lurched sideways, the rifle jerking from my grip as I fought to keep balance. Fuck. I was going down.

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