All Chapters of BLEEDING LOYALTY : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

Tymoteusz Głowacki​The loud security alarm had barely stopped ringing when silence filled my study again. Outside, I could hear police sirens getting closer. They were coming through the forest and heading toward the house.The security had broken through the outer security gates. They were almost here.But Magnus, walking back and forth in his expensive room down the hall, still had no idea what was happening or who was really controlling him.​I didn’t panic. There was no reason to. I had spent ten years preparing for this moment, going to lose control now.I slowly walked to the large wooden desk and sat down in the leather chair. My boots made almost no sound as I crossed the thick rug. I placed my hands on the desk and took a deep breath.The main screen turned on, filling the room with a soft blue light that fell across my face.​On the second screen, an encrypted terminal was open. It was waiting for me to enter the final code.The message was designed to leave no trace. It ha

Cyprian "Cypek" Zawadzki​The damp cold in Kampinos didn’t just sit on your skin; it worked its way down into the marrow, finding every joint I’d smashed or twisted during twenty-four years of service. I drew a deep breath through my nose, inhaling the familiar, heavy scent of wet pine needles, rotting oak leaves, and the faint, bitter metallic tang of the estate’s electrified perimeter fence.​Forty hectares of dense, unforgiving forest surrounded the main house, wrapped in gray fog that rolled off the primeval woodland like steam off a cooling corpse. To anyone else, the mist was an inconvenience, a visual hazard. To me, it was a shroud that hid every sight line I had spent six months trying to map.​My knees gave a dull, grinding crack as I stepped off the gravel path and onto the soft carpet of wet moss. I slowed my pace, rolling my weight from heel to toe, the heavy leather of my tactical boots silent against the forest floor. I adjusted the strap of the radio clipped to my chest

Jarosława "Jarlath" SobieskaThe strong smell of burnt metal and smoke filled the small cell, mixing with the dry, dusty air. Fallen from the concrete ceiling. Smoke slowly filled the air through the rough hole where the heavy door had been ripped away, but no armed soldiers or people carrying guns came rushing in.​Outside in the corridor, the alarms died as suddenly as they had started, leaving behind a ringing, oppressive silence broken only by the crackle of fallen high-voltage cables sparking against the floor.​Magnus didn't move. His tall, heavy frame was cut in sharp, violent shadows by the flickering orange emergency strip above us. His hand was locked around the grip of his sidearm, his knuckles so white they looked translucent. Every muscle in his broad shoulders was coiled tight, ready to spring, ready to kill.​He was breathing hard, his chest heaving against the dark fabric of his tactical vest. For a man who built a multi-billion-dollar private security empire on absolu

Weronika "Wera" Ostrowska​The radiator in the corner gave a sick, gurgling sigh before dying completely, leaving the room to cool down to the bitter temperature of a Warsaw midnight. I didn't care about the cold. The skin on my neck was burning, and my eyes felt like someone had rubbed dry sand under the eyelids.​Outside my window, the heavy oak steps leading up from the courtyard had fallen quiet ten minutes ago. The footfalls had ceased, but the heavy, suffocating weight of being hunted hadn't lifted. I was sitting on the floor behind my desk, my knees pulled up to my chest, my laptop resting directly on my shins so the heat of the cooling fan bled through my jeans.​I was running on adrenaline, three-day-old espresso, and the terrifying, sharp edge of desperation.​Kalina’s tag—KALI_0—was still burning in red terminal text across my primary screen, a lingering phantom from the server wipe. It was a lifeline thrown out from a drowning ship. If she had manual access long enough to

Cyprian​The digital clock on the master control board glowed a harsh, sterile green: 03:00 AM.​In the quiet of the estate’s subterranean command hub, that illumination was the only real light left. Outside, three flights above my head, the Kampinos storm was tearing through the night, but down here, the air was thick, stale, and smelled of warm copper wiring and cooling coffee.​I leaned both hands on the edge of the console, my knuckles white against the matte dark steel. My thumb traced the silver band on my left wrist a habit I couldn’t break when the silence got too heavy.​Three in the morning was always the hour when the mind began to betray itself. It was when exhaustion stopped being a physical ache and turned into a quiet, creeping paranoia. Every shadow in the corner looked like a breach; every creak of the estate's old foundation sounded like a boot on a floorboard.​I blinked hard, forcing my eyes back to the central monitor array. Sixteen sector grids covered the estate