Claimed By The Steel Pack のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

​The rain finally died down, leaving behind a cold mountain air and the thick smell of wet pine sap.​We shoved the truck behind a clump of overgrown birch trees, tucked far enough off the trail that you’d have to walk right into it to spot the dark metal through the brush. Kaelen threw a dark tarp over the hood, pulled two heavy flashlights out of his coat, and clicked one on, keeping the light pointed straight at the mud by his boots.​"Stay in my footprints," he said, handing me the second flashlight. "The clay gets deep near the drop-off. You lose a boot down here, I'm not digging it out."​I zipped my coat up to my chin and shoved the light into my pocket. "I know how to walk through the woods, Kaelen."​He glanced back at me over his shoulder, the pale beam catching his eyes. "You’re wearing flat-soled boots on a mud slope, Calla. Don't be stupid."​I shut my mouth and fell in two steps behind him. He was right about the boots, but there was no way I was going to admit it.​We h

​The private vault didn’t look like a bank. Tucked into an alley off a cobbled street in Geneva’s old town, it looked like an old brownstone with iron grates over the narrow windows and a heavy steel door set into the stone frame.​Kaelen pulled the sedan into an underground garage two doors down, killing the engine in the dark. He reached inside his coat, pulled out the heavy black iron key he'd taken off Victor, and slid it into his pocket next to a thumb drive.​"The vault sits three floors down," Kaelen said, stepping out into the cold garage air. "No internet, no cloud backups. Everything in there is kept on offline hard drives and paper ledgers."​I got out of the car, throwing my wet bag over one shoulder. "If it's locked down that tight, how did Victor get a key?"​"He didn't steal it," Kaelen said, his eyes darkening as he walked toward the heavy service door. "Somebody handed it to him. Which means whoever set up your dad was already planning to clear out this box."​He push

​I didn't waste time. I dragged myself up into the cold, tight square of the sheet-metal duct, the rough edges digging right through my coat sleeves.​The air inside smelled like old dust, rust, and oil, but it was clean, no trace of the heavy gas filling up the room below. I pulled my bag along behind me, the hard drives and the thick paper binder banging against my hip with every inch I crawled forward on my hands and knees.​"Keep moving," Kaelen called out from behind, his voice low and muffled inside the pipe.​The whole metal line groaned under his weight as he shoved his shoulders into the opening. The metal bowed down under his chest, screws popping out of the concrete ceiling with loud snaps.​"How far to the exit?" I called back over my shoulder, holding my flashlight between my teeth so I could see where the duct turned.​"Thirty yards," Kaelen grunted. He was jammed tight in the narrow shaft, his shoulders scraping hard against both sides of the metal walls. "Take the firs

​The two guys standing in the entry hall didn't even have time to turn around.​Kaelen hit the first one before the man could bring his rifle up, driving his whole weight straight into the guy's chest and throwing him backward into the oak stair rail. The old wood snapped with a loud crack, sending splinters across the floor. Kaelen snatched the rifle out of the man's hands, broke the stock across his knee like a dry branch, and dropped him flat on his back, knocked out cold.​The second guy reached down for the holster on his belt, but I brought the pistol up with both hands, set my feet on the rug, and pulled the trigger.​The shot went off like a cannon inside the house. The flash lit up the dark entry, and the bullet dug straight into the doorframe right next to his head, throwing plaster dust and wood chips straight into his face. He flinched hard, bringing his hands up to protect his eyes, and Kaelen closed the distance between them in a split second. He threw a heavy right hook

​The concrete stairwell smelled like old blood, wet dirt, and cheap gun oil.​Kaelen went down first, stepping silent and heavy down the dark steps. His jacket was soaked through with sweat, red from the raw scrape on his arm, but he didn't care. His back filled the tight doorway, shutting out what little light came from the top hall.​At the bottom, the thick iron door hung wide open, the heavy lock snapped right off the frame. Past it lay the sub-basement, cold concrete holding pens dug straight into the rock under the house. The damp air hit my throat, thick and sour.​The sound of a heavy boot hitting skin cut through the dark, followed by a quiet grunt and the hard snap of bone.​"I'll ask you one more time, Marcus," Greta’s voice came from further down the line, flat, dry, and completely empty. "Sign the paper, or I put a bullet straight through your boy's knee."​Kaelen didn't pause to think. He turned the corner hard, his heavy boots slamming flat on the wet floor.​Two Ironbo