Widowmaker X Tracer Novels & Stories

I thought I would hear his scream when the traps caught him the silver gas chambers, the collapsing walls, the electrified floors. But there was no scream. Only silence. And then the doors exploded. I froze. My smile dropped. He walked in like the storm itself. No wounds. No burns. Not even a scratch. My traps hadn’t touched him. Impossible. My chest tightened as I whispered, “He didn’t trigger a single one of them…” The truth struck me like lightning. The traps were made for wolves. But Xander i don't know what happened to him . He was something more. Something worse.

Because the infiltrator was not only in his corporation, he was also in his life. With blonde hair shining in contact with sunlight, Tracey Carmon stared at me back, dressed in the same clothes that the men responsible for the massacre in the nightclub wore. Her poisonously satisfied expression was the trigger to remind me of the voice of Júlia, a submissive that I had the pleasure of meeting on a night at the Dark Target club. "He used to come here with his wife, and when she died, he cut off any contact with the club." She said, dancing happily. "Until Madame Tracey called him to be his right arm, and that gave him room for him to take other subs."

' They both reply in unison. 'What do you need us to do?' 'Hunter, I need you to track Alpha Xander's movements. I want to know where he's been, where he is now, and what he plans to do. I want to know where he is every minute of every day.' 'Spencer, I need you to send out a tracking team to the location I send you. I need you to locate where Wynter went. This needs to be done immediately before her scent fades. Don't use the trackers from Blood Moon. Contact my sister, her pack is both closer, and their trackers are more skilled. Less chance of Alpha Xander being able to track our movements.'

“Track her? What the hell does that even mean?” “She’s wearing earrings I gave her,” I said flatly. “They are Custom made, I got a micro-tracker installed in them.” Vincenzo barked out a bitter laugh. “A tracker? Madre di Dio, you’re worse than I thought. What kind of man bugs his own wife?” I didn’t even glance back. “The kind who loves his wife.” Marco leaned in, his voice dripping with contempt. “Or the kind staging his own little drama. Convenient, isn’t it? Your wife vanishes, and oh—look—only you can find her. How stupid do you think we are?”

The pursuer never saw the blade coming—just a blur, a splash, then silence. Carolina doubled back, found the mark, and—against her own rules—looked him in the eye before putting him down. He was barely older than her, face rimed with adolescent stubble. She hadn’t wanted this kind of kill, but there it was. She rifled his pockets, found the asset—a battered silver locket—and sprinted for the rendezvous. By the time she crashed through the safehouse door, Xander was already inside, patching up his arm. He didn’t look up. “How’d it go?”

They both use periods at the end of their sentences when they are angry or irritated, they use the same phrases and sayings whenever they are trying to explain something, and even use the same emojis, although Stella used them a lot more than Tracer ever has with me. I sit at my desk, the night’s moon hanging low in the sky from outside my office window. Today required me to stay late in the office and it is not like I have anyone waiting for me at home to go back to. I scroll through my messages with Tracer, my lips pushed to the side, as I make notes of the similarities between them and Stella. My phone sits in my hand, my message with Stella on there as I begin to connect the dots between

“If I find out any of you have harmed my wife, I'll be back, and when I do, the four remaining bullets in this gun will have just one purpose." With a final glance back at the house, I turned and stepped out into the storm. Ignoring the chill of the rain soaking through my clothes, I quickly got into my car, activating the card I’d given the housekeeper earlier. The dashboard glowed to life as I exhaled slowly, my mind racing with thoughts of Marianne, and I set off toward home, hoping she'd be there. The steady hum of the engine did little to quiet my restless thoughts. Questions pounded in my mind, mingling with the drum of rain on the roof. Those men—they had undoubtedly been poisoned, an

I look at a Daniel one more time before I go out. "My name is Trace. I am his wife. "She tells me, gesturing in the direction Stan had gone. "Nice to meet you Trace. "I reply. While we wait for Stan, I do not know what to say. I have never known how to start conversations with people I wasn't familiar with. "The papers, "Trace begins "have you seen it? " I do not bother to ask what papers. "Yeah. They came in today at my work place. " "I was scared, shocked you know. I never knew I let my husband be friends with a killer. I was scared for my baby boy and myself. I asked him to leave our home, he went and crashed himself. " Trace tells me, the tears are gathering again.

Unknown POV “Do it again.” The hunter grits his teeth as his wrist bleeds, again. The runic brand burns up his arm like fire ants under the skin. “But sir...” “I said do it again. Recast the tracer.” Another team member, who is older, and slower, with runes carved into his neck, glares from the side. “You saw what happened last time. The mark rebounded. That was a blood-seal we triggered.” The leader, a man known only as Vice, slams his fist into the wall. Cracks spiderweb outward, but it is nothing compared to the fractures forming in his pride.

“There’s enough in that kit to get her through the next few hours.” I glance into the back of our van. The hunter woman is slumped against the wall, a fresh gash on her head, wrists bound tight. Across from her, the tracker we’d pulled from the fight is unconscious, his breathing deep. Two warriors sit on either side, watching her every move. Trixie notices me looking. “Oh, please don’t give me that look. You’re lucky I didn’t just kill her. All I did was knock her out.” I laugh once, short and humorless, but I nod.