Chapter 50: There's no place like home

With Warlord Lance clutching his shattered groin on the blood-slicked concrete, squealing like a punctured pig on live television, the Brooklyn Navy Yard—and with it, every fucking inch of New York—was officially locked under Mari’s boot.

Ren slapped his wrist console with a dark smirk, sending the high-definition video feed of Lance’s pathetic, pants-soiled surrender straight to every orbital platform, corporate tablet, and underground comms grid from Maine to Miami.

"Broadcast sent, boss!" Ren shouted, blowing a cloud of Cuban cigar smoke toward the clear blue sky. "If anyone on the East Coast still had any ideas about dodging their taxes, they just watched their idol get neutered on 4K streaming."

"Best Tuesday ever!" Kael cackled, swinging himself into the cockpit of Lance’s captured luxury gunship. He immediately hotwired the stereo system, blasting aggressive heavy metal through the yard's PA speakers while casually throwing a handful of stolen gold coins into the crowd of weeping mercenaries. "Free money for anyone who can do a backflip!"

"Kael, shut that off or I will freeze your tongue to the turbine," Sera yelled over the noise, casually stepping over a pile of frozen corporate enforcers while locking down the naval supply vaults with a flick of her frosted wrist.

On the hood of the lead war-rig, Adrian didn't give a single fuck about the logistics.

He wrapped both massive, sweat-slicked arms around Mari’s waist, hoisting her bare-thighed body straight onto his lap. His dark, wild eyes burned down into hers with unhinged, territorial hunger, his calloused hands digging possessively into her hips right through her torn tactical suit.

"We took the docks, Queen," Adrian growled, his deep, filthy voice vibrating through her chest as he clamped his mouth over her neck, biting down hard enough to leave a fresh, dark mark right over her pulse point. "Now tell me we’re going back to the Empire State bed so I can tear the rest of this suit off you."

Mari gasped, throwing her head back against his broad shoulder as the hot spike of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated pleasure shot straight down her spine. Her fingers locked tight into his messy hair, pulling his mouth up to hers for a dirty, bruising, blood-soaked kiss that tasted of iron, gunsmoke, and absolute triumph.

"Penthouse bed is first priority, brute," Mari panted against his lips, her dark eyes flashing with lethal, dark amusement as she looked out over her conquered skyline. "Lena, load the loot! Ren, drive the rig! The Queen is going home to claim her throne."