Chapter 16: THE RABBIT HOLE
The fingerprint results sit on my screen. Aleksandr Kozlov. Ukrainian organized crime. Known associate of...
I click through the connections. Names, faces, criminal enterprises. The network spreads like a web—trafficking, extortion, money laundering. All leading back to one name.
Yulish Hisbauch. Known as "Mr. Rabbit."
My Criminal Instinct pulses. This name carries weight. Power. Danger.
I pull up everything I can access through official databases. Limited information—Rabbit operates carefully, maintains distance from direct operations. But the pattern is clear. He runs Ukrainian mob activities from New York to Philadelphia. Controls territory through proxies. Never gets his hands dirty.
It's not enough.
I text Job: Need deep background on Yulish Hisbauch, aka Mr. Rabbit. Ukrainian crime boss. Everything you can find.
Response comes in thirty seconds: Already pulling. Give me an hour.
I lean back in my chair. The station is quiet—late night, skeleton crew. Lucas is home, sleeping off his hangover and heartbreak. I told him I'd handle the follow-up on the Hopewell break-in.
What I'm really doing is following a thread that connects a broken jaw in a suburban kitchen to Eastern European organized crime.
The pieces don't fit yet. But they will.
My phone rings. Job.
"You don't sleep?" I answer.
"Sleep is for people without enemies." His voice is tight. Excited. "I found something. You need to see this."
"I'm at the station—"
"Don't care. Get to somewhere secure. I'm sending encrypted files. Open them on a clean device."
"Job—"
"Trust me. You want to see this before anyone else does."
He hangs up.
I grab my personal laptop from my locker. It's clean—never connected to station networks. I drive to the apartment, lock myself in my room.
The files arrive. Encrypted. I use the key Job provided.
The first document opens. FBI case file. Classified. Dated back fifteen years.
SUBJECT: Yulish Hisbauch (Mr. Rabbit) PRIORITY: High Value Target STATUS: Under Investigation
I skim through. Rabbit's criminal empire. His methods—patient, brutal, effective. His obsessions. One stands out.
PERSONAL NOTES: Subject has dedicated significant resources to locating his daughter, Anastasia Hisbauch, who disappeared fifteen years ago during a jewelry heist in New York. Subject believes daughter is alive and in hiding. Multiple investigations launched across Eastern seaboard. Substantial rewards offered for information.
My stomach drops.
The next file is a photograph. Young woman, maybe early twenties. Dark blonde hair. Sharp features. Confident smile. The kind of beauty that makes men stupid.
Caption: Anastasia Hisbauch, last known photograph before disappearance.
I stare at the image. Even with different styling, different context—I know that face.
Carrie Hopewell.
Lucas's Ana. Gordon's wife. Deva's mother.
Mr. Rabbit's daughter.
Shit.
I pull up more files. Job's done thorough work. Anastasia's history: raised in her father's organization, trained from childhood, fluent in five languages, educated at private schools while learning the family business. She wasn't just Rabbit's daughter. She was his heir.
Until fifteen years ago. Diamond heist in New York. Two thieves—one got away with the diamonds. One went to prison.
Lucas.
Anastasia took the diamonds and ran. Not from the law. From her father. Used the heist as cover to disappear.
And Rabbit has been looking ever since.
I cross-reference dates. Carrie appeared in Banshee twelve years ago. Fresh identity, married Gordon within a year, built a perfect suburban life. Three years of running before she stopped.
But Rabbit never stopped looking.
The intruder—Kozlov—was a scout. Testing defenses. Confirming suspicions. And Carrie's professional violence confirmed everything. His daughter would fight like that. A random housewife wouldn't.
Now Rabbit knows. Or strongly suspects. Which means he's coming.
I text Job: How long before Rabbit acts?
Already in motion. Immigration records show Olek Rabbit crossed into US three days ago. Philadelphia customs. He's Rabbit's chief hunter. Former Spetsnaz. Finds people who don't want to be found.
ETA to Banshee?
If he's smart? Already here.
I close the laptop. Process the implications.
Carrie isn't running from a bad boyfriend or angry criminals. She's running from her father. A man who controls a criminal empire. A man who's spent fifteen years and millions of dollars searching for her.
A man who won't accept no for an answer.
Lucas needs to know.
I find him at The Forge. Drinking again. Not drunk yet, but working on it.
"We need to talk," I say.
He looks up. Sees my expression. "How bad?"
"Worse than you think."
We go upstairs to the apartment. I lay out everything. The files. The photos. The connections.
Lucas stares at young Anastasia's FBI photo. His hands shake slightly.
"She's Rabbit's daughter," he says. Voice hollow.
"Yeah."
"She didn't just run from the heist. She ran from him. Used me as cover."
"Probably."
He sets down the photo. Looks at Carrie's current driver's license—the PTA smile, the soccer mom aesthetic. The gap between images is a lifetime of hiding.
"Does she know we know?" Lucas asks.
"Not yet."
"And Rabbit?"
"Has a hunter in the region. Possibly closer. The intruder was a scout. When he doesn't report back successfully, they'll escalate."
Lucas's jaw tightens. The emotion I expect—betrayal, anger—doesn't appear. Instead, something else. Determination.
"We protect her," he says.
"Lucas—"
"We protect her." His voice is steel. "I don't care who her father is. I don't care what she did. She's trying to build a normal life. She has a family. A daughter. I won't let them take that away."
"Her father runs a criminal empire. He has resources we can't match."
"Then we get creative." Lucas stands. "You said Rabbit's patient. Methodical. That means he'll send scouts before committing. We handle the scouts, buy time, figure out a solution."
"And if there is no solution? If protecting her means war with Ukrainian organized crime?"
Lucas meets my eyes. "Then we go to war."
The certainty in his voice is terrifying. This isn't rational thought. This is obsession weaponized. Lucas will burn everything to protect Carrie—including himself. Including me.
I should walk away. Cut ties. Let Lucas self-destruct alone.
But I don't.
"Okay," I say. "We protect her. But smart. Calculated. No heroic sacrifices."
"Agreed."
"And we tell her. She needs to know what's coming."
Lucas hesitates. "If we tell her, she might run."
"If we don't, she walks into danger blind. Which is worse?"
He considers. "We wait. Give ourselves time to prepare first. Then we tell her."
"How long?"
"A day. Two. Enough to identify threats and plan responses." He pulls out his phone. "I'll contact Job. We need intelligence on Rabbit's operations. Who he's sending. When they'll arrive."
"Job's already working on it."
"Good." Lucas looks at the files again. At Carrie's two faces—past and present. "I spent fifteen years in prison for her. I can spend a few more weeks keeping her alive."
The determination is absolute. Unshakable. Dangerous.
I recognize it because I feel something similar. Not love. Not obsession. But the wolf's instinct—protect the pack. Carrie might not be pack by choice, but Lucas is. And Lucas claims her as his.
So she becomes pack by extension.
The logic is simple. The execution will be brutal.
"We need to be ready," I say. "When Rabbit's men come, they won't negotiate. They'll take her by force if they can. Kill anyone in the way."
"Then we make sure they can't." Lucas's expression is cold. "I've fought wars, Ben. Survived prisons. Dealt with men worse than Rabbit's hunters. We can do this."
"Can we?"
He doesn't answer immediately. The question hangs—can two fake deputies, one emotionally compromised and one supernatural, really stand against organized crime?
Finally: "We'll find out."
I make coffee. We spread Job's files across the kitchen table. Study faces, names, patterns. Building a profile of the enemy.
Yulish Hisbauch: patient, ruthless, family-obsessed. Won't accept failure. Won't forgive betrayal. Has spent fifteen years searching for his daughter. Will spend fifteen more if necessary.
Olek Rabbit: chief hunter, former military, brutal efficiency. Finds people. Extracts them. Delivers them to Yulish. Perfect success rate.
The scout team: four men, Kozlov (now hospitalized) plus three unknowns. Professionals. Experienced. Dangerous.
"We're outgunned," Lucas says.
"We're outmanned. Different thing."
"You think we can take them?"
I think about Violence Mastery. About Pain Conversion. About powers that make me more than human.
"I think we have advantages they don't expect."
Lucas looks at me. "Your abilities."
"Yeah."
"You've been holding back. Hiding what you can do." Not an accusation. Just observation.
"I have to. If people see—"
"Rabbit's men aren't people you need to hide from. They're enemies. Use everything you have."
The permission lands heavy. Lucas is giving me license to be the wolf fully. No restraint. No hiding.
It should feel liberating.
Instead, it feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
"When they come," Lucas continues, "you don't hold back. You understand? Full force. Whatever it takes."
"Understood."
We drink coffee. Plan strategies. Identify defensive positions. The apartment above The Forge becomes a war room.
Around 3 AM, exhaustion finally hits. Lucas heads to bed. I remain at the table, staring at Anastasia's photo.
She's smiling in the image. Confident. The daughter of a crime lord who thought she could escape.
Fifteen years later, her past is catching up.
I wonder if mine will too. If whoever I was before transmigration is looking. If consciousness leaves traces others can follow.
Probably not. Different situation.
But the parallel is there. Running from the past. Building new identities. Hoping distance and time create safety.
It never does.
The past always finds you. The only question is whether you're ready when it arrives.
I close the files. Lock them in my room. Tomorrow, we prepare. Identify Rabbit's team. Set up surveillance. Build defenses.
Tonight, I just sit in the dark apartment and think about the war that's coming.
The wolf doesn't fear the fight.
But the man wearing the wolf's skin knows this will cost something. The question is how much—and whether Lucas can afford to pay it.
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