Total pages in book: 38
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 174(@200wpm)___ 139(@250wpm)___ 116(@300wpm)
“Everything okay?” she asks softly.
“Crewe called. There’s a meeting tonight. Langford and the major players. Not far from here.” I brush her hair back from her face. “We’re going. But you stay right beside me the whole time. If it gets bad, you run. Promise me.”
She sits up, the sheet pooling around her waist. “I promise. But I’m not running without you.”
I pull her into my lap and kiss her trying to say everything I can’t put into words. About how I can’t live without her. That she needs to save herself. She melts against me, hands sliding up my chest, and for a few perfect minutes the mission fades. There’s only her mouth, her skin, the way she sighs when I touch her.
We get dressed slowly. I make coffee while she braids her hair. We eat a quick breakfast of oatmeal and fruit, both of us quiet, tension building between us. I check my weapons twice. She watches me with steady eyes, no fear, just determination. That trust in her gaze makes my chest tighten.
The rest of the day passes by in a lazy blur. Her reading. Me going over everything again and again. What is my father up to?
The afternoon fades to night and before we leave, I pull her close, pressing my forehead to hers.
“Whatever happens tonight,” I say quietly, “I need you to know something. If things get violent you leave me and run.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not leaving without you.”
“Dammit Anni, yes… you run. I can’t lose you. I’m so fucking in love with you it hurts.”
She smiles, soft and sure, and kisses me gently. “I love you too. Let’s finish this so we can start a life together.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Okay. Just promise me you’ll run.”
“I promise.”
We climb into the truck. The drive to the warehouse is quiet but charged. My hand stays on her thigh the whole way. Every mile brings us closer to the end of this nightmare. Closer to answers about my father. Closer to whatever comes after.
As we near the riverfront, I spot the convoy of black SUVs pulling into the private warehouse up ahead. My jaw tightens. This is it.
I park the truck in the shadows a short distance away. We slip out and move on foot toward the building, staying low. I lead Anniston along the side until we reach a cold metal wall near a service door. I press my back against it, pistol ready, and pull her close behind me.
TWENTY
ANNISTON
I press my back against the cold metal wall of the warehouse, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. Banks is right beside me, his body tense and ready, pistol gripped firmly in his hand. We shouldn’t be here. We should have waited for backup. But it’s too late now.
This is it. The meeting we’ve been chasing.
"Stay right behind me," Banks whispers, his voice low and controlled. His hand finds mine for one quick squeeze before he lets go. "If things go bad, you run. Don’t look back."
I nod, even though the thought of leaving him behind makes my stomach twist. We slip through a side service door that Banks picked open in under thirty seconds. The warehouse is enormous, dimly lit by a few overhead work lights that buzz and flicker. The air smells like diesel, rust, and river water. Voices echo from the center of the space. We move silently along the elevated catwalk above, staying low behind rusted railings.
Below us, a long conference table’s been set up between stacks of shipping containers. Half a dozen men in expensive suits sit around it. In the middle, a tall, silver-haired man in a charcoal suit gestures with a cigar as he speaks. Even from up here I recognize him from the files. It’s Victor Langford, the head of the D.C. consultancy. The man at the center of everything.
They’re finalizing a deal. Laptops and briefcases are open on the table. Money and power changing hands while the rest of us have been running for our lives.
Banks motions for me to stay put while he moves closer for a better view. I watch him, pride and fear mixing in my chest. He is so calm, so focused. This is what he does. But when he glances back at me, his eyes soften for just a second, and I know he’s thinking about us too.
Then everything explodes.
A single gunshot cracks through the warehouse like thunder. One of Langford’s men drops with a grunt, clutching his shoulder. Shouts erupt. More gunfire. I don’t know who fired first, but suddenly the entire place is chaos. Men dive for cover behind crates and containers. Bullets ricochet off metal with sharp, deadly pings that make my ears ring. Sparks fly everywhere.
"Banks!" I yell as he returns fire, dropping two men with precise, controlled shots.