Sneaking onto the docks, we creep through the maze of freight containers until we find a good vantage point of where Adrian told us the shipment would be coming in from. Used to hiding in shadows, we hunker down and wait.
Luckily for us, the docks don't seem busy tonight and security is scarce. I'm relieved by this until Ryan points out there's likely zero security because they've been paid off by the Winters to stay away, which is a lot less reassuring.
The next couple of hours tick over quickly, broken up by the fifteen minute check-ins Paige insisted on, texts sent both ways to confirm everything is fine.
When the shipment of Epic comes in, Ryan and I dare to move in closer so we can get a better look at what we're up against. As predicted, there are a group of men all dressed in black with the obvious bulge of at least one firearm under their jackets. They swarm around the large freight container full of Epic, guarding it. I don't recognise any of them, but that doesn't mean much. There are plenty of interchangeable grunts who the Winters family employ to do their dirty work.
It takes a while for them to unload the container and do the handoff with whoever they've bribed into allowing the freight container through without being checked by customs.
Once the container is free to be transported out of the docks, the men go about transferring the contents onto a ready and waiting truck.
This is when Ryan and I put our pre-discussed plan into action.
Ryan grabs my arm and tugs me towards him, looking down into my face with a very serious expression, eyes taking me in like this might be the last time he'll ever get to do it. In the darkness, his eyes are tinted a more ominous shade of pale blue-grey, and there's an intensity to them I feel in my chest like a slow-rising tide. He raises one hand to cup my jaw, thumb gently brushing my cheek.
"Ready to fuck some shit up, princess?" His mouth curves up on one side like someone has taken a knife to it.
I tip forward and up on my toes to press a firm kiss to his mouth. When I pull back, Ryan nods like the kiss was answer enough. I give him a small shove and he darts off into the shadows, taking himself away from me and the freight container.
About thirty seconds later, there's the sound of a gunshot ringing out from the direction he ran in. I watch as the Winters’ goons all freeze in place for a handful of seconds. Then, after a brief back and forth, most of them run off to investigate the gunshot, leaving only two men behind to guard the drugs.
With Ryan's part done, it’s my turn to do something insane. I run silently towards the freight container with my bat, coming up behind it and stopping for a moment to plan my attack on the Winters’ lackeys. From this position I’m able to peer around the corner and see that both men have their backs to me, which is a massive plus. They've stopped shifting the crates of drugs from the freight container over to the truck and appear to be standing there staring off in the direction their friends went, waiting to see what happens.
Taking one last fortifying breath, I move around the freight container until I’m close enough to crack the first man over the head with my bat, putting a considerable amount of force into it. Hard enough to knock him the hell out, but not to kill him. As much as these arseholes deserve a good bat to the skull, I have no desire to end anyone's life.
When the man collapses to the ground, the sound and sudden movement causes the other man to turn around. He looks at me with wide, confused eyes and springs into defensive action, hands grabbing for his weapon. As he's fumbling for the gun stuffed into his jacket, I use the time to rush forward with my bat and take a swipe at his knee. The man lets out a surprised yelping sound and tries to spring back out of the way, but I'm too fast and my bat makes solid contact with his kneecap. He yells out in pain and goes down clutching at his injured leg, abandoning his attempt to grab his gun.
Taking advantage of his momentary lapse, I bring the bat back and swing it at his head. My bat smacks into his temple and sends him off into unconsciousness.
Once both men are dealt with, I rush to complete the last part of our plan before Ryan stops being an adequate distraction for the other men. As if on cue, there's another series of gunshots from somewhere on the other side of the docks. Ryan must be leading them as far away from here as possible, just in case any of them decide to turn back, giving me extra time if I need it.
There's a second where absolute terror takes hold of me at the idea of Ryan getting shot. But it's only a second. I trust Ryan to look after himself. He's been doing it since he was a little kid, in circumstances far worse than this. It would take more than a handful of goons with guns to take down Ryan bloody nightmare Knight.
Going back to retrieve the petrol canisters, I bring them around and start dousing the crates full of Epic. Only a few of them have been moved from the container to the lorry, but they're big and heavy, so it takes me a while to get them back into the freight container. Once all the product is in the same place, I douse the crates again, just to be safe, and take out the box of matches we snagged back at the flat.
Lighting one of the long-stem matches, I throw the lit flame into the freighter container and watch as fire erupts across one of the crates and then quickly spreads to the rest. In seconds the entire inside of the freight container is blazing. It's so hot and overpowering that I have to back away, worried the drugs will react with the fire and cause an explosion.
Once I'm certain there will be no salvaging the drugs even if they manage to put the fire out, I dash away, grabbing my bat and the empty petrol canisters. Weaving in and out of the freight containers, I make my way back to the van to meet up with Ryan.
Relief hits me in the chest like a train when I find Ryan waiting for me next to the van. I was half afraid he wouldn't be there, although I didn't allow myself to seriously consider it for fear of losing my nerve.
Ryan has clearly been running and can only have arrived a couple of seconds before me because he's panting like mad, hands pressed to the side of the van as he tries to catch his breath. When he sees me coming, the same relief crests over his expression and his shoulders sag in a sudden release of tension.
"It's done?" he asks shortly.
"Yep. Let's get the fuck out of here!" I answer in a hoarse gasp, also out of breath from running.
Ryan doesn't ask any follows ups. He shoves himself away from the van and opens up the back doors. Without a word, I throw the empty canisters and my bat into the back of the van. Ryan closes the doors and winces, something about the movement causing him pain. It's only on closer inspection that I realise he's bleeding from his side. There's a jagged hole in his t-shirt, damaged flesh peeking out from the shorn gap.
My hands move seemingly of their own accord, grasping for his t-shirt to yank it up and check out the wound properly.
Ryan grabs at my wrists, easily wrapping his fingers around them to stop me. "It's just a graze."
Let the record show I amnotreassured.
When I look up at him with battle cries echoing inside my head, ready to burst free in the form of condemnations for getting himself hurt, Ryan throws me a pleading look, silently asking to be given a stay of execution until we're somewhere it's safe to be angry.
With my reticent nod of agreement, we both go around the van and climb into the front seats, eager to put distance between us and the docks.
