“Diversion team, what’s your status?” Nash’s voice on the comms is a bucket of ice water.
A beat of static. Then Ruby’s voice, a little breathless. “Uh, East… we have a slight change of plans. Darla’s idea.”
My blood runs cold. I try to raise her on the comms, but there’s only silence.
Before I can process, all hell breaks loose as the perimeter teams engage. “We stick to the plan,” Nash growls, already moving toward the container.
I follow, my focus shattered. We breach the container. It’s a nightmare. A dozen terrified girls huddled in the dark, their eyes wide with terror. We move them out in a fast, efficient extraction. “James, bring the transport van to the south gate. We’re coming out.”
Then Rider’s voice screams in my ear. “East! We have a runner! One of the traffickers broke loose, heading for the east perimeter fence!”
My head snaps in that direction. And my world stops.
Through a gap in the containers, I see him. A large, desperate man sprinting for the fence line. And I see them. Crouched behind a stack of rusted barrels, not a half-mile away from the firefight. Darla, Ruby, Candace, and Frankie. They didn’t go to the main gate. They came here. For a better view.
Pure, white-hot terror whites out my vision. The trafficker is running straight at them.
I’m moving before I can think, breaking formation, every instinct screaming to get to her.“East, hold your position!”Nash roars in my ear, but I don’t hear him.
Then, a single, sharp crack echoes from Rider’s sniper nest. The trafficker stumbles and collapses, not twenty yards from where they’re hiding.
Over the comms, Kyle’s voice cuts in, steady.“Target is down. Moving to confirm.”A second later, his voice is back.“Confirmed. Threat neutralized. East perimeter is secure.”
The threat is gone. My legs feel like they’re going to give out. The mission is a success, but my relief is so overwhelming that it curdles instantly into pure rage.
I stalk over to the south gate, where James and Kyle are already loading the last of the rescued, shell-shocked girls into the back of a black transport van. I do a quick final sweep. All threats are neutralized. All assets are secure.
Then I turn. My gaze finds Darla, standing by Ruby’s car, her face pale, her eyes wide with the aftershock of what she just witnessed. The other girls have the good sense to hang back.
“Get on the bike,” I say in a dangerously quiet voice. “Wait for me.”
I turn and stalk away, needing a minute before I say something I’ll regret. I find Malachi. We exchange a single grim nod. The mission was a success. Donovan got away. The war is far from over.
Finally, I go back to where she’s waiting. My helmet is still in my hand, but the fury is a living thing, coiling in my gut, so hot I can barely breathe. I stalk right up to her, getting in her space until she has to tilt her head back to look at me.
“What thehellwere you doing here?” I snarl, my voice a low, vicious thing I don’t recognize.
She flinches, but her chin comes up. “You treated me like a child who needed a babysitter.”
“So you decided to prove me right by acting like one?” I roar, my fury a physical force. “You disobeyed a direct order, Darla. This isn’t a game. You didn’t just put yourself at risk. You endangered all of them,” I say, my gesture encompassing the other girls, whose expressions have turned grim as they watch. “You think this is a game?”
“East, I—”
“No,” I cut her off. A part of me knows I provoked this, that I pushed her into this rebellion by undermining her. But the terror of almost losing her is a fire so hot it burns away all logic. “I gave you one job. One. And you ignored it because you were pissed off.”
I don’t wait for her to answer. The conversation is over. I turn my back on her, stalk to my bike, and swing my leg over. I shove my helmet on, my movements jerky with contained violence.
She follows, her silence a simmering counterpoint to my fury. As she swings her leg over the bike behind me, her eyes meet Frankie’s over my shoulder. I see a flicker of something pass between them—apology, defiance, a shared, silent language I can’t read.
Without waiting, I twist the throttle and the Harley roars to life, tearing out of the shipyard like a bat out of hell. Hard and fast, the ride is a blur, with the wind whipping at us and the engine a scream that matches the one in my head. The ride is a blur of streetlights and anger.
I don’t go back to the club. I don’t go home. Two blocks from my house, I see an alley—dark, empty, forgotten. I make a sharp, deliberate turn, guiding the bike into the narrow space between two brick buildings. I bring it to a hard, shuddering stop and slam the kickstand down, the sound of metal on concrete a sharp, angry crack in the sudden silence. The only other sound is the frantic, metallic ticking of the cooling engine.
I’m off the bike in a second, pulling her off behind me, my grip still tight on her arm. “What the hell was that?” I demand, my voice echoing off the damp brick walls. “I gave you one job, Darla. One. And you ignored it because your feelings were hurt? People could have died.Youcould have died.”
Her chin is high, her eyes blazing in the dim light from the streetlamp. “I wasn’t going to sit in a car half a mile away and be useless!”
“Useless? Your job was to keep the guards occupied! That was the mission!”
