98
Adam
Raine’s words hung in the air long after the SUV went quiet.
We finish it. Together.
Her voice had been steady, stronger than I’d ever heard it. I’d seen her bleed, I’d seen her break, and I’d held her while the fear tore her apart. But now… now she was fire. Hard and sharp and unshakable.
And God help me, I’d never wanted her more.
I forced myself to focus on the road ahead. The victims we’d pulled out needed care, needed protection. But the machine behind all this? It wouldn’t stop. Not until we ripped it out root and stem.
“Boone,” I said, voice low but sharp. “Where’s the money go after San Antonio?”
“South. Corpus Christi, maybe. But that’s not the end. Funds jump overseas—Zurich, Panama, places where our badges mean jack shit.”
“Then we cut them before they get offshore,” I said.
Russ leaned forward, his notes balanced on his knee. “We’ve got enough evidence to force federal eyes on this now. Photos,victims, paper trails. We drop this in the right lap, they’ll have to act.”
I shook my head, jaw tight. “Federal eyes are the problem. You saw what happened in Dallas. They scrubbed it clean before the blood even dried. We give this over now, and it disappears.”
Logan exhaled hard, his voice tight. “So what’s your play, Stoker? We can’t hit every hub blind.”
I glanced back at Raine. She met my gaze without flinching, her chin high, her eyes fierce.
“We don’t go blind,” I said. “We make noise. We hit them hard, leave them scrambling. Force their hand until someone in charge makes a mistake.”
Blade’s knife gleamed as he rolled it across his fingers. “Chaos makes mistakes. Mistakes give us blood.”
Hawk grinned wolfishly. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
Boone muttered under his breath, “You’re all insane,” but he didn’t stop typing.
Raine’s hand slid into mine, steady and warm, and I tightened my grip, the steel in my chest burning hotter.
She was right. This wasn’t about survival anymore.
It was about ending it.
And Adam Stoker didn’t leave wars half-finished.
99
Adam
The hum of the engine filled the SUV, steady as a heartbeat. Outside, the Texas sun was sinking, bleeding the sky in shades of fire. We had hours—maybe less—before the bastards regrouped, before they moved their operation again.
I wasn’t about to give them that chance.
I leaned over Russ’s notes spread across the dash. Names. Routes. Timetables. All pieces of a machine designed to grind human lives into parts.
“We hit Corpus Christi next,” I said flatly. “Boone, I want eyes on every shipment that’s moved through the port in the last month. Refrigerated trucks, containers, cargo manifests—if it moves cold, I want it flagged.”
Boone muttered, fingers flying over his laptop keys. “You realize you’re asking me to hack half the damn coast guard, right?”
“Do it anyway.”
