Vivian took another step. “The Bureau doesn’t care about you, they’ll burn you and the mercs to hide their own sins. We’re your only shot at surviving the cleanup.
Blake caught himself smiling. He’d seen Vivian talk her way through interrogation rooms, out of safehouses, past checkpoints—but never like this. Never with the kind of fire that made the lie feel like gospel.
Mara’s gaze lifted across the deck. Her lips moved. Two words. “Mom? Dad?”
Blake’s chest ached. Did the kid believe the lie? Maybe it didn’t matter.
“Put the gun down,” the leader ordered. “Show me you’re serious.”
Vivian lowered the muzzle just enough to sell it. “You want a name? The one who sold you out? Let my daughter go, and I’ll give it to you.”
The leader’s patience snapped. “Cute story,” he said. “But I think I’ll keep the kid and decide later who to believe.”
“Believe this,” she said. “I misdirected the FBI to the lighthouse. You notice the gunfire stopped? That’s because your hired guns and the Bureau cut a deal a long time ago. Wejust proved we’ll do anything for our daughter, and they’ll do anything to keep their hands clean.”
Gunfire fractured the air.
Blake pivoted toward the docks—shadows moving fast through the fog, weapons raised. Not Laurel Tide. Different uniforms, unmarked. The hired guns.
The first volley cut through both sides—Laurel Tide and their own position. Bullets splintered wood, tore through cargo crates, punched sparks off metal.
“Down!” Blake shouted, dragging Vivian behind a winch post.
“Who the?—”
“Militia,” he said, voice hard. “The same ones you’ve been paying to ‘keep Laurel’s routes clean.’ Believe her now?”
Laurel Tide scrambled, confused, turning their guns on the new arrivals.
She stood, bold and furious, weapon raised—not at Laurel Tide, but at the mercs. She fired two clean shots, cutting down a gunman creeping behind the crates.
Laurel Tide’s leader jerked up in surprise.
Vivian’s voice carried across the chaos. “You want to live? Start returning fire.”
The line between enemies blurred instantly. For brutal seconds, they fought side by side, pushing back the tide of gunfire. Then silence, the reek of smoke and blood, and the wind screaming through bullet holes.
Blake never thought in his life he’d be defending Laurel Tide, the organization he’d fought for years to take down, but he wasn’t fighting for them. He was fighting for Viv and that little innocent child to survive.
Laurel Tide’s commander, bleeding from a graze, pointed his weapon at the ground. “You saved my men,” he said warily.
Vivian didn’t lower hers. “We just stopped the people you were stupid enough to hire.”
Blake stepped forward, hand raised, his voice steady. “We’ve got intel that’ll make this stop—for all of us. The data you wanted from the FBI? It’s real. I’ll give you everything we found. Call it proof of good faith.”
The man hesitated. “And why would you do that?”
Blake met his gaze. “Because the agency will burn both sides just to stay clean.”
Vivian watched him, something flickering in her expression—trust and disbelief, all tangled up. He ignored it. The only way out was through.
Blake straightened, lowering his weapon but not dropping it. “You want proof?” he said, jerking his chin toward the docked boat. “It’s on board. Every route, every payout, every contact name the Bureau buried. You’ll see exactly how deep this goes.”
The Laurel Tide commander hesitated, eyes narrowing. Behind him, his men shifted uneasily—wary, exhausted, blood-smeared. They wanted this over as much as anyone.
“Show me,” the commander said finally.
Blake nodded once. “Viv, watch our six.”
