Her hand trembled, pushing wet curls back.Exhaustion carved her face.Sergei’s gut knotted, Svetlana’s defiance flashing.Her last stand.Her end.
“We get Tiana out tonight,” Keisha said, chin lifting.
Lightning cracked overhead.The fence showed gaps, easy entry.Sloppy for Kryvaya Stal, unless it was bait.“The man Imani saw,” he said, tracking a parked van’s headlights.“Describe him again.”
“Tall, white, chin scar.”Keisha wiped rain from her eyes.“Smoking Pavel’s brand, like at the clinic.”
Sergei’s jaw locked.“Pavel’s not a friend.”
“Your old associate, then.”Her words hit hard.“The one you worked with to move kids before you decided to play hero.”
The jab landed, truth in it.He’d looked away from Kryvaya Stal’s dirt until Svetlana’s blood stained that alley, her words echoing.
You knew.
“I go in first,” he said, moving to the fence.
Keisha blocked him.“No.It’s my case.If they’re waiting, they won’t expect me.You’ve got the gun.Cover me if it goes bad.”
Rain soaked her blouse, clinging to her curves.Her eyes challenged, fire cutting through the wet chill.Sergei’s need to pull her back fought his respect, blood heating at her edge.“Fine,” he said, stepping aside.“But anything wrong, we pull out.No debate.”
“You don’t run this.”Her mouth quirked, almost a grin.“Stay back.Let me scout the dock.”
Sergei trailed two steps behind, watching the perimeter.Rain pounded harder, masking footsteps.“Keisha,” he muttered, close.“If it’s bad, get behind me.No pushing.”
Her back stiffened.“I don’t need—”
“I know you don’t.”His voice dropped.“But I do.”
Keisha looked at the building, then back at him, but remained silent.
The warehouse loomed, graffiti scarred its walls.Loading doors gaped half-open, light spilling from inside.
Sergei tensed, ready.
“This is my job,” Keisha whispered.“These kids depend on me.”
“And you depend on me,” he replied.
The door groaned open wider, light flooding.Keisha stepped forward, posture shifting to authority despite her shake.Sergei followed, hand brushing his knife, close enough to catch her scent through the rain.
A man’s face appeared in the gap.Tall, chin scar, eyes darting.“Who’s there?”His accent clipped.
Keisha didn’t flinch.“Foster services.Looking for Jalisa Rossi.She called about Tiana Carver.”
The man’s eyes narrowed, hand twitching toward his waist.“Wrong address.Leave.”
Sergei edged forward, spotting movement inside.Two more figures, one dragging a small shape.
Tiana.
“We know you have her,” Keisha said, voice steady.“Let her go, or we call in backup.”
The man laughed, drawing a gun.“You’re the social worker.Dmitri wants you too.”
Sergei lunged, tackling the man.The gun clattered to the floor.Keisha darted past, into the warehouse.“Tiana!”
Sergei’s fist cracked the man’s jaw, blood spraying as the man crumpled to the floor.He stood, scanning the area for more.Two enforcers rushed from the shadows, one barking into a radio.A woman’s voice crackled back.
