Chapter 17
Ry
"Let's move," I say to Oliver, gathering my small purse, already calculating what Hudson's retribution might cost me. "And remember—you're just a clueless kid looking for a good time, got it?"
He nods, a slow smile spreading across his face that transforms him completely. Suddenly he looks younger, more carefree—the sharp intelligence in his eyes replaced with wide-eyed excitement. It's an impressive transformation, and I make a mental note of his acting skills.
We exit the SUV, and I immediately adopt my own disguise—shoulders slightly slumped, steps less precise, giggling slightly.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" I ask loudly, making my voice carry just enough to be heard by anyone nearby. "I thought Jax said the party was by the water."
Oliver plays along beautifully, his arm sliding around my waist as he guides me deeper into the maze of containers. "Trust me, babe. I know where I'm going."
"We need to head east," I mumble under my breath, directing him with subtle pressure against his side.
The tiny earpiece nestled in my ear crackles to life, Hudson's voice low and controlled. "Keep a leash on the puppy, Ry. Don't do anything stupid. I'm going to make you regret this later."
I suppress a smile, maintaining my vapid party girl expression while replying through the nearly invisible mic concealed in my necklace. "Looking forward to it, old man."
Oliver glances at me, confusion flickering across his face at words that seem directed at him but don't make sense in context. I wink, playing it off as flirtation while listening to Rev's voice now in my ear.
"What exactly is she going to regret, Hudson?" Rev sounds amused, the smirk evident in his tone even through the static.
"Ask her yourself," Hudson growls.
I let out a high-pitched giggle that would make a sorority girl proud while muttering through gritted teeth, "If you three don't stop this pissing contest, I'll personally ensure none of you can piss standing up ever again. Any movement that isn't my patience leaving my body?"
Oliver's eyes widen like I've grown a second head, but he adapts quickly, wrapping his arm around my waist as we careen around a corner with all the grace of two tequila-soaked college freshmen.
"Ooh, she's feisty tonight," Kai's voice crackles in my ear. "Rev, think Hudson would look good in your bathrobe? The purple one with the hearts? Are we going to have to play scissors paper rock to decide who shares their side of the bed?"
I pretend to trip, using the moment to scan for threats while dramatically clutching Oliver's surprisingly firm chest. "Christ on a cracker, I'm out here risking my ass while you three plan your throuple honeymoon.
If I get shot because you're comparing dick sizes, I'll haunt you so hard your grandchildren will need exorcisms."
"Northeast quadrant showing activity," Camden reports. "Multiple heat signatures around the containers."
It’s obvious that Camden can’t hear the conversation between me and the guys, or I’m sure I would have heard a smart ass comment or two by now about getting myself killed.
I steer Oliver down a narrow passage between two rows of containers, deliberately taking a zigzagging path that would make sense for lost drunk kids but also keeps us out of direct sightlines of anyone watching the main pathways.
"Perimeter established," Hudson confirms in my ear. "We're closing the circle. ETA three minutes to your position. Do not engage until we're in place."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I reply sweetly, loud enough that Oliver raises an eyebrow.
"Is there someone else here?" he whispers, playing his part but genuinely confused.
I tap my ear subtly, and understanding dawns on his face. He nods, continuing our charade with renewed enthusiasm, wrapping his arm more securely around my waist as we stagger forward.
The sounds of activity grow louder as we approach the northeast section—men's voices, the clang of metal, the low rumble of engines.
I mentally catalog each noise, building a picture of what we're walking into.
Whoever is behind this didn't expect company tonight.
They think they're operating under cover of darkness, safe from prying eyes.
I hope they've gotten comfortable in that assumption. Complacency makes people careless.
"I think I hear music!" I exclaim loudly as we round the final corner, clinging to Oliver's arm. "See? I told you we were going the right way!"
The scene before us is exactly what I feared.
Our shipping area is alive with activity—men in black clothing and balaclavas moving between containers.
A freshly arrived shipment sits open, its contents being transferred to two boats moored at the small dock adjacent to our warehouse.
The boats explain how they've been bypassing our security—coming in by water instead of through the main gates.
I press my lips to Oliver's ear as if whispering something flirty, using the moment to murmur into my mic. "Look at all those helpful workers moving our party favors to those pretty boats. At least a dozen friends with toys. Jax should have said it was a costume party."
"Fuck," Kai hisses in my ear. "That's the premium stock for the opening."
"Hold position," Hudson orders. "We're almost in place."
I scan the area, looking for whoever might be in charge, when Oliver stumbles deliberately, sending us both tumbling against a container with a loud clang. My heart stops as several heads turn in our direction.
"Shit, sorry babe," Oliver slurs loudly, playing his part. "Told you those last shots were a bad idea."
I giggle, clinging to him and trying not to be distracted by the muscles under my hands while positioning myself to reach the knife at my thigh if needed. "You're such a lightweight!"
For a moment, I think we might pull it off—just two drunk kids who took a wrong turn. But then one of the men breaks away from the group, his hand moving to his waistband as he approaches.
"Hey! You two! What the fuck are you doing here?"
I stumble forward, putting myself slightly in front of Oliver as he shrinks back. "Oh my god, is this not the rave? Jax said it was by the water and there'd be boats and—" I break off, squinting dramatically at the man. "Wait, this doesn't look like a party."
"You need to leave. Now." The man's voice is hard, his hand still hovering near what I'm certain is a concealed weapon.
"Thirty seconds," Hudson’s says in my ear. "Stall."
I pout dramatically at the masked man. "But we came all this way! And Jax said there'd be molly, you know how tight those assholes in the city are about that stuff, and—"
"I said leave!" The man steps closer, and now I can clearly see the gun tucked into his waistband. Behind him, the others have stopped working, their attention now focused on us.
"Ten seconds," Rev's voice promises in my ear.
I'm calculating our chances—whether to maintain the charade or drop it and go for my weapons—when the decision is made for me. A second man approaches, this one already holding his gun at his side.
"Who the fuck are they?" he demands, gesturing at us with the weapon.
"Just some kids looking for a party," the first man replies, his tone dismissive. "I'm handling it."
The second man steps closer, studying us with narrowed eyes. "How'd they get past security?"
A chill runs down my spine. That's a very good question—one that suggests they know exactly what security measures should have stopped us. Which means they know our protocols.
"In position," Hudson's voice confirms in my ear. "On your signal."
"Wait, wait," I slur, holding up my hands in what I hope looks like drunken panic. "We'll just go, okay? No harm, no—"
The cold press of metal against my forehead stops my words instantly. The second man has moved faster than I anticipated, his gun now digging into my skin. His eyes—the only part of his face visible through the balaclava—are cold, calculating.
"Too late for that," he says, voice muffled by the mask. "Grab them both."
Strong hands seize my arms from behind—a third man I didn't see approaching. I let my body go slack, playing up the terrified party girl while my mind races through escape scenarios. Oliver struggles briefly beside me before another masked figure subdues him.
They drag us forward, my boots scraping against concrete as I pretend to stumble.
The gun never leaves my forehead, the pressure constant and threatening.
I count our captors—four handling us directly, at least eight more by the containers and boats.
Twelve against four of us, plus Oliver. Not great odds, but we've faced worse.
As we're pushed toward the dock, I realize this might actually work in our favor. Their leader must be waiting on one of those boats. If we can get close enough, we might identify whoever's behind all this.
"Please," I whimper, making my voice break. "We didn't see anything. We won't tell anyone."
"Shut up," growls the man behind me, fingers digging painfully into my bicep.
Through my earpiece, I hear Hudson's voice, tight with controlled fury: "We're moving in. Wait for my signal."
The wooden planks of the dock creak beneath our feet as they march us forward.
Water laps gently against the pilings below, the sound almost peaceful compared to the hammering of my heart.
The boats—sleek, expensive speedboats that could disappear quickly into the night—wait at the end of the pier, their engines idling.
I stumble deliberately, using the moment to assess my weapons. The knife at my thigh is closest, but the one at my back would be easier to reach with my arms restrained. I just need the right moment.
"Oliver," I whisper, making it sound like a frightened plea rather than a command. "Stay down when it happens."
His eyes flick to mine, wide but understanding. He gives me the barest of nods.