Chapter 6
Gabriel’s arm brushes mine as we crouch behind a stack of shipping containers, and I flinch away from the contact.
The night air reeks of saltwater and rust, while the steady drip of condensation from overhead pipes counts down the seconds we spend hiding from the security patrol.
Their flashlight beams cut through darkness thirty feet away, sweeping across the concrete in predictable patterns that Gabriel seems to anticipate before they happen.
“Wait for it,” he whispers, his breath warm in my ear. “Three, two, one…”
The guard turns, his light redirecting where Gabriel predicted, leaving our path clear for the moment.
“Now.” He grabs my wrist, tugging me forward, and I yank free of his grip.
I follow on my own terms, staying in a crouch and tracking his movements as he weaves between containers with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this before. Not the bumbling rich boy I expected.
We reach another stack of containers, this one offering a view of the main security checkpoint without exposing us to the floodlights.
“How do you know the patrol schedules?” I whisper, eyes fixed on the guard booth where a heavyset man with a cigarette scrolls his phone, oblivious to our presence.
Gabriel shrugs, the motion almost invisible in the darkness. “The Rockfords have been importing luxury goods for generations. Security protocols at most ports follow similar patterns.”
“Luxury goods,” I repeat, the euphemism hanging between us.
His teeth flash white in the darkness. “Art. Wine. Cheese. Antiques.”
“And guns?” I question.
The amusement vanishes. “That would be Avery’s specialty, not ours.”
“And how do you know Avery Moore?”
Gabriel checks his watch before responding. “Family connection.”
“That tells me nothing.”
“That’s all I’m offering.” He turns toward me, half-illuminated by distant floodlights. “Unless you want to be family?”
The flirtation catches me off guard, and I scoff to cover how my pulse kicks up a notch. “You never quit, do you?”
“Not when I see something worth pursuing.” His attention returns to the checkpoint, saving me from having to respond. “Seven minutes until the shift change. If someone is paying off workers, that’s when they’ll make the drop.”
I study Gabriel’s profile as he focuses on the job. Concentration tightens his handsome features, and his motions hold a certain elegance as he adjusts the zoom on a small camera he had pulled from his pocket with no explanation as to why he even carried it.
Nothing about him right now matches the pampered club patron who brings me expensive gifts to try to buy my attention.
This Gabriel moves with a predator’s grace, all controlled power and quiet confidence.
My instincts reevaluate him in real-time, marking him as more dangerous than I initially assessed.
“There.” He points toward a car pulling into the lot, its headlights cutting through the fog rolling in from the water. “Black sedan with tinted windows. Right on schedule.”
The car parks near the checkpoint, and a tall figure steps out, identity obscured by a hood. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for the knife in my boot.
As if he senses my tension, Gabriel places a hand on my arm. “Wait. We need to document the exchange.”
The camera silently captures images of the figure approaching the guard booth. The guard straightens, tucking away his phone and stepping outside to meet the visitor.
They exchange words too soft to carry, and then a sealed manila envelope changes hands.
The guard tucks it inside his jacket and shakes the figure’s hand.
“What’s in the envelope?” I whisper.
“Money. Payment for looking the other way when certain containers move through without inspection.” Gabriel continues photographing the exchange. “The guard is Hector Diaz. He’s been on the Rockford payroll for over a year. Looks like he’s decided to double-dip.”
“How do we know that’s the guy we’re after?”
Gabriel’s mouth sets in a grim line. “We don’t. Micah’s done a good job of tracking down known buyers, which is where our people are right now. Tony’s network is in ruins. So if he’s rebuilding his operation, he’ll need to set up the groundwork for the next wave of trafficking.”
The words send a chill through me. Micah came too close to being part of that “next wave.”
Gabriel’s lips thin into a flat line. “Ships are the easiest way to import humans, which is why we have people like Hector Diaz on the lookout for suspicious activity. It appears he needs to be reminded where his loyalties lie.”
My hands ball into fists. “I can be of service there.”
“I can take care of it,” Gabriel counters.
“Please,” I scoff. “Aaiden would be pissed right now if he knew the family baby was out here right now.”
Gabriel’s eyes narrow at the jab. “I’m not as helpless as you seem to think I am.”
The hooded figure returns to the sedan and drives away while the guard returns to his booth, envelope secure in his jacket.
“I got what we need.” Gabriel slides the camera into his pocket. “Now we wait for his shift to end to see where he takes the money.”
“Why not confront him right now?”
“We need to follow him to whoever’s collecting these payments.” Gabriel lifts his chin, pinpoints of light from the distant floodlights reflecting in his pupils. “Rushing in fists first is not always the answer.”
I hate to admit it, but his strategy makes sense. Better than my usual approach of breaking bones until someone talks. The thought brings on a reluctant grin.
“What?” Gabriel asks, startled by my expression.
“Nothing.” I let out a long breath and admit, “You’re not what I expected.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Disappointed?”
“Surprised,” I correct, unsure how to process this version of him. “I thought you were—”
“A useless rich boy?” He finishes my sentence without bite.
“Yeah.”
“Most people do.” Gabriel’s attention returns to the guard booth. “It’s easier to get close to people who underestimate me.”
The words settle between us, and I realize I’ve been played.
“So all the gifts and the flirting were an act?” The realization brings an unexpected sting of disappointment.
Gabriel turns to me. “The flirting was real. The method might have been strategic, but the interest never was. I thought you might be a man who enjoyed being courted.”
His honesty throws me for a loop, and I don’t know how to respond.
Before I can figure it out, Gabriel tenses beside me. “Security!”
His hand on the small of my back guides me behind a stack of containers. The touch burns through my shirt, and I resist the instinct to shake him off when stealth matters more than personal space.
Cold metal digs into my spine as we flatten ourselves into the narrow gap between shipping units, the space barely wide enough for one person, let alone two Alphas.
The approaching beam of a flashlight cuts through the darkness, and Gabriel’s body squeezes closer to mine. His chest rises and falls against my arm, his breath warming the side of my neck as we both hold still.
His pheromones, mixed with sweat and adrenaline, are a heady blend that leaves my head spinning.
“Two guards,” he whispers, lips so close to my ear that I feel them move. “They weren’t scheduled for this section.”
“Maybe your intel isn’t as good as you think.” The words come out harsher than intended as a defense mechanism triggered by his proximity.
Gabriel doesn’t respond, his attention fixed on the approaching footsteps. The narrow space between containers becomes a trap, with no room to maneuver if we’re discovered.
My muscles coil with tension, ready to fight or run.
The guards’ voices carry through the night air, growing louder with each second.
“…third time this week. Manager says we gotta double-check the north section.”
“Waste of time. Nobody’s stupid enough to mess with Rossi’s shipments.”
The name confirms Orien’s information. Tony has hooks in the dock’s security. I strain to catch more of the conversation, stretching up to peer around the corner of our hiding spot. As I do, my sleeve catches on a jagged edge of metal, dragging up past my wrist as I reach higher.
Gabriel sucks in a breath as he spots the crisscross of scars on my wrist, and a question spills from his lips that I never wanted to hear. “What happened?”
I yank my sleeve down with enough force to tear the fabric, my body going rigid with defensiveness. “Nothing.”
The flashlight beam sweeps past our hiding spot, illuminating the concern etched in the crease between Gabriel’s brows, but no disgust or horror. It’s a look I’ve seen too often from people who discover my scars, who think they understand what they’re seeing.
I wait for him to push, to demand explanations or offer unwanted sympathy.
He does neither.
Gabriel’s face clears as he returns his attention to the guards passing by. “They’re heading toward the south gate. We’ll need to adjust our route.”
The knot in my stomach loosens.
The guards’ voices fade into the distance, their flashlight beams disappearing around a corner.
Gabriel eases away from me, and I breathe easier without his body heat mixing with mine. “We should move. If they’re increasing security, we don’t have much time left.”
“What about Diaz?” I demand.
“We already missed the end of his shift.” Gabriel lets out a long sigh. “I’ll have to get his home address so we can question him. You might get to have your fun after all.”
A pleased rumble comes from me as I step out first, scanning the area before motioning for him to follow. We weave between containers, more cautious. Gabriel keeps pace beside me, his footsteps silent on the concrete.
We reach a new vantage point overlooking the loading area, and Gabriel pulls out his camera again, focusing on a group of workers unloading a small boat that definitely isn’t on any official manifest. The men move in near darkness, transferring unmarked crates to a waiting truck.
“That’s new,” Gabriel murmurs, zooming in. “Usually, they stick to container ships.”