Dante
The armed men who had stepped from the SUVs didn't fire. They simply spread out with disciplined precision, creating a semicircle around the STARR team. They were professionals, and that bothered him because professionals didn't posture—they killed.
Rocco glanced sideways without lowering his weapon. "For what?"
"So?" Rocco said.
"I'm here,” he breathed.
Her fingers tightened around his. "I know." Her words were simple, but they settled somewhere deep inside his chest. For years, he'd wondered if she'd ever trust him, but now she did. He'd die before breaking that trust.
The helicopter descended another ten feet, and its side door slid open, and a man stepped out.
He wore an expensive charcoal suit instead of tactical gear, as though he'd arrived for a board meeting rather than a firefight.
Silver threaded through his dark hair at the temples, and his polished shoes looked absurd against the concrete dock.
He smiled warmly, but it was the coldest smile Dante had ever seen. "Miss Santos."
Lark stiffened. "I've been looking forward to meeting you."
"I can't say the same,” she drawled.
The man's smile widened. "I admire honesty."
Rocco shifted slightly. "Who are you?"
The stranger ignored him. "My name is Adrian Keller." The name seemed to mean nothing to Lark, but it seemed to mean everything to Rocco. Dante saw the change immediately.
"You know him,” Dante accused.
Rocco's jaw tightened. "I know the name."
Keller chuckled. "I should hope so." His eyes finally settled on Rocco. "You've spent the better part of two years dismantling companies that belonged to me." One of the STARR operators quietly muttered a curse, but Rocco never looked away.
"You run Black Horizon,” Rocco said.
Keller inclined his head. "I own Black Horizon."
Dante frowned. "What the hell is Black Horizon?"
"A logistics company," Keller answered pleasantly.
Rocco's expression turned grim. "No." He looked at Dante. "It's the shell company." Understanding hit Dante like a punch in the gut. The shipping manifests, the ports, and the missing women—everything pointed back to this man.
Lark looked between them. "I don't understand."
Keller looked almost sympathetic. "Your father worked for me."
The words landed like a bomb. "What?"
"He liked to pretend otherwise." Keller folded his hands behind his back. "But Rafael Santos has been an employee for quite some time."
Lark shook her head. "You're lying."
"I rarely lie,” Keller said.
"My father—" Lark started.
"Was useful,” Keller interrupted smoothly. "But usefulness has an expiration date." Dante watched the color drain from Lark's face. She'd spent her entire life believing Rafael Santos was the monster, and now someone even worse stood in front of them. Keller looked almost disappointed.
"Rafael became emotional where you were concerned."
Lark laughed bitterly. "My father doesn't have emotions."
"Oh, but he does.” Keller smiled. "He simply mistakes possession for affection." Dante wanted to argue, but then he remembered Rafael's obsession with controlling every aspect of Lark's life. The bastard had never loved her—he owned her.
"He refused to deliver you,” Keller said. The words made Dante's pulse spike.
"Deliver me where?" Lark whispered.
Keller looked at her almost fondly. "To me." Every instinct Dante possessed screamed. Something about this conversation was wrong—very wrong.
"You've become—” Keller seemed to search for the right word. "an inconvenience."
He looked toward Dante. "You." Then toward Rocco. "And you." Finally back to Lark. "Most especially you."
Dante slowly shifted until he completely blocked Lark from Keller's view. "You'll have to go through me."
"I assumed as much.” Keller didn't sound concerned. He sounded amused. "As I understand it, you've been remarkably loyal."
"I'm loyal to her." The admission came without thought or hesitation. Lark looked up at him, and he didn't take his eyes off Keller. "I don't care who you are." His voice was calm. "I don't care how much money you have." He cocked the hammer on his pistol. "You're not taking her."
For the first time since arriving, Keller's smile faded. "You love her."
It wasn't a question, but Dante answered anyway. "Yes." Beside him, Rocco glanced over. There wasn't jealousy in his expression, only understanding.
Keller sighed. "Love." He almost sounded bored.
"It makes otherwise intelligent men so terribly predictable.
" Without warning, he snapped his fingers, and gunfire erupted from the rooftops surrounding the dock. It wasn’t directed toward Dante or Lark but at everyone else.
Chaos exploded around them as STARR operators dove for cover while returning fire.
The mercenaries who had arrived with Keller scattered into practiced formations.
Rocco tackled one of the operators behind a concrete barrier as rounds tore through the spot they'd occupied seconds earlier.
"Snipers!" someone yelled. Dante wrapped an arm around Lark's waist and dragged her behind a shipping container just as bullets shredded the steel where she'd been standing. She collided with his chest, breathing hard and terrified.
"Dante.”
He cupped the back of her head. "Look at me." Her green eyes were wide with fear. "We're getting out of this."
"How can you know that?" she asked.
"Because I'm done letting other people decide our lives,” Dante said.
"Our lives?” she asked.
He smiled despite the firefight raging around them. “Yes, our." Lark stared at him for a heartbeat before a tiny smile broke through her fear, before another voice shouted from the other side of the container.
"Dante!" Rocco shouted. "We need to move!
" Dante leaned around the edge just enough to see him.
Rocco pointed toward an old maintenance building at the far end of the dock.
"There's another way out!" Dante looked back at Lark, and he knew that he was ready to run again.
He was ready to fight and ready to die if he had to because somewhere between locking her bedroom door every night and holding her hand beneath the city, she'd never been allowed to explore.
She had stopped being Rafael Santos's prisoner.
She had become his future, and he wasn't about to lose it.
Bullets ripped through the shipping container above Dante's head, sending shards of rusted metal raining over him and Lark. He tightened his arm around her waist. "Stay behind me."
She looked up at him, frustration flashing through her fear. "I'm getting really tired of hearing that."
Despite the firefight erupting around them, the corner of his mouth twitched. "Good."
"Good?" she asked.
"It means you're still fighting if you’re arguing with me," Dante said.
She rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"And you're still alive,” Dante insisted.
"I'd rather be alive somewhere else,” Lark drawled.
"So would I,” he agreed. Another volley of gunfire echoed across the docks, and Rocco slid into cover beside them, breathing hard.
"They're trying to push us toward the river,” Rocco said. Dante peeked around the edge of the container and counted quickly. There were at least fifteen hostiles—maybe more.
"They're herding us,” Dante said.
Rocco nodded. "I noticed."
Lark looked between them. "What does that mean?"
"It means," Dante answered quietly, "they don't want to shoot you."
Her face paled. "They want to capture me." Neither man denied it, and she closed her eyes for a second.
"I finally get out—" Her voice cracked. "And somehow I'm even less free."
Dante reached for her without thinking, letting his thumb brush across the back of her hand. "You are free." She looked at him. "No one owns you anymore."
Emotion flashed through her eyes before she looked away. "I want to believe that."
"You will." He spoke with more confidence than he felt, because the truth was, he had no idea how they were getting off this dock.
One of the STARR operators ducked behind cover nearby. "We've got movement on the east side."
Rocco looked toward him. "How many?"
"Six,” the man said.
Another operator's voice came through the radio. "Eight more on the west."
Dante cursed. "They're boxing us in."
"No." Rocco frowned. "They're leaving one direction open."
Dante followed his gaze to the river. "They want us on a boat."
"Exactly,” Rocco agreed. “But we’re not going to let that happen.”
Lark folded her arms tightly across herself.
"I feel like everyone keeps making plans for me.
" The quiet bitterness in her voice hit Dante harder than the gunfire because she was right.
Her father controlled her life, and now, Keller was trying to.
Hell, even he had by always deciding things for her and protecting her.
Dante had never once asked her what she wanted.
He looked at her. "What do you want to do?"
She blinked at him. "What?"
"What do you want?" he asked again. For a long moment, she simply stared at him. He was sure that nobody had ever asked her that. He could see it in her eyes.
"I don't want to spend the rest of my life running,” she breathed.
Neither did he. "I don't want to hide." He nodded.
"I don't want another prison." His chest tightened.
"And—" She looked toward the Chicago skyline.
"I'd like to decide where I sleep tomorrow.
" Something inside him broke because it was such a simple wish—one he'd taken for granted every day of his life.
"I can do that," he whispered.
She smiled sadly. "You can't."
"No." He shook his head. "But I'll help make sure nobody takes that choice away from you again." She reached over and squeezed his hand, not because she needed protection, but because she seemed to need the contact. The realization stole his breath.
A loud engine roared somewhere beyond the warehouses, and Rocco immediately looked toward the sound. "That's not the helicopter."
One of the operators smiled. "No, it isn't." Headlights burst through a chain-link fence at the far end of the dock, and a black armored truck crashed through the opening, scattering mercenaries in every direction.
The heavy vehicle fishtailed across the concrete before stopping sideways between Keller's men and the STARR team.
Its doors flew open, and four more agents poured out.
One woman leaned out of the driver's seat with an assault rifle braced against the window frame.
"Get in!" she shouted as she fired a controlled burst over their heads, forcing Keller's men back.
Rocco actually laughed. "I've never been so happy to see her."
"You know her?" Dante asked.
"Unfortunately,” Rocco drawled.
The woman glared at him. "I heard that." Even from thirty yards away, she had excellent hearing.
"Move!" The team surged toward the truck, and Dante kept Lark tucked against his side while operators surrounded them.
A sniper round shattered the pavement inches from Lark's feet, and she stumbled. Dante caught her before she fell.
Another shot rang out, this one closer. Without thinking, he turned his body, using himself as a shield. Lark grabbed his jacket. "What are you doing?"
"If they shoot—" he started.
"They'll hit you!" she interrupted.
"Better me than you,” he insisted.
"No." Her voice came out fierce. "No." She shoved against his chest. "We both make it." He stared at her. "You hear me?" She was shaking and terrified, yet she still refused to let him sacrifice himself.
"We both make it." His throat tightened. "I'll do everything I can."
"No." She stepped closer. "You promise." The word hit him harder than any bullet could because a promise was something permanent—something real.
He looked into her eyes. "I promise."
Rocco appeared beside them. "If you two are done trying to get yourselves killed,” he nodded toward the truck, “our ride is leaving.
" For the first time all night, Dante noticed the way Rocco looked at Lark. It wasn’t with possessiveness or suspicion, but with quiet admiration.
It wasn't the look of a man claiming something.
It was the look of a man hoping she'd survive long enough to discover who she could become.
Oddly, that made Dante trust him just a little more.
The three of them reached the armored truck together as Dante helped Lark climb inside; she glanced back toward the burning Santos estate silhouetted against the Chicago skyline. It was the only home she'd ever known. She’d finally escaped her prison.
She whispered so softly he almost didn't hear it. "I'm never going back."
Dante climbed into the truck behind her and slammed the heavy door shut. "No," he said as the vehicle lurched forward under another hail of gunfire. "You aren't." he meant it too, even if he had to spend the rest of his life making sure of it.