Chapter 20
TWENTY
ANNISTON
I press my back against the cold metal wall of the warehouse, heart hammering so hard I can feel it in my throat. Banks is right beside me, his body tense and ready, pistol gripped firmly in his hand. We shouldn’t be here. We should have waited for backup. But it’s too late now.
This is it. The meeting we’ve been chasing.
"Stay right behind me," Banks whispers, his voice low and controlled. His hand finds mine for one quick squeeze before he lets go. "If things go bad, you run. Don’t look back."
I nod, even though the thought of leaving him behind makes my stomach twist. We slip through a side service door that Banks picked open in under thirty seconds.
The warehouse is enormous, dimly lit by a few overhead work lights that buzz and flicker.
The air smells like diesel, rust, and river water.
Voices echo from the center of the space.
We move silently along the elevated catwalk above, staying low behind rusted railings.
Below us, a long conference table’s been set up between stacks of shipping containers.
Half a dozen men in expensive suits sit around it.
In the middle, a tall, silver-haired man in a charcoal suit gestures with a cigar as he speaks.
Even from up here I recognize him from the files.
It’s Victor Langford, the head of the D.C.
consultancy. The man at the center of everything.
They’re finalizing a deal. Laptops and briefcases are open on the table. Money and power changing hands while the rest of us have been running for our lives.
Banks motions for me to stay put while he moves closer for a better view. I watch him, pride and fear mixing in my chest. He is so calm, so focused. This is what he does. But when he glances back at me, his eyes soften for just a second, and I know he’s thinking about us too.
Then everything explodes.
A single gunshot cracks through the warehouse like thunder.
One of Langford’s men drops with a grunt, clutching his shoulder.
Shouts erupt. More gunfire. I don’t know who fired first, but suddenly the entire place is chaos.
Men dive for cover behind crates and containers.
Bullets ricochet off metal with sharp, deadly pings that make my ears ring. Sparks fly everywhere.
"Banks!" I yell as he returns fire, dropping two men with precise, controlled shots.
"Get down!" he shouts back, already moving.
I drop to the catwalk just as a burst of bullets tears into the railing inches above my head.
Metal shards spray across my face. I crawl forward on my stomach, heart slamming against the cold grating.
Banks is laying down suppressive fire, calm and lethal, never wasting a single round.
But there are too many of them. Six, maybe seven armed men now moving with purpose.
I make it halfway down the metal stairs when rough hands grab me from behind. A thick arm wraps around my throat and yanks me backward so hard my feet leave the steps. The cold barrel of a gun presses hard against my temple.
"Drop your weapon, Hawthorne!" a man shouts, voice rough with triumph. "Or I put a bullet in her pretty head right now!"
Banks freezes on the catwalk above, pistol still raised. His eyes lock on mine. I’ve never seen that look on his face before—pure, raw terror mixed with rage. Time seems to slow. The warehouse noise fades to a dull roar in my ears.
"Langford wants her alive for questioning," the man holding me sneers, tightening his grip until I can barely breathe. "But I don’t mind killing her if you make me."
Banks doesn’t move. His jaw clenches so tight the muscle jumps. I know what he’s thinking. He could take the shot. He’s good enough. One clean bullet and the man holding me would drop. But if he misses, if anything goes wrong, I die right here in front of him.
His eyes meet mine again. I try to tell him with a look that it’s okay. That I understand. That I love him even if this is how it ends.
Then Banks lowers his pistol.
He drops it.
It clatters loudly on the metal grating below.
The man holding me laughs, an ugly sound right next to my ear. "Smart choice."
But Banks is already moving. He vaults over the railing like it’s nothing, dropping ten feet to the floor and rolling smoothly to absorb the impact.
Before my captor can react, Banks is on him.
A brutal elbow to the face. A knee to the ribs.
The gun flies from the man’s hand and skids across the concrete.
I drop to the ground as they fight, scrambling away on all fours while punches land with sickening thuds.
Banks ends it with a vicious punch that drops the man cold. He grabs me, pulling me to my feet and shielding me with his body as more gunfire erupts around us.
"You okay?" he asks, voice rough, hands running over me quickly checking for wounds.
"I'm okay," I gasp, even though my arm is burning from where a bullet grazed me earlier. "Who’s attacking?"
Banks’s eyes gaze over my shoulder. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.” He grabs my hand, his eyes focusing back on mine. “But we need to get Langford’s computer. I’m sure he’s got something on his drive we can use to expose him.”
We run together toward the center table.
The meeting has completely fallen apart.
Langford is shouting orders, trying to grab the hard drives and a small black recorder.
Banks fires twice, dropping the two men guarding him.
I snatch two external hard drives and the recorder from the table while Banks covers me, his body between me and the incoming fire.
"Go!" he yells.
We run for the exit. Bullets chase us, sparking off the floor and whining past our heads. A sharp pain burns across my arm again as a bullet grazes me, but I don’t stop. Banks keeps firing behind us, calm and precise even while running full speed.
We burst out a side door into the night. The river is close, dark water glinting under the moonlight. We sprint toward the fence line where we left the truck. Shouts and footsteps thunder behind us. Langford’s voice carries over the chaos.
"Let them go! We’ve got what we need!"
We reach the truck. Banks gets me inside first, then slides behind the wheel. Tires screech as we peel out. In the rearview mirror I see Langford standing at the warehouse entrance, watching us escape with cold fury in his eyes. He made it out. He got away.
We drive hard for ten minutes before Banks finally slows down on a quiet back road. He pulls over, kills the lights, and turns to me. His hands are shaking as he reaches for me.
"Show me," he demands, voice tight.
I pull up my sleeve. It’s just a graze, bleeding but not deep. He exhales sharply and presses his forehead to mine.
"I almost lost you," he whispers. "When he had that gun to your head… I’ve never been that scared in my life."
I cup his face with both hands. "You chose me. You dropped your gun for me."
His eyes are stormy. "Of course I did. I love you, Anniston. When this is over, I’m keeping you. I don’t care how dangerous my life is. I don’t care about the risks. You’re mine. I’m yours."
Tears spill down my cheeks as I kiss him, hard and desperate and full of relief. He kisses me back like I’m the only thing anchoring him to this world. When we finally pull apart, both breathing hard, he rests his forehead against mine again.
"We got the drives," I whisper. "We’ve got what we need to end this."
He nods, but his eyes are still haunted. "We did. But Langford got away. And my dad… he’s still out there. Nash and Sin are still missing."
I kiss him once more, soft and reassuring. "I love you, Banks. We’ll find them. Together."
Banks holds me tight, one hand buried in my hair, the other stroking my back like he needs to reassure himself I’m really here and safe. For now, in this stolen moment on the dark back road, we have each other.
And that’s enough to keep fighting.