Chapter Five” Dirty Games and Dangerous Truths #2
They did not need to.
The SUV was behind her, door still open, but too far to make it before they reached her.
Makayla’s mind raced.
Pepper spray was in her purse.
Purse was in the car.
Panic button useless.
Phone in pocket.
Jarvis gone.
Selene watching.
Renzo inside.
Two men closing in.
Makayla had one weapon left.
Her mouth.
She looked at Selene. “You grab me out here, you prove you’re scared.”
Selene said, “I prove I’m tired.”
“You grab me and Jarvis tears this dock apart.”
“That is exactly why you’re not staying here.”
Makayla’s eyes narrowed. “Where am I going?”
“To make a statement.”
The men kept coming.
Selene’s voice stayed smooth. “You will record a video admitting Dirty Little Proof was built to extort people. You will say Jarvis Draven paid you to smear his rivals and then paid you again to remove his name when the plan got too loud.”
Makayla laughed. “I’m not saying that.”
“You will.”
“No, I won’t.”
Selene’s smile vanished. “Makayla, I have your aunt, your mother, your sister, your friend, and your life in a folder. I have a media list ready to ruin you before sunrise. I have half the city already doubting you. All I need now is your face saying the words.”
Makayla swallowed.
The men were close enough now that she could smell one of their colognes.
Cheap, sharp, too much.
Selene stepped closer too. “And if you refuse, Amira’s video goes out first. Not the clean hallway clip. The edited version. The version that makes her look drunk, stumbling, unstable. The version she spent years surviving.”
Cold hatred moved through Makayla so deeply it almost calmed her.
“You edited my sister’s assault proof?”
Selene’s face gave nothing. “I prepared narrative options.”
Makayla stared at her.
There were moments when evil stopped being a word and became a person standing ten feet away in a gray coat.
Selene continued, “Your aunt’s address goes next. Your mother’s work number. Old photos. Private messages. I will turn your whole family into content. That is what you understand, right? Content.”
Makayla’s throat burned.
“You don’t have to like the video statement,” Selene said. “You only have to make it.”
The man on Makayla’s right reached for her arm.
Makayla moved first.
She swung the dead panic button straight into his face.
It cracked against his cheekbone.
He cursed and stumbled.
Makayla turned and ran.
Not toward the SUV.
Toward the warehouse.
Selene shouted, “Get her!”
Makayla ran because the SUV was obvious, and obvious got women caught. She ran because Renzo was inside. She ran because Selene wanted her away from the warehouse, which meant the warehouse held something useful.
Her heels hit broken pavement wrong.
Pain shot through her ankle.
She kept moving.
A hand grabbed the back of her jacket.
Makayla twisted out of it, nearly falling, and slammed her shoulder into the warehouse door.
It did not open.
Locked.
The man behind her lunged.
Makayla ducked, grabbed a chunk of loose brick from the ground, and swung backward.
The brick caught his knee.
He yelled.
The other man came from the left.
Makayla threw the brick at his face and sprinted along the side wall.
Her lungs burned.
Her ankle screamed.
Behind her, Selene’s voice cut through the dock.
“Do not damage her face!”
Makayla laughed breathlessly. “Good luck!”
A narrow side door appeared ahead.
Half rusted.
Chained, but not fully closed.
Makayla shoved her body into the gap.
Metal scraped her arm.
Pain sparked.
She pushed harder, forcing herself through.
Her jumpsuit tore at the sleeve.
The door snapped back behind her.
Inside the warehouse, darkness swallowed the day.
Makayla stumbled, caught herself against a stack of wooden pallets, and tried to quiet her breathing.
The warehouse smelled like wet cardboard, river water, old metal, and fear.
A muffled groan came from somewhere deeper inside.
Renzo.
Makayla moved toward the sound, staying low.
Her eyes adjusted slowly.
Rows of crates.
Plastic sheeting.
A forklift with one flat tire.
A hanging light swinging slightly even though no wind reached it.
Another groan.
This time clearer.
“Renzo?” Makayla whispered.
Silence.
Then a weak voice answered, “Who there?”
Makayla followed the sound around a stack of crates.
Renzo Kitt sat tied to a metal chair, his head hanging low, one eye swollen, lip split. His cream shirt was dirty and torn at the collar. His wrists were bound behind the chair with thick zip ties.
He lifted his head when he saw her.
“Oh, hell no,” he rasped. “You?”
Makayla crouched in front of him. “You got a lot of nerve sounding disappointed.”
“You should not be here.”
“I’m starting to agree.”
“She’ll kill you.”
“Selene?”
Renzo’s face twisted. “That woman ain’t human.”
Makayla moved behind him and pulled at the zip ties. “Where’s something sharp?”
“Table. Green cutter.”
She spotted a worktable near the wall and grabbed a box cutter. Her hands shook as she sliced through the plastic binding his wrists.
Renzo hissed as his arms came free.
Makayla moved to his ankles. “What do you know?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now.”
“Untie first.”
“Talk while I cut.”
Renzo coughed. “Calia hired me at first. Little jobs. Get info. Feed tips. Watch Jarvis. Then Selene came in with real money.”
Makayla sliced one ankle free. “Through the law office account?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know it was hers at first.”
“Liar.”
“I didn’t want to know.”
“That sounds more honest.”
He winced as she cut the second tie. “Selene wanted DLP discredited. Said you were poking around cases that belonged buried.”
“What cases?”
“I don’t know all of them.”
Makayla looked up at him.
He lifted his hands. “I don’t! I know one judge, one school board man, two club owners, and somebody from a private hospital. She got files on everybody. That’s her business. Not law. Files.”
Makayla’s mind raced.
Dirty Little Proof had received tips about a judge.
A school board man.
A private hospital administrator.
All within the last month.
Selene had not been worried about Jarvis.
Jarvis was the bait.
Makayla cut the last tie. “And Amira?”
Renzo swallowed. “Selene knew your sister’s case. Said that was the hook. Said if we made Jarvis look like the kind of man your sister accused, you’d post before checking.”
Makayla’s hand froze around the cutter.
Renzo looked away. “She was right.”
Makayla wanted to hit him.
She did not have time.
“How did she get the video?”
Renzo shook his head. “She already had it.”
Makayla’s voice dropped. “From back then?”
“I think so.”
“Did she take Amira’s phone?”
“I don’t know.”
Makayla grabbed his collar. “Renzo.”
“I don’t know!” he said, panic flashing through his good eye. “But I heard her say the original phone was never destroyed. She said the girl kept more than she realized. Selene kept it as insurance because the man in the video had bigger friends.”
Makayla felt cold all over.
“The man who hurt Amira,” she said. “Who was protecting him?”
Renzo’s mouth opened.
A noise cut through the warehouse.
The side door screeched.
Makayla jerked around.
Selene’s men were inside.
Renzo whispered, “We gotta move.”
Makayla shoved the box cutter into his hand. “Can you run?”
“Do I look like I can run?”
“You look like you better learn fast.”
They moved between crates, crouched low. Renzo limped badly, one hand pressed to his ribs. Makayla tried to support him, but he was taller than her and heavier than he looked.
Voices echoed through the warehouse.
“She went this way.”
“Check the back.”
“Ms. Rusk wants her breathing.”
Makayla mouthed, This way, and pulled Renzo behind a stack of plastic barrels.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She froze.
One of the men stopped walking.
Makayla slowly pulled her phone out and silenced it.
The screen showed three missed calls from Jarvis.
Her chest jumped.
The jammer did not block everything.
Or Jarvis had gotten out of range.
A text came through.
JARVIS: Where are you?
Makayla typed fast.
Warehouse. Renzo alive. Selene here. Men inside.
The message did not send.
No service.
Makayla cursed silently.
Renzo whispered, “There’s an office in back. Landline maybe.”
Makayla looked at him. “A landline? What year is this warehouse?”
“I don’t know, vintage crime?”
Even now, hurt and terrified, he had jokes.
Makayla almost hated him less.
Almost.
They moved again when the footsteps shifted away. Makayla stayed low, one hand on Renzo’s arm, the other holding the phone like she could will a signal into it.
The back office sat behind a cracked glass wall. The door was half open.
Makayla pushed Renzo inside first.
The room had an old desk, metal filing cabinet, broken blinds, and a beige phone sitting near a stack of shipping papers.
Renzo grabbed the phone.
Dead.
“Of course,” Makayla whispered.
Renzo leaned against the desk, breathing hard. “There’s papers. Maybe something useful.”
Makayla started searching the desk.
Receipts.
Old dock schedules.
A torn envelope.
Then she found a folder tucked inside the bottom drawer.
No label.
Inside were printed transfer slips and a page with names.
Calia Morvant.
Renzo Kitt.
Selene Rusk.
Several shell companies.
And one name that made Makayla stop.
Maribelle Dane.
Her heart kicked.
She flipped the page.
There was a photo paperclipped to the back.
A young woman with warm brown skin, big eyes, and a nervous smile. She stood outside The Black Meridian years ago, one hand lifted against camera flash.
On the back of the photo, someone had written:
She talked. He buried her.
Makayla stared at it.
Selene’s voice echoed in her head.
Jarvis keeps his ghosts in private rooms.
Renzo looked at the photo and went pale.
Makayla saw it. “You know her?”
“No.”
“Renzo.”
“I saw her once.”
“Where?”
He swallowed. “With Calia. Years ago. Before Jarvis cut Calia loose.”
Makayla’s eyes narrowed. “Alive?”
“Yes.”
That changed things.
If Maribelle had disappeared after helping Jarvis, but Renzo saw her alive with Calia later, then Selene’s story was rotten.
Maybe Jarvis did have secrets.
But Selene was shaping them.
Makayla shoved the folder under her torn jacket.
Footsteps approached the office.
Renzo grabbed the box cutter.