Chapter 6 Stay in the Car （Absolutely Not） #2
I skirt the outer wall, tablet in one hand, bat in the other. The nearest camera is about eight feet up, bolted near a floodlight. I can’t reach it. But I can find its power.
Utility conduits run along the wall, snaking down toward a junction box near the ground.
“Arrow,” I murmur, “if I kill the power to their grid, does that also kill your access?”
“Yes,” he says tightly. “And it might tip them off.”
“Okay. Plan B.”
I crouch near the junction box and jack into the nearest wired connection with a portable adapter. My tablet screen flickers, then fills with a prompt.
Hello, little camera.
I tap commands fast, fingers flying. This system is high-end, but someone lazily left a default manufacturer password on one node. Idiot.
“I’ve got access to the cam network,” I say. “Sending a loop of the last clean ten minutes. Can you piggyback, Arrow?”
“On it,” he says. “Okay, I see the feed. I’m lacing in false timestamps. You’ve got… maybe five, ten minutes before the system self-checks and realizes it’s lying to itself.”
“Plenty.”
On the tablet, the interior view rewinds and starts looping. Knight moving down the hall. Then Knight moving down the hall again. And again.
I look up at the real camera.
“Bite me,” I whisper.
“Lark.” Knight’s voice is ice now. “Where exactly are you?”
“Improving your odds of not becoming famous,” I say. “You’re welcome.”
He mutters something that sounds like, “I’m going to handcuff her to a chair,” which does things to my brain I don’t have time to unpack.
“Focus, Knight,” Arrow says. “You’re clear for now. Get what we need, then get out.”
Knight grinds out, “Copy.”
I slip back along the wall, but before I go, my gaze catches on something near the corner of the building—a second junction box I didn’t notice before, tucked half behind a stack of busted pallets.
“Arrow?” I say. “Did you know there’s a second line out here?”
“Define ‘second line.’”
“This looks like… a cellular uplink. Separate from the main cam wiring. Like a backup route.”
He swears again. “If it’s a cellular backup, it might be sending metadata even if the main feed is looping. I’ll trace it.”
My stomach drops.
Inside, Knight has reached the office. I see him break into a file drawer on one of the cam feeds, snapping pictures of documents with his burner.
“Knight,” I say, “we might have a second problem. They’ve got another camera.”
“Of course they do,” he mutters. “Anything else?”
“Yeah.” I peek around the corner of the building, through a grimy window. “We’re not the only ones paying attention. Vale’s got a buddy watching monitors in a back room. He looks twitchy.”
At the security console, a scrawny guy in a cheap windbreaker frowns at the screen, then taps the side of the monitor, confused.
Uh-oh.
“Arrow,” I say, “security creep is noticing your loop.”
“We’re almost done,” Knight says. “I’m in the safe.”
Panic and pride fight it out in my chest. I hold my breath, watching. Then, because the universe hates us, two things happen at once.
First: the guy at the security console leans closer, squinting, then slams a fist on a red button.
Second: Arrow says, very softly, “Oh, shit.”
All the screens flicker.
My loop cuts out.
The live feed jumps back on.
And there, in crisp HD, is Knight Hayes.
Face clear. Posture clear. In the middle of cracking a safe in a crime boss’s warehouse.
Silence.
Then alarms start wailing.
Not digital. Physical.
Real.
Knight swears. “We’re burned. Abort now.”
“Working on it,” Arrow snaps. “But that cellular backup already pushed a burst packet to an offsite node. I’m tracing it, but it’s not good. They’ve got both your faces.”
Fuck.
A door slams inside.
Voices shout.
Boots pound.
Knight bolts out of the office, cutting down a side hall, hugging the corner as two men with guns rush past toward the safe room.
“Birdie,” he bites out, “where are you?”
“Back lot,” I say, moving toward the rear of the building. “Rounding toward the dock.”
“Stay outside. I’m coming out the side door.”
“Negative,” Arrow says. “They’ve just locked it from the inside. They’re funneling to the exits. You’ve got one clear escape route—rear loading dock. But there are two guards moving that way.”
“Make it zero guards,” Knight growls.
“Working on it.”
I don’t think.
I run.
Around the corner, up the short metal steps to the back dock. The floodlight flares to life, painting me in white. For a second, I freeze.
A guard at the far end of the dock whips around.
We lock eyes.
Shit.
No more sneaky tonight.
“Hey!” he barks, reaching for the gun at his hip.
My bat is in my hand before my brain catches up.
I leap forward.
Feet pounding. Heart in my throat.
He lifts his weapon.
Too slow.
I swing.
The bat cracks against his wrist with a sickening thud. The gun clatters to the concrete and skids away. He swears and grabs his arm, stumbling.
“Sorry!” I gasp. “Okay, not sorry—”
He lunges.
I duck and swing again, catching him behind the knee. He crashes down, cursing.
The second guard reaches for his radio.
I fling the bat.
It slams into his chest hard enough to knock him against the wall, the wind leaving his lungs in a wheezing oof.
I sprint, grab the bat, whirl, and square my stance between them and the door.
“Anybody else want a concussion?” I ask, panting.
They glare.
They hesitate.
And that’s when the door behind me bursts open and Knight barrels out.
He takes one look at the scene—me, bat, two groaning guards—and his expression is a mix of horror, fury, and deep, exhausted resignation.
“Birdie,” he says darkly. “What did I tell you?”
“Technically,” I say, breathless, “I stayed near the car.”
He grabs my wrist. “Run now. Semantics later.”
We jump off the dock, hit the gravel hard, and sprint toward the alley as shouts rise behind us.
Bullets ping off metal somewhere to our left.
We duck.
“The car,” I gasp. “Two blocks.”
“New plan,” Arrow says in our ears, voice sharp. “Do not go back to Riverside. They’re sweeping the street. You’ve got a fast-moving van heading your way—no plates, clouded windows. It’s not cops. It’s someone else.”
“Who?” Knight snaps.
“Whoever got that feed burst,” Ozzy says grimly. “They’re fast. And they’re organized. This is bigger than Diego Vale. You’ve tripped something bigger.”
We slam into shadow, ducking behind a dumpster.
I’m panting, lungs burning.
Knight presses his back to the cold metal, one arm still around my wrist. His breath clouds the air between us.
“Okay,” he says, voice low. Controlled. Terrifyingly calm. “Give it to me straight.”
Arrow doesn’t hesitate. “That camera system? It’s not just for blackmail. It’s tied into a darknet bounty network. Someone’s scraping faces from high-risk criminal hubs and adding them to a database. That packet with your image went straight to a node with a standing buy order.”
I squint. “In English?”
Ozzy answers. “Your face just landed in a folder labeled ‘Persons of Interest – Interference.’ There’s a bounty tag on it now.”
“Bounty? Like someone just put a hit on us?” Knight’s jaw flexes. “Amount?”
“High enough to make you popular,” Ozzy says. “And they’ve got Lark now too. You hit the floodlight, sweetheart. Congrats—you’re both trending.”
“On the worst kind of social media,” Arrow adds.
Knight closes his eyes for a beat.
Then opens them.
They’re dark.
Resolved.
“Can they trace us back to Riverside?” he asks.
“Working on severing the links,” Arrow says. “But assume yes. You can’t come back here tonight. Or home. You’ve got about ten minutes before local goons and out-of-town opportunists start sniffing around.”
I swallow.
“So,” I say, trying to lighten the shadow in my chest, “what I’m hearing is… we’re going on a trip.”
Knight looks at me.
We’re pressed close together in the dark—me, breathless and adrenalined, bat at my side; him, heat and control and barely leashed anger.
“This is your fault,” he says under his breath.
“Technically, this is their fault,” I counter. “I just refuse to be decor in a parked Altima.”
He leans in, voice dropping. “You understand what this means, right? Once we move now, we don’t stop. We don’t go home. We don’t go back to normal until this is done.”
A thrill runs through me. Fear. Excitement. Something sharp-edged and bright. “Then let’s be done,” I say. “Let’s burn this whole thing down.”
For a second, something raw flickers in his eyes. Then he nods. “Ozzy,” he says, straightening. “Wipe what you can. Reroute the rest. We’re going dark.”
“Copy,” Arrow says.
“Arrow,” Knight continues, “Think Dean can help us out with a new ride and a safe house?”
“Already on that. Dean’s sending coordinates now. He’s got a cabin two hours out of the city,” Arrow says. “They’re stocking the place now. No neighbors, no cameras, no internet.”
“That last part is a hate crime,” I mutter.
Knight’s hand tightens on my wrist. “You wanted in, Birdie,” he says quietly. “You’re in.”
“Oh, and Knight,” Gage says. “Keep her safe.”
“With my life,” Knight answers, which sends another thrill straight through my core.
We slip into the shadows together, leaving the warehouse—and our old lives—in the rearview.
And as we disappear into the night, one thought pulses through my head louder than the alarms behind us:
I finally got what I wanted.
Alone with Knight.
On the run.
Just the two of us against everyone else.
I grin into the dark.
Let them come.