Chapter Eight
Violet
The yacht was a spectacle of wealth and power, a floating kingdom of excess against the glittering Miami skyline.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled everywhere, reflecting the glow of the city lights off polished gold fixtures.
Tuxedoed waiters moved through the crowd carrying trays of champagne and canapes, their practiced smiles never faltering as they wove between guests dressed in designer gowns and tailored suits.
The scent of saltwater and expensive perfume clung to the humid night air, mingling with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of delicate glassware.
Violet kept her posture relaxed, her movements fluid as she walked across the deck, her gown a smooth sweep of emerald satin against her legs.
Beside her, Arlo walked with the kind of confidence that came naturally to men who had nothing to prove.
His black tuxedo was a perfect fit, the sharp lines accentuating his broad shoulders and lean form, making him look like he belonged here.
His presence radiated power. Casual, effortless, and completely calculated.
To the other guests, they were just another wealthy couple, comfortable in this world of privilege, here to sip champagne, make generous donations, and rub shoulders with Miami’s elite.
No one would suspect the truth. That beneath the elegance, beneath the easy smiles and playful flirtation, they were hunting.
Violet took a glass from a passing waiter, not drinking from it, just holding it for show.
The charity auction was already in full swing.
A large oil painting by a local artist was being presented on stage, and a well-dressed auctioneer rattling off bids.
The guests watched, engaged and relaxed, and completely unaware that the auction wasn’t tonight’s real business.
That was happening somewhere beneath them.
Arlo’s hand rested lightly at the small of Violet’s back, a possessive, practiced gesture that made it seem like he was guiding her deeper into the party. They watched the auction for a while longer before silently agreeing to take action, and without another word, they split up.
Violet descended the stairs, leaving behind the glittering luxury of the upper deck. The further she moved down, the quieter it became. The low murmur of conversation faded, replaced by the subtle hum of the yacht’s engines.
She moved with purpose, not sneaking, not hesitating. Just another guest who had wandered away from the crowd looking for a bathroom that didn’t have a line outside of it.
But the tension in her gut tightened. Something felt off. She glanced toward the back stairwell and realized there were no guards standing watch. It was too quiet. If the children were being kept on board, shouldn’t there be something?
She took a slow breath, pushing forward, her heels making almost no sound against the polished wood floors.
She tried a door and found it unlocked. She pulled it open then peered inside.
Empty. She moved further down the corridor, heart pounding slightly now as she tried more doors.
Each room was unlocked and each was equally void of life.
Something wasn’t right. Unease crept down her spine. She made it back up to the main deck to wait for Arlo who had been doing his own snooping. She chanced a look at the guards that were stationed up on this deck and then she noticed something.
The guards weren’t just standing there watching the crowd. They were watching her and not in suspicion, but as if they recognized her. What the hell?
She should have found something—a cry, a muffled whimper—any sign that the children were onboard, waiting to be smuggled away.
Ortega had told them this was where the children would be and when she and Arlo had swum out to the yacht, the men they’d overheard had confirmed it.
But then Violet tried to remember if she had actually heard them mention children or if she and Arlo had just assumed.
Then a flicker of movement caught her eye. Arlo was making his way toward her.
Even in the dim lighting, she saw his expression shift, the sharp glint in his eyes confirming what she already knew.
He’d found nothing, because there was nothing here to find.
Arlo stopped beside her, his presence a wall of heat and tension.
He didn’t speak, but the weight of his gaze pressed down on her like a question.
Where are the children? She didn’t have an answer.
Their entire mission depended on this night. They had nothing else.
If the children weren’t here, if they had been moved already, then there might not be another chance to save them.
Violet’s stomach churned at the thought.
She held onto her champagne glass as if it were a lifeline, the glass steady in her fingers even though her pulse was anything but.
The room sparkled with designer gowns, polished shoes, and the clink of crystal.
A perfect facade of elegance masking the rot beneath.
She and Arlo moved carefully along the edge of the auction floor, eyes scanning for anything out of place.
But it wasn’t the security detail or the art up for bid that made her breath catch.
It was him.
Damien Voss stood near the far corner of the room, laughing smoothly as he charmed a group of well-dressed guests, his hand resting lightly on the shoulder of a wealthy real estate mogul she recognized from the Miami business scene.
He was perfectly composed: sharp suit, charming smile, not a hair out of place.
But when his gaze drifted lazily across the room and landed on her, something flickered behind his eyes.
Just for a second. A hitch in his smile.
The barest tightening around his mouth. And then his expression smoothed, as if he hadn’t seen anything at all.
But she had. She’d seen recognition in his eyes.
She was sure of it. She turned away quickly, heart pounding, jaw clenched.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. Had the traffickers somehow known they were coming?
Had their timeline shifted? Had she and Arlo unknowingly walked straight into a trap?
Her pulse kicked harder. Vos moved away from his guest and made his way over to one of his guards then leaned in and whispered something in his ear.
Tension coiled tight in her gut. It didn’t make any sense. How could they possibly know who she was? As Voss looked directly at her, the guard he’d spoken to began to make his way across the room.
Her body locked.
Her gaze snapped to Arlo, her voice barely above a whisper. “Arlo, they know me. Somehow Voss knows who I am.”
His entire posture shifted. His expression hardened, became lethal. His voice was steel.
“Run.”
He grabbed her hand and together they began sprinting for the exit when chaos erupted behind them.
Gunfire split the air.
Guests screamed, the auctioneer’s voice cutting off in sheer panic as bullets sailed by.
Violet barely had time to react before Arlo shoved her against the wall as a round of shots cracked past them. There were more screams. More chaos. She heard Arlo barking instructions into his earpiece, but she barely registered what he was saying.
“Move!” Arlo growled, pushing her into action.
Violet didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her stupid high heel shoes then she turned and ran.
The yacht rocked beneath her feet as the gunfire continued, screams echoing from the panicked guests still scrambling for cover.
The once-luxurious charity auction had erupted into pure chaos, glass shattering, waiters dropping trays in terror as guards fought to regain control. But Violet barely noticed any of it.
Her focus was locked on the man know down the gangway. Voss was flanked by a couple of guards, but he didn’t appear to be in a hurry, far from it. He seemed in complete control.
Violet’s breath hitched. He was getting away. If a man with his money knew that the FBI were onto him then it would only be too easy for him to disappear, and then they’d never find the children.
Arlo was already moving, cutting through the fray like a blade, taking down one of the security men with a precisely placed strike to the throat.
The man crumpled, then Arlo bent and picked up the man’s gun.
They hadn’t been able to bring their own in case the guards searched them on their way into the party.
One of Voss’s men turned, spotted her, and raised his weapon, seeming not to care about the guests. Violet and Arlo ducked as he fired off a shot, but it went wide, missing its mark.
Voss had made it down the gangway and was already stepping onto a waiting speedboat. Three guards piled in after him, their weapons still trained on the chaos unfolding behind them.
Voss turned to her and a smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look rushed. If anything, he looked amused. Like he’d already won. And then he shouted something that made bile force its way up her throat.
“I’ll say hi to Riley for you!”
The words hit her like a bullet. Violet’s breath stalled in her chest. Her body went rigid, her mind screeching to a halt. No. No, no, no. Voss’s smirk widened, and then the speedboat’s engine roared to life, churning the water beneath it. And he was gone.
She barely registered Arlo moving beside her. His head snapped toward her, his focus zeroing in on her expression.
“Violet.” His voice cut through the chaos, rough, edged with something sharp.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. And then her cellphone rang. Her fingers fumbled, hands suddenly numb as she clawed the device from her clutch. She barely managed to swipe to answer before her mother’s voice came through the line, high, and panicked.
“Violet… Riley is gone. Someone took her.”
The world lurched. A pressure built in her chest, so tight she thought it might crush her. No. Not Riley. Violet was supposed to be saving children tonight, not losing her own. Her mother was still speaking in that high-pitched frantic tone, but Violet barely heard the words.
The realization slammed into her. Voss, his guards, they had known who she was, which meant they also knew she was FBI and they knew she was a shifter and they had been targeting her and targeting her daughter.
A sharp sound ripped from Violet’s throat, a mix between a breath and a sob.
Her knees felt weak, but she refused to let them buckle.
A hand gripped her arm. Strong and grounding. Arlo. His touch was firm, steadying, his grip the only thing keeping her upright. His face was set in stone, his eyes blazing with an intensity she had never seen before. He ushered her down the gangplank toward the dock.
“They knew who you were,” he said, his voice measured, but deadly.
“I couldn’t understand why they waited to kill Luis that night.
I’d been sat with him for a few minutes before you arrived, but they waited to kill him until after you got there.
I’ve been trying to figure out why. I don’t think they were following him at all.
I think they were following you and I think they’ve known about you all along. ”
Violet shook her head, her thoughts still tumbling over each other, fighting to make sense of it, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. She just had to get her daughter back. She had to find Riley. Her breathing was ragged, her heart hammering like a war drum. But Arlo didn’t let go.
He gripped both her arms now, pulling her in, forcing her to focus on him, on something solid in the middle of the chaos.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice lower now, quieter, but no less powerful. “We are going to find her.”
His fingers tightened, his expression hard, unshakable.
“I swear to you, Violet, I will do whatever it takes to get Riley back.”
Her throat closed. Because in that moment, looking into Arlo’s unwavering gaze, into the sheer force of his determination, she knew two things for certain.
One, he meant it. And two, she was about to go to war. For her daughter, and for every child they had stolen. And she wouldn’t rest until Voss and his accomplices were either rotting in prison, or rotting in the ground.