16. Clay
Clay
The silence feels wrong.
Too sudden.
Too controlled.
One second the loading dock is a war zone.
The next—
Nothing.
No gunfire.
No shouting.
Just smoke drifting through broken concrete while militia fighters outside suddenly hold position like somebody higher up gave an order.
That’s never good.
I stay crouched over Hannah and the little girl, rifle raised toward the entrance while every instinct in my body screams that something worse is coming.
Beside us, Russ slowly reloads.
Lucas keeps the civilians low behind overturned crates.
Nobody moves.
Nobody breathes too loudly.
Outside, heavy boots crunch across broken concrete.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then a figure appears through the smoke.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Black tactical gear untouched by the fighting around him.
Not militia.
Not really.
This man radiates command too naturally.
Two armed men flank him immediately, but nobody watches them.
Everybody watches him.
His eyes sweep across the loading dock calmly.
Calculating.
Then land directly on Hannah.
And something cold settles in my chest.
He knows exactly who she is.
“Well,” the man says smoothly in accented English. “There you are, Doctor Bowers.”
Every muscle in Hannah’s body tightens beneath me.
Not fear exactly.
Recognition.
I don’t like that at all.
The man steps closer through the smoke, completely unconcerned about the rifles aimed at his chest.
Confident.
Too confident.
“You caused quite a bit of trouble,” he says to Hannah almost conversationally. “Again.”
Again.
My jaw tightens hard.
Hannah slowly pushes herself upright beside me, still shielding the little girl with one arm.
“You kidnapped civilians,” she says flatly. “I’d say you started it.”
Jesus Christ.
Even now she mouths off to armed warlords.
Part of me wants to yell at her.
The other part—
The larger part—
Is absurdly proud.
The man actually smiles slightly.
Like he expected that answer.
“You have spirit,” he says calmly. “It’s inconvenient.”
I rise slowly to my feet beside Hannah.
Every hostile weapon outside shifts instantly toward me.
Don’t care.
The man’s gaze finally moves from Hannah to me.
Assessing.
Measuring.
“You must be Clay Vincent.”
My pulse slows dangerously.
“How do you know my name?”
The man ignores the question completely.
Instead, his attention shifts briefly toward the bodies of dead militia near the loading dock entrance.
Then back to me.
“You’ve been very difficult to delay.”
Delay.
Not stop.
Delay.
That lands wrong immediately.
Beside me, Russ subtly shifts position.
He caught it too.
The man clasps his hands loosely behind his back.
“My employer anticipated you would come for her eventually.”
Ice slides slowly down my spine.
Employer.
Not militia then.
Something bigger.
Something organized.
Hannah goes still beside me.
“You’re not selling weapons,” she says quietly.
The man smiles again.
This time it feels colder.
“No.”
My grip tightens around my rifle.
“What do you want with her?”
The man finally looks directly at Hannah again.
“She’s useful.”
The words hit me like a blade between the ribs.
Useful how?
Medical knowledge?
Hostage leverage?
Or something worse?
Hannah’s expression hardens instantly.
“I’m not helping you.”
“You already have.”
Confusion flickers briefly across her face.
Mine too.
The man studies her calmly.
“You treated six of my men today.”
Hannah’s jaw tightens.
“They were injured.”
“Yes.” His eyes sharpen slightly. “And unlike most people, you still chose to save them.”
Something shifts in the man’s expression then.
Respect maybe.
Which somehow feels even more dangerous.
Another armored vehicle rumbles outside near the river.
More militia continue surrounding the warehouse.
We’re being boxed in.
The commander notices me tracking the movement.
“You cannot escape this district tonight,” he says calmly. “The bridges are locked down.”
Russ steps slightly forward.
“Then why stop shooting?”
The commander’s gaze shifts toward him briefly.
“Because unnecessary deaths complicate business.”
Business.
Jesus Christ.
This entire operation is bigger than we thought.
Way bigger.
Hannah slowly rises fully beside me despite my obvious desire for her to stay behind cover.
Her shoulder brushes mine briefly.
Small contact.
Still enough to steady something inside me instantly.
“What business?” she asks.
The commander studies her for a long second before answering.
“There are people willing to pay extraordinary amounts of money for talented doctors in war zones.”
Rage flashes hot through me.
Human trafficking.
Medical exploitation.
Something dark and violent unfurls slowly in my chest.
Beside me, Hannah’s expression goes ice cold.
“I’d rather die.”
The commander tilts his head slightly.
“That can also be arranged.”
Nope.
Absolutely not.
I take one step forward before Russ’s hand catches my vest hard.
Not now.
The warning is clear.
But the commander notices my reaction anyway.
And smiles.
Big mistake.
Because now he knows exactly how much Hannah matters to me.
“Hm,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Interesting.”
My stomach drops instantly.
He saw it.
Dammit.
Hannah must realize it too because her fingers suddenly brush mine once.
Quick.
Subtle.
Like she’s trying to calm me down before I do something reckless.
Which honestly just makes me want to kill this man faster.
The commander looks between us slowly.
Then nods once to himself.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “That explains a great deal.”