Chapter Nine #2
Arlo moved toward the door, his instincts razor-sharp, his body humming with the lethal precision of the predator he was.
Violet was at his side, all but vibrating with fury.
But then Ezra charged forward, his gun raised, and before Arlo could say a word to him, he had charged into the building first.
Toby bit out a curse that Arlo echoed. He, Violet and Toby had barely made it inside before gunfire erupted at the back of the building. Well, that certainly answered one of Arlo’s questions. Either Voss or his men were still inside.
They moved like a storm through the chaos, weaving between stacks of crates, with gunfire lighting up the darkened space.
The scent of sweat, blood, and gunpowder hung heavy in the air.
A man lunged at Arlo from the shadows, a blade flashing.
Arlo sidestepped, twisted, and drove his fist into the man’s throat.
The satisfying crunch of cartilage breaking barely registered before he spun, fired, and took down another attacker before the man could raise his weapon.
Behind him, Violet was just as ruthless.
She moved like fire, her gun precise, her strikes calculated. A man charged her from the side and she ducked, pivoted, and slammed the butt of her pistol into his skull, sending him crashing to the ground.
The guards were disorganized. Sloppy. They hadn’t expected this onslaught.
They weren’t prepared for war, but Arlo, Violet, and the others were.
As they reached a couple of doors toward the rear of the building, a muffled sound cut through the chaos.
A cry. Arlo and Violet froze. Her head snapped to the left, her entire body going rigid.
Arlo caught the sharp intake of breath, and the shift in her stance and then she took off toward the nearest door.
Arlo quickly followed after her.
She sprinted toward a closed door that had been painted black, her hand hovering over the handle. Her breath came shaky and raw. Her hands trembled. Not in fear. In rage.
“Riley,” she breathed.
That was all Arlo needed to hear. He kicked in the door.
Inside, the room was small, dark and cold, and stank of sweat and fear.
Huddled in the corner were six small children.
Dirty, and shaking, and holding onto one another as if their very lives depended on it.
But they were alive and seemingly unharmed.
And in the middle of them all was Riley.
“Mommy!” Riley shouted.
Violet’s breath shattered. She was moving before Arlo could blink, dropping to her knees and pulling her daughter into her arms.
Riley sobbed into Violet’s chest, her small fingers clutching desperately at her shirt, her tiny body trembling.
“Mommy,” she choked.
Violet held her so tightly it looked like she’d never let go. Arlo stood at the threshold, watching, guarding, ready. The moment should have been a victory.
But then a voice cut through the air that dripped with rage. “I should’ve killed you on that yacht.”
Arlo turned slowly to see Damien Voss standing in the doorway, his gun raised. There was murder in his eyes. Arlo stepped between him and Violet, his voice low, and final.
“You made a big mistake coming after what’s mine.”
Damien Voss smirked, lifting his gun, but Arlo moved first. He lunged, closing the distance between them in less than a second, knocking Voss’s weapon aside before he could fire it.
The shot went wide, exploding into the concrete wall.
Then it was fists. Voss had clearly been trained.
Arlo could see it in the way he moved. Controlled and practiced. Efficient.
But he wasn’t a predator.
Arlo was.
He let his instincts take over, dipping low, driving a fist into Voss’s ribs with enough force to crack bone.
Voss grunted, staggered back, but recovered quickly, throwing a brutal right hook that caught Arlo in the jaw.
Pain flared, but it didn’t slow him down.
Arlo snarled and struck back. Their bodies crashed into a stack of crates, sending them toppling over, spilling metal tools and rusted chains onto the floor.
Chains.
For the children.
Voss swung again, wild, and desperate. Arlo dodged, his own movements controlled. He waited for the opening then took it. He drove his knee into Voss’s stomach, knocking the air from his lungs, then grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall. Hard.
Voss choked, hands scrambling for purchase, trying to push back.
Arlo didn’t give him the chance. His fist smashed into Voss’s face—once, twice, three times—until blood splattered across his knuckles.
The man slumped, dazed before Arlo punched him again and this time it was lights out.
Voss collapsed onto the floor. Out cold.
For a beat, the only sound in the warehouse seemed to be Arlo’s breathing.
“Clear!” Logan’s voice rang out.
The rest of the CIA team swept around the warehouse, securing the scene with lethal efficiency. Toby and Carter rounded up the remaining traffickers, forcing them to their knees, hands zip-tied behind their backs.
Seb checked the other kids, his voice low, reassuring. “Hey,” he said with surprising gentleness for such a large man. “You’re safe now. We’ve got you. We’re gonna get you back to you parents, okay?”
They nodded up at him, wide eyed. Arlo turned to see that Violet was still on the floor, cradling Riley, and rocking her gently.
Her daughter wasn’t crying anymore, but she clung to her mother like she’d never let go.
Violet pressed a kiss into her hair, whispering something Arlo couldn’t hear.
Arlo didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just watched. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.
He reached out, not to Violet, but to Riley, his touch light and careful.
He brushed a hand over her head, smoothing her tangled curls, silent and protective.
Riley peeked up at him, eyes wide, exhausted but curious.
Arlo offered her the smallest of smiles.
She blinked. Then, to his surprise, she reached out, tiny fingers brushing over his hand to grab hold of his fingers.
Violet watched the exchange silently, tears in her eyes. Arlo still didn’t say anything. He just kept his hand there. Steady and unshakable. The nightmare was over. But this? This family—his family? Arlo knew now that he would die to protect them. The both of them.