19. Zaria #3
An hour later, he has what I need. The warehouse location, guard schedules, the fact that Chisom only visits on Thursday nights to personally oversee shipments. It's detailed and thorough and exactly the kind of intelligence that could turn this war in my favor.
"This is good," I tell him. "Really good."
"I know." No false modesty, just facts. "So what's the plan?"
I lean against the desk beside him. "Tomorrow night while they're hitting the gym, we take a team to Pennsylvania. We torch that warehouse, destroy every kilo of product inside, leave Chisom a message that explains exactly who hit him and why."
"That's fifteen million dollars worth of product minimum," Greer says. "More if there are guns or cash stored there too. That's not just sending a message—that's crippling his operation."
"Good." I meet his eyes. "He wants to play destruction games? Let's show him what that actually looks like."
"I'm coming with you."
"Greer—"
"I'm coming with you," he repeats, firm. "I found the target. I know the layout better than anyone else on your crew. And before you argue about danger—I've been training for almost a year specifically for situations like this."
He's right, and we both know it. Trying to keep him safe at this point is just insulting.
"Fine," I concede. "But you follow my lead and Cain's orders without question. This isn't an interrogation or tracking down a runner—this is hitting a hostile operation on unfamiliar ground."
"Understood."
My phone rings again. Cain.
"Got movement at the gym," he says quietly. "Four guys in a van, circling the block. They're scoping it out, probably planning to come back tonight."
"Good. You know what to do." I check the time—almost seven in the morning. "Meet me at Marco's at noon. We have planning to do."
"Roger that."
After I hang up, Greer stands and stretches, his henley riding up to show a strip of pale skin. The cut of muscle there is new, earned through months of training with Hayes and Cain. Fucking mouth watering.
"You should sleep," he says. "Few hours at least before the meeting."
"Should. Won't." I move to the kitchen for more coffee. "Too much to coordinate."
"Zaria." He follows me, his hand finding my waist. "You can't run on adrenaline and rage forever. Let me handle the logistics for the Pennsylvania job. You focus on coordinating protection for your other operations."
The offer is tempting. Having Greer means I can delegate strategic planning to someone I trust absolutely, freeing me up to handle the immediate crisis.
"You'll run everything by me before we move," I say.
"Of course."
"And you'll coordinate with Cain so everyone knows their role."
"Already planning to."
I turn in his arms, studying his face. There are shadows under his eyes from the early wake-up, but his gaze is steady and focused.
A few months ago he was sitting in marketing meetings and pretending to care about consumer behavior patterns.
Now he's planning raids on hostile operations like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Your sister's going to kill me," I say quietly.
His jaw tightens. "She came by yesterday morning. Hayes told her about us after she asked directly. We had—" He pauses. "We had a conversation."
"Let me guess. She thinks I'm corrupting her brother."
"She worried," he says carefully. "She thinks I'm repeating her mistakes, choosing violence and danger because I'm broken from the kidnapping."
Something cold moves through my chest because I've worried about the same thing. Wondered if Greer is drawn to my world because of trauma rather than genuine compatibility.
"What did you tell her?" I ask.
"That she's wrong. That what we have is nothing like what she survived with Dylan." His hands tighten on my waist. "That I'm choosing this with full awareness of what it means."
Hearing him say it so plainly warms my heart. We've been too busy living in the moment, building trust through action instead of sentiment.
I try to bit back my smile. "I'm choosing you, too, Greer. Even though you're reckless and stubborn and you have terrible ideas about personal safety."
His mouth quirks. "Says the woman planning to raid a hostile warehouse tomorrow night."
"That's strategic, not reckless."
"Sure it is, sweetheart."
The kiss that follows is fierce and claiming, both of us channeling the adrenaline and fear and fury of the past few hours into physical connection.
His hands slide under my shirt, finding bare skin, and I press closer with a hunger that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with needing to confirm he's real and here and mine.
We break apart breathing hard. Outside the windows, full daylight has arrived. Somewhere across town, my operations are in chaos. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, half a million kilos of product sits waiting to be destroyed. Somewhere close, a traitor is feeding information to my enemies.
But right now, in this moment, I have Greer's strategic mind, Cain's loyalty, and a plan that might actually turn this war around.
"Shower," I tell Greer. "Then we meet Cain and start coordinating. Tomorrow night we show Chisom Okafor exactly what Malcolm Bennett's daughter is capable of."
His smile is dark and dangerous and absolutely perfect. "Yes ma'am."