22. Zaria
ZARIA
Idrive like the city's already burning behind me, my Challenger eating up the streets between Marco's and the east side storage facility. My phone's synced to comms, Cain's voice steady in my ear as he coordinates teams.
"Lex's crew is sixty seconds from the shipping warehouse. Marco's approaching the factory. Hayes just confirmed he's got coverage on all three sites with his people."
"Copy." My hands are steady on the wheel, but everything inside me runs hot and sharp. "ETA to storage facility is eight minutes."
"Make it seven. I'm already here scoping approaches."
I push the accelerator harder, weaving through traffic with the kind of precision that comes from years of running these streets.
The anger that's been building since I found that empty room has crystallized into something pure and focused.
Every second that passes is another second Greer's with Ezinne, another second she's hurting him.
Another second I'm not making her pay for it.
My phone buzzes—Lex reporting the shipping warehouse is empty, no sign of activity. Marco checks in seconds later with the same news about the factory. Which means the storage facility is our target, which means Greer's there, which means I'm about to paint those walls with Okafor blood.
The facility appears ahead—a squat concrete building surrounded by a chain-link fence, security lights illuminating the perimeter.
It looks abandoned from the outside, but three vehicles parked near the loading dock tell a different story.
One of them is the black SUV Chisom's crew uses for wet work.
Found you.
I kill the Challenger's lights and cruise past, parking two blocks away where the car won't be spotted. Cain's motorcycle sits in the shadows of a shuttered convenience store, and he materializes from the darkness like he's part of it.
"Four guards outside that I counted," he reports, handing me a tactical vest. "Movement inside but I can't get a visual through those windows. Best guess is six to eight people total."
"Against how many of ours?"
"Twelve soldiers positioned around the perimeter. Hayes has another eight covering exits and providing backup if this goes sideways." Cain checks his rifle with practiced efficiency. "We go in fast and loud, cut the power first so we control the field."
I strap on the vest, feeling the familiar weight settle over my black tank top.
Two Glocks in shoulder holsters, a knife strapped to my thigh, extra magazines in the vest pockets.
I'm not here for strategy or negotiation.
I'm here to get Greer out and make everyone involved regret putting their hands on him.
"Power box?"
Cain points to the northeast corner of the building. "Saw it on my recon. Hayes's guy Miller can take it down on your signal."
I pull out my phone, texting Miller the go-ahead. Three seconds later, the security lights flicker and die, plunging the facility into darkness. The guards outside react immediately, pulling weapons and shouting to each other.
"Now." I'm moving before the word finishes leaving my mouth.
We cross the distance in seconds, shadows flowing through shadows.
The guards are still trying to figure out what happened when I put a bullet through the first one's skull.
He drops without a sound. Cain takes the second with a headshot that sprays blood across the loading dock.
The third guard gets his weapon halfway up before I'm on him, driving my knife between his ribs and twisting.
He makes a wet choking sound and goes down.
The fourth tries to run. Stupid. I catch him before he makes it ten feet, grabbing his collar and slamming his face into the concrete wall. Once, twice, three times until his skull cracks and he stops moving. The blood that spatters my hands feels like vindication.
This is just the beginning.
Cain pulls the loading dock door open and we slip inside. The facility's interior is dark except for emergency lights near the exits, casting everything in red-tinted shadows. Voices echo from deeper in the building—confusion, anger, someone barking orders to find out what happened to the power.
Good. Let them panic. Let them scramble in the dark while I move through them like the nightmare they created when they took what's mine.
We move through the first room—empty storage cages and abandoned pallets.
The voices grow louder ahead, coming from what sounds like an office area.
I catch movement to my right and spin, putting two rounds center mass before the Okafor enforcer can raise his weapon.
He staggers back into a metal shelf that crashes down on top of him.
Cain signals left. I nod and peel right, trusting him to cover that approach while I clear this side. The layout's simple—long corridor with rooms branching off, probably offices converted into whatever Ezinne uses them for.
Interrogation rooms. Torture rooms. Places where she breaks people who cross her family.
My jaw locks at the thought of Greer in one of them, tied up while she systematically works him over. The image makes something vicious curl in my chest, something that wants blood and screaming and the satisfaction of watching Ezinne realize she made a fatal mistake.
A door ahead opens and three people spill out, armed and searching for threats.
I drop the first one with a headshot before they register I'm there.
The second gets a double-tap to the chest. The third is female—probably Okafor crew—and she actually gets a shot off that whizzes past my ear before I put her down with a bullet through her throat.
She drops choking, blood pouring between her fingers as she tries to stop it. I step over her without breaking stride, already moving to the next threat.
The facility fills with gunfire as Hayes's crew engages outside and my soldiers breach through multiple entry points. Chaos erupts—exactly what we want. Ezinne's people are outnumbered, outgunned, and fighting in the dark against opponents who know exactly what we came for.
Cain's voice crackles through comms. "Second floor clear. Moving to basement level."
"Copy. Checking the back offices."
I move deeper into the building, following the sound of voices toward what has to be the primary interrogation space. My pulse is steady, hands sure on my weapons, but underneath the tactical focus runs a current of pure rage that needs an outlet.
It finds one when I round the corner and spot two Okafor enforcers guarding a reinforced door.
They see me and raise their weapons. I'm faster. Three shots—two for the first guy's chest, one for the second guy's head—and they're down before they can squeeze their triggers. I step over their bodies and grab the door handle.
Locked from the inside.
That's fine. I put three rounds through the lock mechanism and kick it open.
The room beyond is exactly what I expected—concrete floor with a drain in the center, chairs with restraints, a table covered in implements designed to cause pain. And in the center, illuminated by battery-powered lanterns, is Greer.
But before I can fully process his condition, the lights in the facility suddenly cut out completely—even the emergency lighting dies. We're plunged into absolute darkness.
For one second, nobody moves. Then Greer starts laughing.
It's not a nervous laugh or a panicked one. It's genuine amusement, low and rough through what sounds like a split lip. The sound of it makes something in my chest simultaneously clench and expand.
"The fuck is so funny?" An unfamiliar voice—male, aggressive. I hear movement, the distinctive click of a gun's safety releasing. "Tell me what the fuck is going on or I put a bullet in your skull."
"You should run." Greer's voice is rough but steady, threaded with dark satisfaction. "My girl's here. You're so fucked."
The grin that splits my face feels feral. There it is—the proof that whatever they did to him, they didn't break him. He knew I was coming. He knew I'd tear this place apart to get to him.
I activate the flashlight mounted on my Glock, sweeping it across the room. Three Okafor enforcers, all armed, all turning toward my light. One has a gun pressed to Greer's temple. Another's backing toward the far corner. The third raises his weapon toward me.
I shoot him first—two rounds center mass that drop him like a stone. The one near the corner fires wild, bullets sparking off concrete as I roll behind an overturned table. Return fire takes him in the shoulder and neck, arterial spray painting the wall behind him.
The last one—the one holding Greer—tries to use him as a shield, pressing the gun harder against his head. "Back off or he's dead!"
Greer meets my eyes across the room, and despite the blood covering his face, despite his obviously broken fingers and the way he's holding his ribs, he looks completely calm.
"She's not backing off," he tells his captor conversationally. "You really don't know who you're dealing with, do you?"
The enforcer's hand shakes. Before he can decide what to do, Cain appears in the doorway behind him, moving silent as death. One shot—the enforcer's head snaps forward and he crumples.
I'm moving before his body hits the floor, crossing the room in three strides.
Greer's hands are behind him but the chair he was tied to is tipped over, the restraints cut through with what looks like a piece of broken metal.
Two more bodies lie in the corner that I didn't notice before—Okafor crew with their throats cut.
He freed himself. He killed his captors. He was in the process of handling this before I even got here.
Pride floods through me so intense it's almost painful, followed immediately by relief that nearly buckles my knees. He's alive. Hurt, definitely, but alive and conscious and still that same stubborn man who refuses to break no matter what world throws at him.
I reach him and he stands, favoring his left side where his ribs are damaged.
We don't speak. There aren't words for what passes between us in that moment—all the fear I've been containing, all the rage I channeled into getting here, all the love I finally admitted to Cain now focused entirely on the man in front of me.
Greer reaches for me with his good hand and I close the distance, letting him pull me against him.
He picks me up despite the obvious pain it causes, arms locking around me as I wrap my legs around his waist. His mouth finds mine in a kiss that tastes like blood and desperation and absolute certainty.
"You came," he murmurs against my lips, like there was ever any doubt.
"Of course I came." My hands frame his face, careful of the damage but needing to touch him, to confirm he's real and here and mine. "Thought you might need backup."
"I had it handled." Despite the blood and the broken bones, his grin is pure cocky confidence. "But I appreciate the dramatic entrance."
"Dramatic entrance?" I pull back enough to see his face properly—split lip, cut above his eyebrow, bruising already darkening his jaw. "I killed six people getting to this room."
"Only six?" His thumb brushes my cheek. "You're slipping, sweetheart."
The familiar insult makes something tight in my chest loosen. He's hurt but not broken. Beat up but still completely himself. Still the man who walked into my world demanding to be part of it and then proved he belonged.
"How bad?" I ask, needing to know the extent of the damage.
"Broken fingers, couple cracked ribs, nothing fatal." He kisses me again, softer this time. "I'm fine now that you're here."
Before I can respond, Cain's voice cuts through the moment. "Hate to interrupt, but I've got Zin in the basement. She's contained but extremely pissed off."
Ezinne. The person responsible for taking Greer, for torturing him, for thinking she could use him as leverage against me.
I slide down from Greer's arms. "Feeling good enough to get dirty?"
His grin turns absolutely vicious despite the split lip. "Always."