Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The metallic rattle came again—closer this time, echoing through the planks like a heartbeat gone wrong.
Vivian froze, her pulse syncing with the sound.
Salt and oil burned the back of her throat.
For a moment, all she heard was the slow swish of tide brushing the pylons and Blake’s steady breathing beside her—controlled, measured, masking what any normal person would call fear.
She wanted to believe him when he’d said they’d finish this. That they’d walk out with the girl. That the past wouldn’t swallow them. But promises like that had shattered on missions before. Too many.
She edged forward, boots silent on rain-slick boards. A thin beam of warm air puffed through a crack between stacked crates. Wrong for a night this cold.
“There,” she whispered.
Blake followed her gaze to the half-hidden trapdoor beneath the crane’s base. “Sublevel. Probably where they’re keeping them.”
“Then that’s where we go.” She didn’t hesitate. He gave her that assessing look, but she met it squarely.
“You’re not point on this.”
“I’m faster in tight spaces. You know that.”
He locked down his reaction behind a neutral expression.
Laurel Tide wasn’t just moving Mara. Rows of cages meant dozens of lives funneling through this dock—victims they might never identify.
They moved together. Vivian worked the latch as Blake covered their flank. The hatch groaned open, releasing a wave of humid air that smelled of rust, sweat, fear.
Vivian dropped first onto metal grating. Her flashlight narrowed the world into rows of cages—some empty, others holding shapes she couldn’t see. A drip echoed somewhere deep.
“Vivian,” Blake murmured from above. “Talk to me.”
She swept her light across a cluttered table—wrappers, cans, cigarette butts. “Someone’s been here recently.”
Her beam slid across a row of cages—most clustered together, but one sat by itself at the far end, half-hidden behind crates as if someone had shoved it out of sight. Not standard placement. Not accidental. A cold prickle crawled up her spine.
A small shape huddled inside, knees pulled to her chest.
Mara.
Vivian drew closer, heart tightening. The girl looked even smaller than in the video, her thin arms shaking, shoulders trembling with each shallow breath. Why she’d been separated from the others—Vivian didn’t know. But isolation in a place like this was never good.
She took a step.
A sound. A sob. Soft.
Human.
Then footsteps—too many, too close.
Before she could pinpoint it, movement flickered across the corridor—voices, footsteps. Vivian snapped off her light.
Five men herded several frightened women toward the exit ladder, faces bruised and exhausted. Not a rescue. A transfer. Laurel Tide moving product.
But more shadows spilled in behind them.
Two men burst from a side passage, cutting toward the group with brutal purpose.
“Forget the rest—get the girl!”
Vivian’s blood iced.
Mara.
Blake was already sprinting.
“Go!” he barked.
Vivian vaulted a crate and hit the floor running. Blake slammed the lead attacker into the bars of a small cage—Mara’s cage—but the man lurched again, reaching.
Not happening.
Vivian swept his legs out. He crashed to the metal, snarling. She caught his arm, wrenched it behind him, forcing him down. Blake pinned him with a forearm until the fight drained out.
Gunfire burst from deeper in the sublevel—shouting, scrambling boots.
The remaining attackers peeled away, racing toward the noise.
Trouble or salvation, Vivian couldn’t guess, but Laurel Tide was pulling back to regroup.
In seconds, the corridor emptied, leaving only the groan of metal and the distant echo of men retreating.
Silence dropped like a curtain.
Blake swept a glance toward the sublevel hatch—open and abandoned. The earlier group of captives had already been moved; the traffickers had cleared them out the moment the alarm was raised.
Vivian rose slowly—and met a pair of wide, terrified eyes behind the cage door.
The cage was separate from the others, shoved behind crates like an afterthought—isolated for reasons Vivian didn’t want to consider. Mara sat inside, small hands gripping the bars, knees tucked to her chest.
Emotion surged—anger, grief, fierce protectiveness—but she locked it down. The girl needed steadiness, not emotion.
“I’ve got her,” Vivian whispered, crouching by the metal bars. Mara flinched, so Vivian softened her voice. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re here to help.”
Blake landed beside her, breath tight. When he saw Mara, relief and fury flickered across his face. “That’s her.”
Vivian kept her voice gentle. “Hey, sweetheart. Someone risked a lot to make sure we reached you. That’s what matters right now.”
Mara’s lips trembled. “I thought no one would find me.”
“We did. And we’re getting you out.”
Blake scanned the shadows. “More guards could rotate down here.”
Vivian checked the lock. “Biometric.”
“Thirteen’s keycard.”
He pressed it into her hand, fingers steadying hers without meaning to. She slid the card through.
Beep.
Click.
The door released, and Mara lunged forward.
Vivian caught her—tiny arms clinging tight, shaking so hard the tremors vibrated straight through Vivian’s ribs. She was light—too light for a child her age.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, smoothing a hand down Mara’s back. Alive. Warm. In her arms. “I’ve got you,” she breathed.
Blake’s gaze snapped forward. “Not yet. We’ve got company.”
Boots pounded metal.
Vivian tightened her grip on Mara as Blake stepped in front of them.
Red strobes pulsed, warning slicing through steel ribs. The first guard appeared in the flash. Blake moved, front sight rising, one controlled burst dropping the man.
“Contact!” another voice barked. Boots thundered. Too many.
“Back!” Blake rasped, pushing Vivian and Mara deeper into cover. Return fire hammered the corner. Sparks spat across the bulkhead.
“Two squads,” he said. “Split angles. They’ll try to pinch.”
“Left is tighter,” Vivian called. “Less room for them to flank.”
“Move.”
They slid low. A round punched metal near Blake’s cheek. He answered with a burst that broke rhythm long enough to push them around the corridor elbow.
The ship rolled on a swell—subtle but enough to rock his balance. Alarms wailed. Strobes fractured time.
“Door,” Vivian said.
A rusted hatch. The only option.
Blake swung the pry bar, forcing the seal until it gave. He shoved them through into dark stairs and colder air.
Boots multiplied overhead. “Cut portside! Cut—”
He shut the hatch to a narrow gap. Red light flashed across Vivian’s face—focused, terrifyingly calm.
“Emergency launch stations are stern-side,” he said. “If we reach the catwalk—”
“—lifeboats,” she finished.
“We get you off,” he corrected.
“Blake—”
“Viv.” Softer. “You know I’m right.”
A round pinged through the gap. Vivian shielded Mara instantly. Blake fired blind—enough pain and noise to stall the rush.
“Go. Two decks down. Follow the green beacons.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You’re not. I’m buying time.”
She hated that. Trusted it anyway.
“Thirty seconds,” she breathed.
“Twenty.”
She squeezed his forearm once and disappeared with Mara into the stairwell.
The hatch bucked under renewed force—boots, shoulders, weight testing metal. Blake braced and fired through the gap, pushing them back long enough to seize initiative.
He ripped the hatch open, dropping the three men in a tight, efficient blur—non-lethal where he could, final where he couldn’t.
They hit the floor. Groans. Alarms. Silence.
He tied the surviving guard, wedged the door to read jammed, and moved.
Heat and diesel thickened the air in the bay. The freight containers stood empty now. Victims gone. He heard gunfire below decks—sharp, organized, not panicked. Maybe the other victims had a chance. Maybe someone had gotten to them first.
A searchlight swept. Blake ducked behind machinery, timed its lazy pivot, and moved between sweeps. The guard on the catwalk never finished his radio report—Blake’s shot clipped him clean. Blake snagged the launch-key lanyard from him.
Footsteps. Reinforcements surged in.
Blake dropped from the ladder, hid behind a crate, returned fire in sharp bursts—one down, another crippled, the last losing the exchange. Seconds. Enough.
Pipes screamed overhead. The ship leaned. Pumps kicked on. Everything failing.
He swapped mags—three left.
“Twenty seconds, Viv,” he muttered.
A warning voice barked left. Blake fired into the bulkhead, forced the man back, then broke across the bay toward the aft passage.
The corridor opened—and Vivian burst into view with Mara.
Blake’s shots dropped the two men chasing them.
“Keys?” Vivian demanded.
He held up the lanyard. “We’ve got boats.”
“Port?”
“Port. Move.”
She hesitated—only for him. “With you.”
He couldn’t afford that. “Viv…”
A round screamed past.
She shielded Mara’s face into her chest, her elbow brushed his forearm—heat in the chaos—then sprinted for the launch bay.
Blake backed after them, firing punishing bursts that kept heads down.
Vivian shoved Mara through the bay door. One last look—warning, promise, all of it—then she vanished inside.
Blake took the doorway and let the corridor come for him. Gunfire shredded the air. He gave them nothing but angles and return fire. A round clipped his ribs, but he stayed upright. Counted breaths.
Fifteen.
Seventeen.
Nineteen.
Time’s up.
He slipped into the launch bay, dropping the crossbar. It wouldn’t hold. Didn’t matter.
Vivian already had Mara in a lifejacket. She grabbed the keys, jammed them into the davit. The winch groaned.
A professional appeared in the doorway—clean stance, rifle up. Blake blew out the floodlight—better to blind than miss—and the man recoiled into darkness.
“Blake!” someone jeered from behind the door. “We were told you’d come.”
He didn’t answer.
The lifeboat swung out over roiling water. Mara clung to the gunwale. “Is it safe?”
“It’s the way out.”
The bay door bucked violently. Laughter seeped through. “Storm’s hungry tonight, Blake.”
“Charming,” Vivian muttered.
“Get in,” Blake ordered.
“I’m not leaving without you.” Quiet. Fierce. True.
His hand found her cheek—brief, steadying. “You’re not. You’re just going first.”
She climbed in. Blake hit the release. The boat lurched downward, cables screaming.
He shoved the painter line into her hands. “Go.”
She hesitated—eyes locked on his.
Then she pulled the cord. The motor sputtered alive. The boat swung free into darkness.
Blake lifted his hand—blood-streaked, shaking once before it steadied.
Then the swell carried the lifeboat past the arc of the ship’s lights and into rain and shadow.
Silence hit harder than pain.
No Vivian.
No Mara.
Just alarms. Wind. Metal failing under storm and gunfire.
The door shuddered under another coordinated blow.
Blake chambered his last round.
Set his stance.
“Just need to buy them enough time,” he whispered.
And he turned toward the fight.