CHAPTER 261: TOCK

The rain felt louder now. My breath came in ragged pinches of cold. For a heartbeat I let myself imagine the worst — little hands, blinking into the light. The scene fought a raw, animal panic up my spine.

Gray’s hand tightened on my arm, the pressure a silent, urgent rebuke.

"Gray," I said. The name was an anchor.

"You can’t go alone, boss," he argued. "You’re—"

"—wounded?" I finished for him. My laugh was a rasp. "Yes. I’m wounded. So is duty. So are decisions. So be it."

"You’ll die," Gray said flatly. "You’ll get killed. I won’t—"

"You’ll do what I say." My voice cut the rain.

He met my stare until the rain blurred his features. "I will refuse that order," he said finally, low and raw. "Sir, this is suicide. It’s a classic ambush. He wants you isolated. He wants you dead."

I looked at my men, their faces etched with concern, illuminated by the harsh glare of tactical lights. They were ready, willing to follow me into hell itself.

I pulled my arm free, staggering slightly, the dizziness returning with a vengeance. I tasted the metallic tang of adrenaline and exhaustion. Pain flared where the stitches pulled tight, reminding me exactly how vulnerable Caden hoped I would be.

"I know what it is, Gray," I said, walking toward the lead tactical vehicle. "The moment he sees a tail, those people die. He monitors the air, the comms, and the grid. He’s not an idiot—he’s a coward who plans like a god."

"He’s banking on your injury! He knows you’re slow, you’re bleeding, and you’re shot up! We can send a drone, a cloaked squad—we can get ahead of him—"

"And risk the lives of seventy-three innocent people?" I cut him off. I stopped and turned, using every ounce of willpower to hold myself upright, to make my gaze steady and unbreakable. "This isn’t a negotiation; it’s a surrender, on his terms, to save the hostages. But that doesn’t mean we won’t fight."

I braced a hand on the hood of the car as another wave of pain rippled through my side. The world tilted for half a second, and I forced it back into focus. The pill Kassel gave me still in my pocket── burned like a promise I hadn’t yet kept. I swallowed it dry, the bitterness coating my tongue.

"Gray," I said again, quieter this time. "Tell our friends. The ones who owe us. Inform every unit. Every ally. Every one of ours in the city and beyond, off-duty or not. I want them on the streets, in the air, in the damn sewers if they have to be. We find those people."

He didn’t move at first. His jaw worked, eyes flicking to the blood spreading under my coat. "Yes, boss."

"Echo team. Have them set up three kilometers from the specified dockyard perimeter. No closer. Total radio silence. I go in with a single burner phone and minimal gear. If I don’t check in precisely ten minutes after contact with caden, you move. Until then, you hold the line."

"Bravo team," I continued, each designation like a bite, "will be ghosts in the dockyard. They are the backup plan incase those searching the city and outside do not bring in results. Bravo team’s purpose is to search for the hostages at every hook and corner of the dockyard and rescue them before Caden realizes what is happening. No engagement unless absolutely necessary. Priority one is extraction. I want those children and elders safe. You hear me?"

"Yes, boss."

I took a deep, shuddering breath, the air burning my lungs. The rain had intensified, drumming a frantic rhythm on the metal of the vehicles, mirroring the frantic beat in my chest. The pain in my side was a dull roar now, a constant reminder of my compromised state.

I stripped off my heavy, blood-soaked overcoat and tossed it onto the hood of the vehicle. Underneath, my shirt was clinging to my bandaged wounds. I ripped the fabric away from the stitches at my side, grimacing as the threads pulled taut. I needed lightweight armor, subtle enough not to be noticed immediately, and every piece of medical gear that could slow the inevitable collapse.

Seems like I’d need more than what Kassel gave me.

"Get me a trauma kit, and maximum painkillers," I ordered. "And Gray, if you try to follow me, I will consider it a direct threat to the hostages. Understood?"

Gray swallowed hard. He finally nodded, a silent admission of defeat, even as his tactical mind was already calculating every loophole, every impossible angle.

"Understood, Boss," he clipped out. "But know this: if he touches a single hair on your head, I will burn the city down to get to him."

"That’s the promise of a loyal soldier," I acknowledged.

He turned, barking orders into his comm. The courtyard erupted into motion—boots splashing through puddles, headlights cutting through rain, men and women scattering into the night. Controlled chaos. My chaos.

I leaned against the car, breathing through the ache until Gray returned. He had a small black case in his hand.

"We’ll be in position within five minutes."

"Make it two."

I started toward the car, the rain swallowing my footsteps.

Behind me, Gray muttered something to one of the techs. The whine of drones lifted into the air—distant engines, electric and alive.

The hum of a war about to begin.

****

The air in the vehicle was thick with the hum of advanced technology and the metallic tang of calm fury, a scent I was all too familiar with. Rain lashed against the armored windows, blurring the already bleak cityscape into streaks of neon and shadow. My own breath misted the cool glass as I stared out, my mind a battlefield of tactical scenarios and the faces of the innocent souls Caden held captive.

The burner phone, cool and inert in my palm, felt like a lead weight, a direct line to pure, unadulterated danger. Every instinct screamed at me to go loud, to unleash the fury of my resources, to tear Caden apart piece by piece.

The vehicle slowed, the rhythmic thrumming of its engine giving way to the vast, echoing silence of the dockyard.

"We’re here," the driver announced, his voice tight.

"Echo team is in position," Gray’s voice crackled in my ear, a disembodied whisper from the shadows. "Radio silence maintained."

I reached for the car door handle, my hand trembling slightly, not from fear, but from the sheer force of me trying to contain my rage.

The dockyard was a valley of shadows. Shipping containers loomed like anonymous buildings; the air smelled of salt, oil, and rust. Rain stitched the night into curtains.

He was waiting.

Caden leaned against a black SUV, flanked by men who smelled of cigars and cheap violence. Dressed too well for the setting—gray coat, gloves, and the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

Always smiling when he should’ve been afraid.

"Finally," he drawled, pushing off the car. "I wondered how long it’d take before you came. I was starting to miss you. You look like hell, brother."

"Say that again." My voice was quiet. A blade under silk.

He tilted his head, all mock concern. "You look like hell?"

"Where are they?" My voice had no theatrics. It was a question that refused joking.

Caden shrugged, amused, pawing at the empty air. "I don’t know, man." He studied me. "In all honesty, I’m surprised you’re still alive. How? I thought my men would’ve finished you at the forest. You are one lucky dude."

"You piece of shit."

Caden laughed—low, deranged. "Why are you giving me that look? Are you angry, brother? Your life is going schooowopshippp over." He said while mimicking a plane crash. "I warned you, didn’t I? You never take my riddles seriously."

The sound of his laughter, a cruel, rasping thing that echoed off the metal containers, scraped at the raw edges of my control. The rain, which had seemed so immense moments ago, was now just a dull roar beneath the tempest building inside me. My vision narrowed, focusing on the glint of a watch on Caden’s wrist, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that betrayed his false bravado.

A thug to Caden’s right shifted his weight, thumb brushing a Glock, a casual display of tools. I watched the movement and, because these things were blood and habit, I raised my pistol. The man jerked; ten guns turned fractionally toward me as reflex. Gray’s voice was a calm instrument in my ear.

I fired a controlled shot at his leg, more to warn him than to end. The slug missed by a sliver — grazed through the air and clipped the concrete, spitting grit into the air. My arm shook. The shot echoed, harsh and hollow.

Caden’s eyes glittered. "I was going to let you be cinematic," he said. "But why be formal?" He tossed the gun he’d been holding aside with theatrical disdain. "No weapons. Hands only. Let’s see if the man who commands empires has the fists to match."

Something in the air changed; the men around him relaxed, betting on the theatrics to turn real. He wanted a show. He wanted me humiliated.

The rain stung my face as I stepped forward, my shoes splashing in the puddles. My vision locked onto the glint of Caden’s eyes, the smirk playing on his lips, the way his muscles flexed beneath his coat as if anticipating the coming fight. Each step I took felt like a thread being pulled taut, straining against the fragile web of control I maintained.

"You think you can take me, Caden?" My voice was almost a growl, the words barely escaping my clenched teeth.

Caden chuckled, a low, menacing sound that vibrated through the air. "Are you scared, Brother?"

I should have shot him. I could have. But blood would buy nothing if the hostages died. I lowered my weapon too. "Bring it on," I said, and the world narrowed to the rain and the smell of iron.