Page 62 of Silence and Surrender

The container’s walls seemed to press closer with each passing minute. The temperature kept dropping, making it harder to think. To stay alert. To remember why I needed to keep fighting.

But I refused to give up. Refused to become just another manifest. Just another weight discrepancy. Just another perfectly documented lie.

Because Colton would come.

The man who’d transformed himself from corporate counsel to warrior. The man who’d kissed me like I was beautiful, breathtaking artwork. The man who made me feel things I wasn’t ready to name.

He would come.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Colton

The shipping yard was a fortress of metal, steel, and darkness.

Floodlights cast harsh illumination over rows of containers stacked like building blocks against the night sky. Armed guards patrolled in regular patterns, their movements swift. Cameras tracked every approach, every entrance monitored.

I adjusted my tactical vest, the Kevlar heavy against my chest. Everything had to be timed exactly right.

Because Isabella’s life depended on it.

“Stay focused,” Stryker’s voice came through my earpiece. “Security’s heavy. At least twenty, maybe more.”

I scanned the yard from our position behind a maintenance shed, counting armed men in dark uniforms. More men watched from elevated platforms, their eyes constantly scanning the container yard.

“Fifty minutes until loading,” Cooper added from his position at the eastern perimeter. “You sure you can handle this?”

The muscle in my jaw ticked. Four hours of calling in favors and burning through contacts. Four hours of imagining Isabella in their hands. Cold. Afraid. Alone.

Four hours of discovering exactly what rage really meant.

“I’m sure.”

A patrol passed nearby, and I pressed deeper into the shadows, using the movement to study the guard rotations. Ex-military by the look of it, armed with automatic weapons and communication gear that spoke of serious funding. This wasn’t just a criminal enterprise, this had institutional backing.

“Target container identified,” Stryker confirmed. “Section C, row 4. Temperature-controlled unit marked for art transport. Colton, when we move, we move slow. Nothing rash.”

My hand tightened on my weapon. He was right. We needed to move carefully. Extract Isabella without alerting the entire security force.

But fuck, the waiting was killing me.

“Security shift change in three minutes,” Stryker noted. “That’s our window. Stay in position until my mark.”

My every nerve vibrated with tension as I watched the dock. Cranes moved other containers with mechanical ease, loading them onto the waiting freighter. Each container documented with the false paperwork we’d uncovered. Each one hiding who knew what or who.

“Movement at the target container,” Cooper warned. “Two guards plus someone in a suit.”

I adjusted position, using specialized optics to zoom in. My blood turned glacial.

Rodger Ross stood beside the container, checking his watch. His suit was immaculate even here among the grime of the shipping yard.

“Unexpected visitor,” I murmured. “Rodger is on site.”

“Complications,” Stryker responded immediately. “This changes the approach. We need to—”

But I was already moving, unable to stay still knowing Isabella was in that metal prison with Rodger nearby. Every second that passed was another second she remained in danger. Another second she might be thinking I wouldn’t come for her.

My heart pounded against my tactical vest, each beat a reminder of what we’d shared in that maintenance tunnel. The memory of her in my arms, trusting me, giving herself completely, fueled a rage I’d never experienced before. This wasn’t the controlled anger I’d channeled in training sessions with Stryker. This was primal and all consuming. It burned through my veins like eroding acid, stripping away years of careful restraint, leaving only the visceral need to reach her. To protect what was mine.

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