Page 63 of Silence and Surrender

The lawyer I’d been six months ago would have followed Stryker’s instructions. Would have waited for the signal, assessed the risks, calculated the probabilities. But that man was gone. In his place stood someone who’d tear through concrete with his bare hands if it meant reaching Isabella. Someone who’d burn down the world if it kept her safe.

“Colton, wait for the signal!” Stryker hissed, but I was already advancing through the yard, using the patterns he’d taught me. Moving between cameras. Timing guard rotations.

The container loomed ahead—standard shipping size but with additional seals marking it for climate-controlled cargo. I reached the shadow of an adjacent stack just as Rodger opened the container door. Through the narrow gap, I caught a glimpse of Isabella inside—bound but conscious, her evening dress now wrinkled and stained. But alive. Watching Rodger with hatred.

“Final inspection before transport,” Rodger was saying, his voice carrying that same corporate courtesy he used in board meetings. “The buyer is quite specific about condition upon arrival.”

“Go to hell,” Isabella replied, her voice hoarse but defiant.

Rodger smirked. “That’s what makes you valuable, Miss Delacroix. That spirit. Though I’m afraid it won’t last long once processing begins in Rotterdam.”

Processing. The clinical term made my blood boil. Made me forget Stryker’s careful plan. Made me forget everything except the need to reach her, to protect her, to destroy anyone who dared touch her.

I moved too fast, too recklessly. A guard spotted me just as I reached the container’s shadow.

“Intruder! Section C!”

Everything happened at once. Guards converged from multiple directions. Rodger disappeared into the container. Gunfire erupted as Stryker and Cooper engaged from their positions, providing covering fire.

I dropped two guards before reaching the container door, their bodies falling quickly around me. Inside, Rodger had a gun pressed to Isabella’s temple, his smile still perfectly polite.

“Reckless,” he said almost gently. “Coming here like this. The great Colton Moreau, always so prepared—”

“Let her go.” My weapon didn’t waver, aimed directly between his eyes. “Now.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me?” His smile widened. “With her so close? I don’t think so. Colton Moreau doesn’t take those kinds of risks.”

“You don’t know me anymore.” Every cell in my body screamed to pull the trigger, to end this monster who’d touched her. Who’d hurt her. Who’d reduced her to cargo.

Isabella’s eyes met mine, and I saw recognition. Hope. Trust.

It gutted me.

“Put the weapon down, Colton,” Rodger said calmly. “Or I paint this container with her brains.”

I hesitated, calculating angles. Possibilities. Risks.

That moment of hesitation cost everything.

Something pierced my neck from behind—a needle, sharp and unexpected. The container tilted sideways as drugs flooded my system.

“Colton!” Isabella’s voice, desperate now.

I tried to reach her, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Through blurring vision, I saw one of Rodger’s guards catch me as I fell.

“Don’t touch her…not alone,” I managed, but the words felt thick.

Rodger laughed. “Your team outside? Already being handled. Really, Moreau? Did you think we didn’t plan for this?”

The container was fading, edges going dark. I could hear Isabella calling my name, her voice breaking. Could see her fighting against her restraints, trying to reach me.

“Separate containers,” Rodger ordered. “He has to stay alive, for now. Find out how much he knows, and who else is involved.”

“No,” Isabella’s voice cracked. “Colton!”

I tried to respond, to tell her I was sorry. That I’d failed her. That seeing her bound in that metal prison had broken something vital inside me.

That I loved her.

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