Page 27 of Tormented Oath

"Camera sweep picked them up near Container B7." He takes a sharp turn, heading toward the waterfront. "They were photographing manifests, tracking shipment patterns. Professional job, except they didn't account for the new motion sensors."

My mind calculates possibilities, threats, reactions. This is what I'm good at: the chess game of power and control. So why do my thoughts keep drifting to dark eyes and defiant smiles?

"The men?" I ask, shoving thoughts of Ava aside. Business now. Always business.

"Detained in the warehouse office. No IDs, but their equipment's high-end. Someone's bankrolling this operation."

I check my phone—messages from my dock supervisor, the security chief, and three missed calls from my sister. The last makes me frown. Angela should be asleep at this hour.

"Your sister's fine," Tomasso says, reading my expression. "Called to ask if she could go to the theatre to watch some werewolf movie with Violeta. I handled it."

The tension in my shoulders eases slightly. At least one vulnerability is secure tonight.

"The men's equipment? Anything traceable?"

"Clean. Too clean." Tomasso's hands tighten on the wheel. "Boss? How do you want to handle this?"

I stare out at my city, at the empire I've built through blood and calculation. At the power I've amassed to protect what's mine.

What's mine.

The words echo in my head, along with the thought of Ava's face, her brother's vulnerability, the weight of everything I've promised to protect.

"Take me to them," I say, letting the Monster rise. "Let's find out exactly what game they think they're playing."

* * *

The warehouse looms ahead, security lights cutting through the fog, my men standing at attention as we approach. Here, in my domain, I know exactly who I am. What I'm capable of.

What I'll do to anyone who threatens what I've built.

"Have them ready for questioning," I tell Tomasso as we park. "Let's find out what these men know."

The warehouse door closes behind me with a sound like fate. Or maybe that's just the Monster, hungry for blood.

Either way, someone's about to learn exactly why they shouldn't play games in my city.

* * *

The warehouse office has been converted into an impromptu interrogation room. Three men are zip-tied to chairs, heads bowed, expensive camera equipment laid out on the table before them. Professional gear. Professional idiots.

I take my time studying the equipment, letting their fear build. The room smells of rust and saltwater, of desperation and sweat. One of the men—the youngest and shakiest—keeps glancing at the dark stains on the concrete floor. Smart boy. Those stains tell stories he doesn't want to be part of.

"Nikon D850," I muse, picking up one of the cameras. "Excellent choice for night photography. Expensive, though." I turn it over in my hands. "The kind of equipment that requires significant funding. The kind that raises questions about who's paying your bills."

None of them speak. But the middle one who is older and harder, with prison tattoos peeking from his collar, shifts slightly. He’s testing his restraints.

"I wouldn't," I say softly, not looking up from the camera. "The zip ties are reinforced. The more you struggle, the deeper they cut. Makes quite a mess, actually." I smile, remembering. "Though I suppose the floor's already stained."

The young one whimpers. Music to my ears.

"Now then." I set the camera down carefully. Everything I do is precise. It's part of why they fear me. The Monster who never loses control is far more frightening than one who rages. "Let's discuss what brings you to my docks at this unfortunate hour."

Silence. I didn't expect anything else. Not yet.

I move behind them, footsteps echoing. I let them wonder where I am and what's coming. The young one's breathing quickens. The harsh, panicked gasps sound obscenely loud in the quiet.

"Your equipment tells an interesting story," I continue, circling them slowly. "Professional gear. Detailed maps of my shipping routes. Security rotation schedules." I pause behind the prison-tattooed one. "The kind of intelligence that suggests inside help. The kind that makes me very...curious about who's been talking to whom."

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