Page 44 of The Warrior's Salvation

We park four blocks out, well clear of the security lights. The dockyard is busy tonight, freight trucks idling, forklifts rattling across slick concrete. Men shout orders into the wind, their voices tangled in the steady drone of machinery. Jasper steps out first, lighting a cigarette as he leans against the car door. Draco joins him quietly, eyes scanning ahead. Neither speaks at first, both of them taking their measure of the scene.

I come around the car and watch with them. Across the yard, Doyle’s men cluster near a container that hasn’t been offloaded yet, their laughter audible even from here. Jasper tips his head toward them.

“Connelly’s right there. Blue jacket, talking to the fat fucker by the forklift.”

Draco nods slowly, checking his weapon one last time. “Cormac?”

“Inside the main office, probably. He doesn’t like getting his shoes dirty,” Jasper says dryly.

Draco’s eyes slide toward me. “You ready?”

I flex my knuckles, feeling dried blood crack across the joints. “More than ready.”

We spread out quietly, Jasper peeling away to the left, Draco and I approaching head-on. The sounds of our steps get lost in the chaos, swallowed by the groaning of engines and clanging metal. One of Doyle’s guys spots us late, beer bottle halfway to his mouth. He freezes, then drops the bottle, scrambling for a gun tucked clumsily in his waistband.

Draco doesn’t wait for him to draw it. His shot cracks sharply through the yard, precise, controlled. The man falls backward, blood misting the air behind him. Panic breaks out instantly—men shouting, grabbing for weapons, ducking behind crates. Jasper opens fire from the side, calmly picking off those slowest to cover.

I move through the gunfire, eyes locked onto Connelly. He sees me coming, fear pulling his face tight. His pistol lifts, and he fires three shots wild, nowhere near hitting me. I don’t flinch or slow, closing the gap between us quickly. When I reach him, I slam my fist into his jaw with enough force to spin him sideways. He staggers, dropping his gun, catching himself awkwardly against the container wall.

“You really thought you’d get away with touching her?” My voice is rough, my breathing controlled. The rage is cold and clear now, filling every vein, driving out everything else.

He pushes himself up from the container, blood already streaming down his chin. “Fuck off?—”

I hit him again, this time lower, my knuckles digging into his gut until he doubles over, coughing. I grab him by the hair and pull his head up so he can look into my eyes.

“Beg her forgiveness,” I snarl. “Right here, right now.”

He spits blood at my feet. “Go to hell.”

My next blow breaks something in his face, bone shifting visibly beneath skin. Connelly screams, a high, desperate sound. I drag him to the ground, pinning him with a knee to his chest. He flails weakly, grabbing at my wrists, nails scratching uselessly across my skin. I hit him again, again, each strike landing heavier, my fists slick with his blood, his pleas choking to silence beneath the violence.

Gunfire cracks sharply to my left, snapping me out of the tunnel vision long enough to look up. Jasper shouts a warning, and I turn just in time to see Cormac Doyle charging out from the office building, gun drawn, firing recklessly in Draco’s direction. Draco ducks smoothly, rounds snapping the metal siding behind him. Jasper fires twice, hitting nothing but the containers Doyle ducks behind. Doyle curses, firing a final shot before disappearing through the maze of crates and equipment.

I glance down at Connelly, bloodied beneath me, still breathing weakly. My chest tightens with something cold and sharp. “You touched my woman,” I say quietly, wrapping my hands around his throat. “And now you fucking die for it.”

His eyes bulge, bloodshot and desperate, his fingers scrabbling at my hands. I tighten my grip, feeling muscle and bone give beneath the pressure, the pulse beneath my palms fading slowly to nothing. Only when his hands finally fall limp do I let go, straightening slowly.

The yard goes quiet around us. Draco steps over, glancing down briefly at Connelly’s body. “Doyle got away,” he says, frustration edging his voice.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jasper says, moving to join us. “They’ll get the message loud and clear.”

Draco gives a short nod, eyes narrowing as he surveys the wreckage left behind. “Leave everything as it is. Let Cormac see exactly what we did here tonight.”

He gestures toward the bodies scattered across the wet concrete. Blood trails shimmer beneath the dock lights, reflecting off puddles already tinged red. Workers have scattered, leaving forklifts still running, abandoned mid-shift. It’s a mess, deliberately so.

“Police response time will be quick,” Jasper says quietly, checking his watch. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes.”

Draco holsters his weapon, glancing briefly toward me. “Get the cars ready. We’re done here.”

As Jasper moves away, I catch Draco’s arm and pull him aside, out of earshot. His eyes cut sharply to mine, brows raised in silent question.

Draco waits, motionless, his eyes searching mine like he’s bracing for a blow. I straighten my shoulders and meet his gaze directly.

“Evie wasn’t dating Connelly,” I say quietly. “She never wanted him. He had her trapped, Draco—blackmail. He threatened to expose your deals, the union money, all the back-channel shit. He knew exactly what would tear your family down, and he forced her hand.”

His expression hardens instantly. “She was the mole? My own fucking daughter?”

I shake my head sharply. “She didn’t want it. She did it because she was scared. Scared for you, scared of losing everything you built. Connelly put her in a corner, and Evie tried to handle it herself, tried to buy you time.”

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