Page 96 of Marked
My King knows this was a line he should not have crossed. But for now, we are putting it behind us.
He raises the binoculars back to his eyes. Even at this distance, we can’t risk letting our irises glow. It’s a dead giveaway for our location.
“Three guards on the eastern front,” he murmurs. “But still no sign of Vlad’s forces.”
I swear fluently.
The supposed meeting time draws ever nearer, and with every second that passes, I grow more antsy. If it was anyone but me, I would call it nerves. Anxiety.
But Vlad should be here soon, and then this will all be over.
Leaving Lilah and Raina with Caine and the remaining colony members weighs heavily on me. And the man at my side. It’s the longest he has been away from his Consort in two years.
I try not to think about the mayhem Caine could be causing, but despite his nature, his ability to transport both women immediately makes him the only option for someone to be left behind. It doesn’t hurt me and him are on the same page with this.
If anyone even tries for Lilah, they will not survive his wrath.
Or mine.
My eyes flow over the old wood platforms, and the newer, more modern, cement expanses. Each lamppost illuminates the shipyard workers and the cranes as they move steel containers from one side of the jutting dock to the other. Forklifts beep and the constant whir of motors helps to hide our presence even more.
“Ruin, we got movement on the road.” Horan’s voice fills the communications piece in my ear. “Two SUVs, and a truck.”
“Boat,” Tanner breathes, cutting the other man off.
Markus sets the binoculars to the side as we both go to our knees.
“What side?” I ask.
“Port,” Gage keys back.
“This is it, men,” I say into the mouthpiece. “Treat every being like a supe. Soft toes, no glow, and weapons at the ready. We hit fast and we hit hard. Not an ounce of this shit makes it to the streets.” Stooping low, Markus and I turn and run silently along the rooftop.
He grabs his rope and vaults over the uninhabited side of the warehouse. My hands hit the thick weave beside his, catching it in my gloves. I loosen my grip and swing out. My body plummets, rope gliding through my fists.
Wind rushes around me, roaring in my ears. The ground nears fast, and I start to tighten my hold. Heat sears my palms, but the gloves take the brunt of it. I drop onto the packed-dirt access road and sprint off after Markus.
Thick brush grows along the roadway, offering ample cover as we reach the edge of the dock itself. Waves from the Gulf crash along the narrow strip of beach under the platform. In the distance, a few dark shapes wait just below the pier, crouched and with guns in hand.
The whir of a boat engine accompanies an influx of choppy surf. Spotlights shine over the pier and across the tops of the hedges. Markus and I drop.
He peers at me. I motion him forward and we scuttle along the row. Voices call out in the dark, asking for registers and logbooks.
Markus and I dive under the dock before drawing level with B team and scurrying up the opposite side of the bank. We flit past the first row of containers and come up behind the crane.
The dock sprawls out before us.
Men clamor from the smaller vessel in the water. The first two are enforcers, thick and dressed in linen slacks and T-shirts that barely hide the weapons and muscle under the cloth. They scour the shadows before motioning.
Thick black boxes and trunks are hauled out from the hull. They stack them two and three high on the concrete. The enforcers take up positions of attention, hands clasping wrists as they wait.
A burly man follows the cargo, white shirt open to display gold, rope-like chains. He scans the pier, a shimmer of light filling his eyes.
Could this be our supplier? Draven’s boss?
I key my com. “Tan-man. You got a flavor of the week?” I breathe.
There’s a crackle of static. “Wolf. Alpha. Enforcers are, too.”
