Page 19 of Carter
The van had stopped at a warehouse near Oceanside Boulevard—shuttered windows, fenced yard, no business listed in city records.
“Gear up,” Faron said.
I was already reaching for my vest, strapping in weapons with practiced hands. Every buckle clicked like a promise.
If Harper was in that warehouse, there was no force on earth that would stop me from tearing it apart brick by brick until I had her back in my arms.
And God help the man who laid a hand on her.
22
Harper
The warehouse smelled like mildew and oil, the air damp enough to cling to my skin. They’d dumped me in a side room with the other women, a single lightbulb swinging overhead, shadows jerking across the walls like they had a mind of their own.
One of the women—Elena, she’d whispered when I asked—winced with every shallow breath. Her ribs were broken. I’d seen enough broken bones to know. The other, Rosa, was barely older than Trevor. A teenager. Bruises painted her arms, her lip split and swollen.
I kept my hands moving, checking pulses, shifting them into safer positions, whispering reassurances I wasn’t sure I believed. “You’re not alone. You hear me? We’re going to make it out.”
The door screeched open, and the man with the scar through his eyebrow stepped in.
My stomach clenched.Him.
He carried a tray—bottled water, a few stale rolls, a pack of bandages tossed like an afterthought. He set it on the floor, but his eyes never left me.
“Playing nurse?” His smile was thin, cruel. “You don’t stop, do you?”
I forced my chin high. “They’ll die if I don’t help them.”
His smile widened, as if my defiance amused him. “Funny thing. I remember you. Took me a minute, but I do.” He crouched low, scar cutting his face into something sharper. “San Diego General. ER. You stitched my hand a year ago. Said I should be more careful with knives.”
The memory slammed into me. A night shift, a cut that didn’t match his story, eyes too flat to forget. I hadn’t thought twice after he disappeared into the night. Until now.
“You remember,” he said softly, like he’d won something. “Good. That makes this personal.”
My blood iced, but I kept my face steady. “You can threaten me all you want. But someone’s coming for me. And when he does…”
He tilted his head, mocking. “The soldier?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The heat in my chest said enough.
He leaned closer, voice a whisper meant only for me. “You'd better hope he hurries. Because the boss doesn’t like waiting.”
Then he stood, slammed the door, and left me with Elena’s shallow breaths and Rosa’s wide, terrified eyes.
I forced my own fear down, swallowed it whole. If Carter was out there—and I believed he was—I had to hold on. Long enough for him to find me. Long enough for him to burn this place down.
23
Harper
The hours blurred—measuring time by Elena’s shallow breaths and Rosa’s trembling hands. I kept whispering, touching, grounding them, but my own nerves were wound tight enough to snap.
Then the lock scraped.
The scarred man stepped aside, and someone else filled the doorway. Taller. Broader. A presence that sucked the air out of the room before he even spoke.
The boss.
