Rose pov
The docks smelled of salt, rust, and gasoline a scent that clung to your clothes and skin long after you've left. Tonight, that smell mixed with gun oil and the faint coppery tang of anticipation.
I stood at the edge of the pier, the shadows swallowing me whole, my men stationed in their positions like pieces on a chessboard. Every sound was sharp in the stillness—the roll of waves, the faint creak of wood, the distant bark of a stray dog.
And behind me, Asher King.
He moved like a man who didn't belong in the underworld but had learned to survive in it anyway—silent, precise, his gun held like an extension of his body. He was disciplined, a soldier in his own right. But what unsettled me most wasn't his efficiency.
It was the way his presence steadied me.
I shouldn't have let that happen.
I won't.
"Shipment's late," I murmured, scanning the horizon where the cargo ship was supposed to appear. "Shadowhand doesn't keep people waiting. Either they've been warned… or Adrian's already shifted the board."
Asher came to stand beside me, his height casting a long shadow across the pier. "Could be testing you. See how far you're willing to go to smoke them out."
My lips curved into something sharp. "Then let's show them."
Movement at the far end of the dock drew my gaze. A convoy of black vans crawled toward the warehouses, headlights dimmed. My pulse quickened, not with fear, but with the quiet thrill of the hunt.
I lifted a hand, signaling my men. Silent as wraiths, they melted into position.
Asher leaned close, his breath brushing my ear. "You sure it's them?"
The nearness made my skin prickle, but my voice stayed steady. "I don't doubt my eyes. You doubt yours?"
His smirk was faint, dangerous. "Not tonight."
The vans stopped, doors opening, figures spilling out in dark coats. Weapons glinted under the lamplight. Shadowhand muscle, no question. But as I scanned the faces, my chest tightened.
Not Adrian.
I had hoped no, I had wanted to see him step out, to lock eyes across the battlefield. But he wasn't here. Instead, only his pawns.
Rage simmered low in my stomach, hot and patient. He was hiding. Letting others bleed for him. Typical.
Asher touched my arm lightly, grounding me. "We stick to the plan."
I exhaled through my nose, forcing control back into my body. "Fine. No survivors."
The signal went up, a whisper more than a sound, and the night exploded.
Gunfire cracked through the docks, sharp and brutal, muzzle flashes strobing in the dark. My men poured out of the shadows, cutting through the first line of Shadowhand like a blade through silk. I moved with them, my pistol steady, every shot precise, every movement controlled.
But I wasn't just fighting Shadowhand. I was listening—for footsteps that didn't fit, for a voice I hadn't heard in months. For Adrian.
Asher was at my side, covering my flank, his movements seamless with mine as if we'd been fighting together for years instead of hours. He was sharp, efficient, but there was heat in the way he moved with me, as if some unspoken thread tied us together.
At one point, a Shadowhand soldier broke through the line, rushing me with a blade. Before I could raise my weapon, Asher's hand shot out, catching the man's wrist and twisting it until bone cracked. The soldier dropped screaming, and Asher shoved him aside, his gaze locking on mine.
"You're welcome," he muttered.
I smirked despite the blood splattered across the dock. "I had him."
"You're delusional."
"Maybe. But I make it look good."
His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat—just one—the chaos of battle seemed to narrow to the space between us. His hand brushed mine as we turned back to the fight, the touch fleeting but electric.
The firefight dragged on, brutal and efficient. My men moved like predators, trained and merciless, and in minutes the docks were painted with Shadowhand blood. The last of them dropped, a sharp cry cut off by a single shot, and then silence fell.
Smoke curled up from burning crates. The sea lapped against the pier, indifferent to the carnage staining the wood.
I stood still, my gun still warm in my hand, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.
And then I saw it—tucked in one of the open crates, hidden beneath layers of false cargo. A silver serpent emblem carved into a weapons case.
Adrian's mark.
Not Shadowhand's. His.
My pulse thundered. He had baited us, left his scent like poison on the air.
Asher came to my side, eyes narrowing as he saw it too. "He's laughing at you."
"No." My voice was low, trembling with fury I refused to unleash. "He's daring me."
The rage was there, sharp and alive, but beneath it was something else—a dangerous kind of clarity. Adrian wasn't running. He was pulling strings. And Shadowhand was letting him.
I turned to Asher, my voice steady again, cold as steel. "This isn't about Shadowhand anymore. It's him. Always him."
He studied me, his gaze searching my face like he wanted to understand the storm inside me. For a moment, the battle was behind us, the blood and smoke forgotten. It was just us two predators circling the same prey, drawn closer by the fire between us.
"You'll burn yourself down chasing him," Asher said quietly.
I stepped closer, so close I could feel the heat of him, smell the sweat and gunpowder on his skin. "Then you'd better make sure you're standing close enough to burn with me."
His breath caught, just barely, but he didn't move away.
For one reckless second, I thought he might kiss me. No... I wanted him to.
But instead, he reached up, brushing blood off my cheek with his thumb. His touch lingered, his eyes locked on mine. "Careful, Rose Varela. Fire spreads fast."
And just like that, the spell broke. He turned, walking toward the warehouse doors, leaving me standing in the dark with my heart pounding harder than it had during the firefight.
I hated him for pulling away.
I hated myself more for wanting him not to.
Bastard