POV: Amber Hayes
"They have Lily." The words came out broken, barely a whisper. "They have my sister."
Dante grabbed my phone and watched the video, his jaw tightening with each second. When it ended, he replayed it twice more, studying every detail.
"This was recorded in the last hour," he said, his voice deadly calm. "See the timestamp reflection in the window behind her? 8:47 PM. And the background noise—that's the Bay Bridge traffic pattern. They're holding her somewhere near the waterfront."
"I don't care where! We have to get her!" I tried to grab my phone back, but Dante held it away.
"Listen to me carefully. If you go to Pier 27 alone like they demanded, you both die. That's not a rescue—it's an execution."
"Then what do I do?" Tears burned my eyes. "That's my baby sister! She's scared and hurt and I'm the reason she's there! I have to—"
"You have to think." Dante gripped my shoulders, forcing me to meet his eyes. "They took her from the hospital less than an hour ago, which means my guards failed. That means they have people inside hospital security. They're always three steps ahead because they own the system. So we stop playing their game and start playing ours."
"How?" My voice cracked. "How do we beat people who can get to anyone, anywhere?"
"By giving them what they want." A dangerous smile crossed his face. "They want you at Pier 27 at midnight. So that's exactly where you'll be."
"But you just said—"
"I said going alone was suicide. I didn't say anything about going with an army." He pulled out his phone and started making calls. "Martinez? Change of plans. I need your full team plus six more contractors at Pier 27 by 11:30 PM. Full tactical gear... Yes, I know it's expensive... Triple rate plus hazard pay... They have a hostage—sixteen-year-old girl, cancer patient, extremely vulnerable... Understood. See you there."
He made four more calls in rapid succession, assembling what sounded like a small military force. When he finished, he looked at me.
"We have two and a half hours. Here's what's going to happen: you're going to that warehouse exactly as they demanded. But you won't be alone. My team will already be in position—snipers on rooftops, entry teams in the shadows, extraction ready the moment we locate your sister."
"What if they kill her the second they see your people?"
"They won't see them. My team are professionals—ex-military, ex-CIA. They've run hostage extractions in war zones. They can handle a warehouse full of criminals." His eyes burned with intensity. "But I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"
I thought about Maria Gonzalez, the witness who died because of my article. About the night watchman, poisoned while we stood outside. About every person who'd trusted the system and ended up dead.
But I also thought about Dante's brutal honesty, his refusal to lie to me, his willingness to throw everything into saving Lily even though he had every reason to hate me.
"I trust you," I said, and meant it.
"Good. Now we prepare." He started toward his car. "My apartment. We have tactical equipment, comms gear, and we need to brief the team on the warehouse layout."
We drove back to his building in tense silence. My mind kept replaying that video—Lily's terrified eyes, her muffled scream, the casual cruelty of whoever had taken her.
Brandon. This had his fingerprints all over it. He'd offered me a deal just hours ago: come back to him, drop the investigation, and Lily lives. I'd refused. So he'd taken her.
My phone buzzed. A text from Brandon's number.
BRANDON: Clock's ticking, darling. Two hours and forty minutes until we start cutting. Still time to change your mind. Just say the word and I'll personally bring Lily home safe. All you have to do is stop asking questions and remember who you belong to.
Rage burned through my fear. "He thinks he owns me. Like I'm property he can just take back."
Dante glanced at the message. "He's trying to break you psychologically before the exchange. Classic manipulation—offer hope, then threaten to take it away. Make you desperate enough to surrender."
"I want to kill him."
"Get in line." Dante's voice was ice. "But we're going to do something better than killing him. We're going to destroy everything he's built, expose every crime he's committed, and watch him spend the rest of his life in prison knowing he lost to the woman he tried to break."
We reached Dante's apartment at 10:00 PM. His team was already there—six people in tactical gear, all business, all deadly serious. Martinez, the woman who'd called earlier, was forties, built like a tank, with scars on her hands that spoke of hard experience.
"This the principal?" Martinez asked, nodding at me.
"Amber Hayes. She's the bait and the client. Her sister's the hostage." Dante pulled up blueprints of Pier 27 on his laptop. "Here's the warehouse. Two floors, multiple entry points, but most are sealed or blocked. They'll probably use the main entrance here and the loading dock here."
"Hostage location?" Martinez asked.
"Unknown. Could be anywhere in the building. We need to move fast once Amber's inside."
"They'll search her," one of the other team members said. A younger guy, maybe thirty, with alert eyes. "No wire, no weapons, no comms."
"She won't need any." Dante pulled out what looked like a small earring. "Quantum tracker. Undetectable by standard scanners, broadcasts her location in real-time, and lets us hear everything within twenty feet. They can search her all they want—they'll never find it."
He handed me the earring. "Put this in your left ear. Don't take it off for any reason."
I put it in with shaking hands. It looked like a normal silver stud—pretty, feminine, completely innocent.
"Can you hear me?" Dante asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Now here's the hard part." He looked at me directly. "When you walk into that warehouse, you're going to be terrified. That's natural. But you can't let them see it. You need to be confident, even arrogant. Make them think you're in control even though you're not. Scared hostages get killed. Fearless ones get underestimated."
"I don't know if I can—"
"Yes, you can." His hand touched my shoulder briefly. "You went head-to-head with Elena Voss tonight and didn't back down. You walked into a fire scene to confront a professional killer. You survived eight months of hell that would have broken most people. You're stronger than you think."
The words hit something deep inside me. When was the last time someone had called me strong instead of broken?
"Five minutes to midnight," Martinez announced. "We need to move."
The team grabbed their gear and headed out. Dante stopped me before I could follow.
"One more thing." He pulled out a small knife, barely three inches long. "Hide this in your boot. If everything goes wrong—if my team can't reach you in time—you fight. You don't surrender, you don't negotiate, you don't give up. You fight until you win or you die trying. Understand?"
I took the knife. The weight of it felt both terrifying and comforting. "Understood."
"Good." Something shifted in his expression—concern, maybe, or fear he was trying to hide. "Don't die tonight, Amber. I just found someone worth working with. I'd hate to lose you already."
It wasn't a declaration of love or even friendship. But coming from Dante Cross, it might as well have been.
"Don't die either," I said. "I still need you to clear my name."
His almost-smile was brief but genuine. "Deal."
We left his apartment and split up. The team headed to various positions around Pier 27 while Dante drove me to a drop point three blocks away.
"From here, you walk," he said. "They'll be watching for cars. You arrive exactly at midnight, alone and on foot, just like they demanded."
"And you'll be watching?"
"Every second. The moment you're inside and we locate Lily, we move. Estimated extraction time: ninety seconds from breach to clear. You just need to stay alive for ninety seconds."
Ninety seconds. It sounded both impossibly short and terrifyingly long.
I got out of the car. The night air was cold, carrying the smell of salt water and smoke from the earlier fire. In the distance, I could see the dark shape of the warehouse against the bay.
Somewhere in there, Lily was waiting. Scared. Hurt. Depending on me.
I started walking.
My footsteps echoed on the empty street. This part of the waterfront was industrial, abandoned at night, the perfect place for murder. Every shadow looked like a threat. Every sound made my heart race.
The warehouse loomed ahead, dark except for a single light above the main entrance. The door was open, inviting. A trap with its jaws spread wide.
I touched the earring in my left ear. "I'm here."
"We see you." Dante's voice came through tiny speakers in the earring, so quiet only I could hear. "Ten-man team in position. Snipers have eyes on all exits. Martinez is on the roof. We've got you."
Knowing they were there helped. A little.
I walked through the open door into the warehouse.
Inside was darkness and the smell of burned wood from the earlier fire. My eyes adjusted slowly, making out shapes—shipping containers, old machinery, support beams creating a maze of shadows.
"Hello?" My voice echoed. "I'm here like you asked. Where's my sister?"
Lights flooded on, blinding me. I threw up my hand, squinting against the sudden brightness.
When my vision cleared, I saw them.
Lily sat tied to a chair in the center of the warehouse, tape over her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She looked so small, so fragile, her hospital gown stark white against the dirty concrete.
And standing behind her, one hand resting almost gently on her shoulder, was Brandon.
He looked exactly like I remembered—handsome, perfectly groomed, expensive suit, charming smile. Like we were at a dinner party instead of a hostage situation.
"Hello, darling," he said pleasantly. "So glad you could make it."
"Let her go." My voice was steadier than I expected. "You wanted me. I'm here. Let Lily go."
"In a moment. First, we need to talk." Brandon walked around Lily's chair, his hand trailing across her shoulders. She flinched at his touch. "You've been very naughty, Amber. Talking to prosecutors, investigating things that don't concern you, making accusations you can't prove. That's not the behavior of someone who wants her sister to stay healthy."
"I said let her go."
"Or what? You'll do what exactly?" His smile widened. "You're alone, unarmed, and surrounded. Look around."
I looked. Figures emerged from the shadows—six, seven, eight people. All armed. All watching me with professional detachment.
"You see?" Brandon continued. "You have no power here. No options. No escape. So you're going to do exactly what I say, or Lily dies. It's very simple."
"What do you want?"
"First, you're going to admit you were wrong about everything. The voices you heard? Hallucinations. Stress-induced delusions. You're going to publicly confess that you made everything up because you couldn't handle your failed career and sick sister."
"You want me to lie."
"I want you to tell the truth—that you're crazy." He pulled out a knife and pressed it against Lily's throat. She whimpered behind the tape. "Say it. Say you made everything up."
In my ear, Dante's voice: "Thirty seconds. Keep him talking."
"Fine," I said loudly. "I made it up. The voices, the murders, all of it. I was stressed and I invented everything."
"Louder. Like you mean it."
"I made it all up!" I shouted. "I'm sorry! I was wrong!"
Brandon smiled, satisfied. "Good girl. Now—"
The windows exploded inward.
Dante's team came through every entry point simultaneously—doors, windows, skylights. Smoke grenades detonated, filling the warehouse with thick gray clouds. Red laser sights cut through the chaos, painting targets.
"Federal agents! Drop your weapons!"
Gunfire erupted. I dove behind a shipping container as bullets pinged off metal. Through the smoke, I could barely see shapes moving, fighting, falling.
"Lily!" I screamed. "Lily!"
Someone grabbed my arm and I spun, knife out, ready to fight. But it was Martinez.
"Stay down!" she ordered, pushing me behind cover. "We've got the girl. Extraction in progress!"
Through the smoke, I saw two team members cutting Lily free from the chair. She was crying, reaching for me, calling my name.
Then Brandon's voice cut through the chaos: "If I can't have you, no one can!"
He appeared through the smoke, gun raised, aimed directly at Lily.
Time slowed down. I saw his finger tighten on the trigger. Saw the barrel pointed at my baby sister's head. Saw her eyes go wide with terror.
I didn't think. I just moved.
I launched myself forward, throwing my body between Brandon and Lily just as the gun fired.
The bullet hit me somewhere in the chest. The impact felt like being hit by a car—no pain at first, just crushing force that knocked me backward.
I hit the ground hard. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. The bulletproof vest had stopped the bullet, but the impact had broken something inside me. Ribs, maybe. Or my entire chest cavity.
Through blurring vision, I saw Dante tackle Brandon. Saw them go down in a tangle of fists and rage. Saw Martinez grab Lily and run.
Saw the ceiling spinning above me.
Heard Lily screaming my name.
Then darkness pulled me under, and I fell into nothing.