Chapter 17
2432 Words
The air smells of ash and burned rubber, mingling with the acrid tang of gunpowder. Ziana stands at the warehouse’s edge, her boots crunching on shattered glass. Her hazel eyes, steely with determination, flick between the charred remains of the building and the recruits huddling nearby. The firefight is over, but the aftermath is chaos.
She bites her lip, waiting, hoping for Mickey to reappear. He has a knack for showing up with that infuriating smirk and a sarcastic quip. But now, all she has is the image of him disappearing into the inferno.
Her communication device crackles to life, jerking her from her thoughts. “Montana,” the commander’s voice barks, cold and sharp, “what’s your status?”
“Minimal injuries, three KIA,” Ziana reports, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest. “We’re regrouping.”
“Leave immediately,” the commander orders. “Transport the wounded and call for an ambulance. You’re on borrowed time.”
Ziana hesitates, her gaze drifting back to the warehouse. The flames lick at the night sky, casting eerie shadows over the scene. “Commander, I—”
“Now, Montana,” the voice snaps. “That’s an order.”
Her throat tightens. She closes her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “Understood.”
---
Mickey watches from the shadows, his posture casual despite the turmoil in his chest. Hidden behind a cluster of shipping containers, he observes as Ziana rallies the recruits, her voice carrying authority even in the chaos.
“Fall in!” she calls, gesturing for the squad to gather. “We’re moving out.”
She begins noting the injured, her sharp eyes cataloging every detail. When she finishes, she reaches for her phone, dialing for emergency services. Her movements are precise, almost mechanical, but Mickey can see the cracks in her composure—the tight set of her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands.
He stays hidden, even as the van pulls up to take them away. He can’t return now, not with *I Cobra Mortali* hanging by a thread. Ziana might hate him, but his organization needs him alive.
As the van disappears into the night, Mickey’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls it out, frowning at the screen.
**Unknown Number:** *“Are you really sure you feel comfortable leaving her alone?”*
His blood runs cold. Mickey’s head snaps up, scanning the area. The shadows are still, the night silent except for the crackle of the warehouse fire.
His lips curl into a scowl. He doesn’t reply. Instead, he tucks the phone back into his pocket and strides into the night, his jaw clenched.
---
Ziana sits in the back of the van, her hazel eyes fixed on the horizon. The recruits are silent, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and grief.
Her fingers drum against her thigh, her thoughts a chaotic storm.
Morningstar.
Why did he go back in? Why did he save her? And why can’t she shake the feeling that he is hiding something—something big?
The van hits a bump, jolting her back to reality. She exhales, forcing herself to focus.
But the image of Mickey disappearing into the flames lingers, haunting her like a ghost.
---
Mickey walks away from the smoldering warehouse, his steps slow and deliberate. His phone buzzes once more, and this time, the message sends a chill down his spine.
**Unknown Number:** *“You can’t protect her forever.”*
His gaze snaps up, scanning the dark street. Still, no one.
But he knows better.
“Game on,” he mutters, his voice low and dangerous.
He slips into the shadows, his mind already racing with plans.
Because if he wants Ziana, he'll have to go through him.
And Mickey Morningstar doesn’t lose.
---
The military base looms ahead, its sharp angles and floodlit perimeter a stark contrast to the chaos Ziana just left behind. As the van pulls into the garage, the recruits file out, their exhaustion palpable in every step. Ziana’s hazel eyes scan them, noting their subdued expressions. No jokes. No banter. Just silence.
After ensuring the wounded are seen by medics, Ziana heads straight to the commander’s office. The sharp sound of her boots echoes through the hall, drawing the occasional glance. She ignores them, her mind already rehearsing the report she has to give.
Inside, the commander, a grizzled veteran with piercing gray eyes, listens intently. His face remains impassive as she recounts the mission, leaving out the parts where her emotions threatened to crack through her usually unshakable demeanor.
“Three KIA, six injured, all non-critical,” Ziana concludes, her tone clipped.
“And Morningstar?” the commander asks, his gaze narrowing.
“Unconfirmed.” Ziana meets his eyes evenly. “The building collapsed before I could get a visual. I have no reason to believe he survived.”
The commander leans back in his chair, his silence heavy. Finally, he nods. “You’re dismissed, Montana. Take a few days to regroup.”
Ziana salutes and exits without another word, the weight of the conversation settling over her shoulders.
---
Her room is dark when she enters, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows on the walls. Ziana kicks off her boots, sinking onto the bed with a groan. She barely has time to process the quiet before there’s a knock at her door.
“Come in,” she says, her voice muffled as she rubs her temples.
Kyra steps in, her short blonde hair tousled and her uniform slightly rumpled. “You look like hell,” Kyra quips, dropping onto the chair across from Ziana.
“Thanks for the confidence boost,” Ziana retorts. “Really needed that.”
Kyra smirks. “Anytime. Now spill—what the hell happened out there?”
Ziana sighs, leaning back against the headboard. “Where do I even start? The raid was a disaster. Green recruits, bad intel, and Morningstar being... Morningstar.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he saved my life, again, while being the most insufferable person on the planet,” Ziana replies, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know how he does it. One minute he’s smirking like he’s untouchable, and the next he’s dragging me out of a firefight.”
Kyra raises an eyebrow. “Sounds like he has a soft spot for you.”
“Soft spot?” Ziana scoffs. “Please. He’s just a control freak with a hero complex. And now he’s probably dead.”
Kyra studies her for a moment. “You don’t believe that.”
Ziana’s gaze falters. “No. I don’t.” She pauses, her voice softening. “Somewhere deep down, I feel like he made it out alive. It’s stupid, but I can’t shake it.”
Kyra leans forward, her blue eyes sharp. “Have you fallen for him?”
Ziana blinks, then bursts out laughing, the sound sharp and sudden in the quiet room. “Hell no,” she says between laughs. “He just grew on me with his annoying self and being a pain in my ass. In love with him? Nope. Never.”
But as the laughter dies, a tiny voice in her head whispers: *Or am I?*
Ziana shakes her head, her expression hardening. “Definitely not,” she mutters, more to herself than to Kyra.
Kyra smirks but doesn’t press further. Instead, she leans back in her chair. “So, what’s next?”
“I’m heading home for a week or two,” Ziana says, her tone decisive. “I need to check on Leah. Its been too long, and I haven’t heard from her. I miss her.”
Kyra nods. “Makes sense. Leah’s good people. Tell her I said hi.”
“I will,” Ziana promises.
---
The next morning, Ziana packs her duffel bag, her thoughts a whirlwind. She can’t shake the image of Mickey from her mind—his smirk, his laugh, the way he pushed her out of harm’s way without a second thought.
As she steps out into the crisp morning air, a strange feeling settles in her chest. It’s not quite dread, but it’s close.
In her car, she pulls out her phone to call Leah, but the line goes straight to voicemail. Frowning, she tries again. Still nothing.
Her stomach twists. Something feels off.
The sound of tires screeching snaps her attention to the road ahead. A black SUV cuts her off, forcing her to swerve. Her heart pounds as the vehicle slows, blocking her path.
The driver’s window rolls down, revealing a man in a black mask.
“Get out of the car, Montana,” he says, his voice cold and mechanical.
Ziana’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel, her mind racing. She glances at her bag on the passenger seat, where her sidearm lies concealed.
“Yeah,” she mutters under her breath. “Not happening.”
Her foot slams on the gas, the tires screeching as she veers off the road, the SUV in hot pursuit.
The chase is on.
The air hums with tension as Ziana’s foot slams on the accelerator, her car jerking forward with a growl. The black SUV looms behind her, its engine roaring like an enraged beast. The narrow road twists ahead, flanked by dense trees and steep drops. Ziana’s knuckles whiten on the steering wheel as her heart pounds in her chest.
"Seriously?" she mutters, swerving just in time to avoid another round of gunfire. "This is *exactly* how I wanted to spend my morning—dodging bullets from wannabe action movie villains."
A sharp crack splinters the air as a bullet punches through her rear windshield, sending shards of glass scattering across the backseat. Ziana glances at the shattered window in the rearview mirror, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"Nice shot, asshole," she mutters, yanking the wheel to the left as the SUV closes the gap. "But I’m not that easy to kill."
The SUV pulls alongside her, its passenger leaning out the window with a rifle. Ziana’s stomach flips. She jerks the wheel hard, ramming her car into the side of the SUV. The impact sends a jolt through her vehicle, but the SUV swerves, its passenger losing his aim.
"Didn’t think I’d fight back, huh?" Ziana grits out, adrenaline flooding her veins.
She spots a sharp curve ahead and calculates her move. With a quick flick of her wrist, she feigns a turn to the right before swerving left, cutting off the SUV’s trajectory. The vehicle skids, its tires screeching as the driver struggles to regain control.
Ziana takes the opportunity to put distance between them, her car hurtling down the winding road. She glances at her phone mounted on the dashboard, debating whether to call for backup. But then again, who would she even call? Morningstar? No. He’s gone—or so she keeps telling herself.
"Focus, Montana," she mutters, shaking off the thought. "You don’t need a knight in shining armor. You *are* the damn knight."
A sudden burst of light catches her eye. The SUV is back, its high beams glaring in her rearview mirror. It’s gaining on her, and fast. Her pulse spikes as the road narrows, the trees blurring into a wall of green on either side.
"You’ve got to be kidding me," she growls, yanking the wheel to avoid a pothole. "What is this guy’s problem? Did I steal his lunch money or something?"
The SUV rams her car from behind, sending her skidding dangerously close to the edge of the road. Ziana’s breath catches as the tires scrape loose gravel, but she manages to wrestle the vehicle back onto the asphalt.
"Alright," she says, her voice low and dangerous. "You want to play dirty? Let’s play dirty."
She slams on the brakes, the sudden deceleration catching the SUV off guard. It swerves wildly, its front bumper grazing her rear fender. Ziana uses the momentum to swing her car into a sharp U-turn, speeding back in the direction she came from.
The SUV hesitates for a fraction of a second before screeching to follow. Ziana takes the opportunity to veer off the main road, plunging into a narrower, dirt path. The trees close in around her, their branches clawing at her car like skeletal fingers.
Her tires kick up a storm of dust and debris, obscuring the SUV’s view. She glances in the rearview mirror and smirks as the vehicle falters, its headlights dimming behind the cloud of dirt.
"Eat my dust," she mutters, gunning the engine one last time.
Minutes later, the road opens up to a quiet clearing. Ziana pulls off to the side, cutting the engine and sitting in silence as her chest heaves. Her eyes dart around, scanning for any sign of pursuit. Nothing. She’s lost them.
"For once, I’d like a boring day," she mutters, wiping sweat from her brow.
---
Meanwhile, Mickey reclines in a sleek leather chair in his penthouse, the city skyline glittering behind him. The soft hum of a jazz record plays in the background, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside him.
He’s just beginning to savor the rare moment of peace before he returns to his chaotic lifestyle when his phone buzzes on the side table. He picks it up, his relaxed expression vanishing as he reads the text.
**Agent:** *“We lost her. She was ambushed, took off fast. Couldn’t keep up.”*
Mickey’s jaw tightens, and he grips the phone so hard his knuckles go white. "Un-freaking-believable," he mutters, standing abruptly.
He doesn’t need to think too hard to figure out who’s behind the attack. The answer is as clear as the fury simmering in his chest.
"That son of a b***h," he growls, pacing the room. His mind races with possibilities, each one darker than the last. If he thought they could take Ziana, he had another thing coming.
His phone buzzes again, this time with a voice message. Mickey’s brows knit as he hits play, the distorted voice on the other end sending a chill down his spine.
“You’re slipping, Morningstar. She won’t always be so lucky.”
Mickey’s eyes narrow, his lips curling into a dangerous smirk. “Oh, you want to play games?” he murmurs, his voice low and deadly.
He tosses the phone onto the couch and grabs his jacket, his mind already formulating a plan.
Because now that asshole just made the biggest mistake of their life by putting Ziana's life at risk.
- Writer
