DANGEROUSLY YOURS

THE DOCK OF ST. LIVER

The docks of St. Liver Port were never truly quiet.

Even in stillness, the place breathed—wood creaking under old weight, ropes tightening against moored ships, gulls circling overhead like they were waiting for something to fall apart.

The air carried a mixture of sea salt, tar, and the faint scent of imported spices that never quite belonged to Crek’s southern coast.

Lanterns hung unevenly along the dock’s spine, swaying with the wind and casting flickering gold over stacked cargo crates stamped with foreign seals and royal insignias. Some crates were freshly unloaded. Others looked like they had been sitting there too long, as if forgotten on purpose.

At the center of it all stood George.

He stood near the edge of the dock with one hand loosely behind his back, coat dark against the pale mist of the sea. The fabric of his attire was finely cut—too refined for a place like this, yet he wore it like it belonged. His presence drew attention without asking for it, like gravity disguised as a man.

Behind him, four of his men formed a loose perimeter. Not crowded, not tense—just precise. Their eyes tracked movement more than people, hands resting near weapons they didn’t need to draw yet.

To George’s right stood Sky.

Leaning slightly against a wooden post, Sky looked almost detached from the scene, though his eyes missed nothing. A faint smirk played at the corner of his lips as he watched the nobleman in front of them shift uncomfortably.

The nobleman cleared his throat again, sweat beading faintly at his temple despite the cool air.

“This shipment was cleared through the Council of Three Houses,” he insisted, forcing authority into his voice. “You cannot simply—”

George finally glanced at him.

That was enough to make the man stop mid-sentence.

“You misunderstand something,” George said quietly. His voice wasn’t raised, yet it carried cleanly over the dock noise. “Cleared does not mean protected.”

The nobleman swallowed.

Sky chuckled softly under his breath. “That’s where most people get confused.”

From the far side of the dock, crates marked with Curry’s insignia sat partially unloaded. Her cargo. Or what was left of it.

Then—

A shift in the air.

Fast footsteps on wood.

Anger approaching before the person even arrived.

“BUSH!!”

The voice cracked across the port, sharp enough to silence even the gulls for a moment.

Every head turned.

Curry appeared at the edge of the dock like a storm given form

She moved fast—purposeful, furious. Her dress coat flared slightly with each step, dust and sea mist clinging to her hem. Her eyes were locked forward, burning with controlled rage that was already beginning to break.

Behind her came her men—tight formation, alert, hands close to their weapons. They didn’t rush her, but they didn’t fall behind either. They were trained enough to know when a situation could turn into blood in seconds.

And just slightly to her right was Ru.

Ru’s gaze swept the dock immediately, calculating exits, guards, distances. Unlike Curry’s fire, Ru was steady water—watchful, restrained, ready to act if she did something irreversible.

Curry stopped a few steps from George.

The distance between them felt intentional, like neither of them wanted to admit how close conflict already was.

Her eyes flicked once—to the nobleman, to Sky, to the crates.

Then back to George.

“My goods,” she said, voice low now but shaking with controlled fury. “Were moved without my consent.”

George didn’t respond immediately.

He looked at her properly now.

Not surprised.

Not rushed.

Just… observing.

Sky tilted his head slightly, amused. “This is her?”

The nobleman took a careful step back, sensing he had suddenly become the least important person in the conversation.

Curry’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t play ignorant with me,” she snapped, stepping forward one pace. “That shipment was paid for. That port was secured under my agreement. And yet—” her hand lifted slightly toward the crates, “—you’ve taken it.”

One of George’s guards shifted.

Instantly, two of Curry’s men mirrored the movement.

Ru raised a hand slightly behind her, a silent warning: not yet.

George’s voice came again, calm as ever.

“Your agreement was with the port authority,” he said. “Not with me.”

Curry let out a short, humorless laugh.

“And yet here you are,” she shot back. “Standing in the middle of it like you own it.”

A pause.

The sea below slapped harder against the dock pillars, as if reacting to the tension above.

Sky’s smile widened slightly. “I think she’s angry.”

“Observant as always,” George replied without looking at him.

Curry took another step closer, now fully in his space.

Her voice dropped, but it sharpened. “Return my cargo, George.”

A beat.

Then another.

George’s gaze didn’t shift.

“Or?” he asked quietly.

The word hung between them like a lit fuse.

Curry's eyes darkened.

Behind her, Ru's posture changed ever so slightly.

For a moment, neither side moved.

The dock seemed to hold its breath.

Then Curry folded her arms across her chest.

"You're enjoying this," she said coldly.

A faint breeze stirred the loose strands of her dark hair.

George's expression remained unchanged.

"You assume too much."

"No," Curry replied. "I know men like you. Seize a shipment, gather an audience, make a spectacle of it."

Sky let out a quiet laugh.

"she's got spirit."

Curry shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

"And you've got a habit of talking when nobody asked."

The smile on Sky's face widened.

The nobleman, sensing danger from every direction, looked increasingly uncomfortable.

George finally sighed.

"Sky."

"Mm?"

"Escort our guest away."

Sky pushed himself off the post.

The nobleman blinked. "I beg your pardon—"

"You're dismissed," Sky said pleasantly.

The nobleman opened his mouth to protest.

Then he looked at George.

Then at Curry.

Then at the armed men surrounding both parties.

He wisely chose silence.

"Come," Sky said, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Before somebody decides you're still part of this conversation."

Within moments they were walking away down the dock.

The remaining guards kept their distance.

George looked at Curry.

"Walk with me."

She narrowed her eyes.

"That wasn't a request, was it?"

"No."

For a second she looked ready to refuse out of sheer stubbornness.

Then she turned sharply.

"Fine."

Ru fell into step behind them.

The storage stall sat at the far end of the port.

It was little more than a weathered warehouse built from old timber and rusting metal sheets. The smell hit before they entered—damp wood, sweat, and stagnant air.

George pushed the door open.

The room beyond was dim.

Curry stopped walking.

Her expression hardened.

Several young women sat against the wall, their wrists and ankles bound. Their clothing was worn from travel. Some stared silently at the floor. Others watched the newcomers with frightened eyes.

The sight settled heavily in the room.

Ru's face immediately tightened.

George stood still for a long moment before speaking.

"This."

His voice echoed softly through the stall.

"This is why I stopped your shipment."

Curry looked away from the girls.

"You stopped it because you wanted leverage."

"No."

George turned toward her.

"I stopped it because this should never have been a shipment in the first place."

The words landed harder than shouting would have.

Curry's jaw clenched.

"You don't get to lecture me."

"Don't I?"

Her eyes flashed.

"You think you're better than everyone else?"

"No."

His answer came instantly.

"I think some lines shouldn't be crossed."

Silence.

Outside, distant waves crashed against the docks.

Curry crossed her arms.

"This business feeds families."

George's gaze hardened for the first time that day.

"Not theirs."

The room became very quiet.

One of the girls lowered her head.

Another wiped away tears she clearly didn't want anyone to see.

Ru watched the exchange carefully.

Curry looked frustrated now rather than angry.

"You know how Crek works."

"I do."

"You know what it takes to survive."

"I do."

"Then stop pretending your hands are clean."

George nodded once.

"They aren't."

That answer caught her off guard.

"I've done things I'm not proud of," he continued. "I've made compromises. I've allowed deals I shouldn't have."

His eyes moved briefly toward the girls.

"But not this."

For the first time, Curry had no immediate response.

The certainty in his voice unsettled her more than anger would have.

George stepped closer.

"This is the last warning you will ever receive from me."

The words were calm.

Which somehow made them more dangerous

"If I find another shipment like this under your name, we will have a very different conversation."

The contempt in Curry's eyes returned.

"You think you can dictate my business?"

"No."

He held her gaze.

"I'm asking you to choose what kind of person you want to become."

The words lingered.

Longer than either expected.

Finally Curry exhaled sharply.

Her shoulders loosened a fraction.

"Fine."

Ru looked at her.

George remained silent.

Curry's expression twisted with irritation.

"Human trafficking stops."

The words sounded painful for her to admit.

"Only that."

George waited.

"The rest of my operations remain my concern."

A corner of his mouth tightened.

It wasn't everything.

But it was something.

"Agreed," he said.

Curry looked annoyed that he had accepted so easily.

Ru immediately moved toward the girls.

"Get them up," she said gently.

Unlike the guards, her voice carried kindness.

The girls slowly rose.

The ropes were removed.

Some could barely believe it.

Others looked afraid to hope.

Ru guided them toward the exit.

One by one they disappeared into the cold night.

Eventually only Curry and George remained.

The warehouse felt larger now.

Quieter.

Empty.

Curry stood motionless near the center of the room.

Her eyes remained fixed on him.

There was no gratitude there.

No relief.

Only resentment.

Contempt.

As if he had stolen something from her that she wasn't ready to name.

George met her stare without flinching.

Neither spoke.

Outside, the sounds of the harbor continued as though nothing had happened.

Inside, however, something had shifted.

And neither of them would forget it.