Chapter 13 – The Bait
567 Words
The text came at 2:47 a.m.
UNKNOWN: Come alone. Warehouse 6, Dockside. Or Rob dies.
Sera sat up in bed, heart jackhammering. The room was dark, quiet—too quiet. She reached for her gun before she even processed what she’d read again. Then she called Rob.
No answer.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She was already halfway to the door before Rico caught her.
“What’s wrong?”
“They took him.”
“Who?”
“Kingston.”
Rico swore under his breath. “Then it’s a trap.”
“I know,” she said, loading a fresh magazine. “I’m going anyway.”
---
Warehouse 6 had been abandoned for years—shattered windows, rusting steel, the echo of forgotten deals still clinging to its walls.
Sera entered alone, gun drawn, every muscle tight.
At first, it was silent.
Then a light flicked on.
And there was Rob—chained to a metal chair, blood on his lip, defiance in his eyes. Two men stood near him, and behind them, in the shadows, Gregory Kingston.
“Well,” he said, stepping into the light, “if it isn’t the queen of Smoke herself.”
“Let him go.”
Gregory chuckled. “You’ve made my son soft. That’s dangerous. For both of you.”
“I said—let him go.”
“Or what?” Gregory raised an eyebrow. “You’ll shoot me? In front of your lover? Make yourself the villain in his story?”
Sera didn’t flinch. “If I have to.”
“You won’t,” he said, and nodded.
A guard grabbed Rob by the hair and yanked his head up. Gregory continued, voice cold:
“You want him alive? Then disappear. Leave the city. Leave him. Walk away from everything you’ve built. No goodbyes. No second chances.”
Rob groaned. “Don’t—Sera—don’t listen to him—”
“SILENCE,” Gregory snapped.
Sera’s fingers tightened on the gun.
But her mind was spinning.
This was no longer just about survival. This was war, waged with love as a weapon.
She looked at Rob—his bruised face, his fire, his fear—and something in her heart snapped.
She lowered the gun.
Gregory smiled. “Good girl.”
Then she threw it—hard—at the guard’s face, and dove for the backup piece hidden in her boot.
BANG.
One shot.
Then two more.
The guards fell.
Rob dropped forward in the chair.
Gregory stumbled back, bleeding from the arm.
“You stupid girl—”
Sera raised the gun again, aimed at his heart.
“No more games,” she said. “You come near him again, and I won’t miss.”
But instead of shooting, she turned, grabbed Rob, and dragged him out as sirens echoed in the distance.
---
Back at their hideout, with Rico stitching Rob’s arm and Lina locking down their perimeter, Sera sat beside him, trembling.
“You came for me,” Rob whispered.
She nodded.
“I told you not to.”
“Yeah,” she said, brushing hair from his eyes. “And I’ve never been good at following orders.”
He laughed—winced.
And they both knew something had changed.
They weren’t just fighting for love anymore.
They were fighting for freedom.
From blood.
From legacies.
From the monsters that wore their last names.
- Writer
