Chapter 14
1028 Words
The transition from the Vane Manor to the "Base" was like stepping out of a Renaissance painting and into a high-budget spy thriller. The car—a bulletproof SUV that smelled of ozone and new leather—was a rolling vault. Silas sat in the back with Roxanne, while Killian drove with a grim, silent intensity that suggested he was personally offended by the morning traffic.
Cassian sat in the passenger seat, his fingers dancing across a tablet, occasionally muttering about "server pings" and "encrypted handshakes."
"The Base isn't just an office, Roxanne," Silas said, his voice low as he watched the city skyline shift from polished glass to industrial brick. "It’s a decommissioned shipyard on the East side. From the outside, it looks like a rotting warehouse. Inside, it’s the nervous system of everything we own. Every shipment, every ledger, and every soldier passes through those gates."
"And Jules?" Roxanne asked, adjusting her blazer. "Is he already there?"
"Jules is always there," Killian grunted from the front, his eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. "He likes the noise. He’s been overseeing the 'negotiations' with the dock workers since four this morning. He lives for the grit, unlike some people who prefer silk sheets."
Roxanne caught Silas’s eye. The "Bedline Protocol" incident from that morning flashed between them—a silent, awkward spark—before Silas looked away, clearing his throat.
"Jules is essential to the morale of the men," Silas added. "But he’s also the one who handles the physical logistics of the North Side. If there’s a leak in the shipments, it’s happening under his nose. Or with his blessing."
The SUV pulled up to a massive, rusted corrugated steel gate. Two men in tactical gear stepped out of a guard shack, their hands resting comfortably on the grips of their holstered sidearms. When they saw the blacked-out windows and the specific license plate, they snapped to attention, the gates groaning open with a heavy, mechanical whine.
As they pulled into the courtyard, the scale of the operation became clear. Dozens of men were moving crates, checking clipboards, and maintaining vehicles. It was a hive of activity, but it was disciplined. There was no shouting, no wasted movement.
The moment the SUV door opened, the air hit Roxanne—a sharp mix of salt, diesel, and gun oil.
"Welcome to the fun house," Cassian chirped, hopping out and stretching. "Watch your step, Rox. The floor is reinforced steel, and it’s been known to eat expensive heels."
They walked through a secondary security airlock and into the main hub. It was a cavernous space filled with monitors, tactical maps, and glass-walled offices. In the center of the room, surrounded by a group of rugged-looking men, was Jules.
He looked exactly like a man who had been awake for twenty-four hours and enjoyed every second of it. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing tattoos that told the story of a decade of street wars, and his hair was a mess, She didn't give him much of a glance the last time at leo's house. When he saw the group, a massive, reckless grin broke across his face.
"The King has arrived!" Jules shouted, clapping one of his men on the shoulder and stepping forward. "And he brought the Queen! Silas, I was starting to think you were going to keep her locked away in that fancy house forever."
He reached Roxanne and, before she could react, he grabbed her hand and gave it a dramatic, old-school bow. "Roxanne. You look far too intelligent for this place. Are you sure you don't want to run away with me instead? I promise the coffee is better, even if the company is worse."
"Jules, back off," Killian growled, though there was a hint of a tired smile on his face. "She’s here to work, not to listen to your recycled pick-up lines."
"Work?" Jules arched a dark eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous kind of curiosity. "I thought she was here to grace us with her presence before the big engagement party. What kind of work does a 'Strategic Consultant' do at a shipyard?"
"She’s doing an internal audit of the North Side logistics," Silas said, his voice cool and authoritative. He stepped forward, his hand settling possessively on the small of Roxanne's back. "Including the shipments you’ve been overseeing, Jules. We have a discrepancy, and I want a fresh pair of eyes on it."
The smile on Jules’s face didn't fade, but it shifted—becoming something a little sharper, a little more guarded. "An audit, huh? Well, my books are an open book, darling. Though I should warn you, my handwriting is terrible and my filing system is mostly 'organized chaos.'"
Roxanne met his gaze, her PI instincts screaming. Jules was charming. He was "family." He was the kind of man people wanted to follow into a fire. But he was also the kind of man who could hide a knife behind a smile and make you thank him for the privilege.
"I’m good with chaos, Jules," Roxanne said, her voice smooth and professional. "In my experience, that’s where the most interesting things are hidden."
"Ooh, I like her," Jules laughed, turning to Silas. "She’s got teeth, Silas. You always did have good taste in predators."
"Cassian, take her to the secondary server room," Silas commanded. "Give her everything she asks for. Killian, Jules—my office. Now."
As Silas led the men toward the glass-walled command center, Roxanne watched them go. The Shield, the Brother-in-Arms, and the Don. They looked like a united front, but she knew better. Somewhere in this iron fortress, a heart was beating for the enemy.
"This way, boss-lady," Cassian said, gesturing toward a heavy steel door. "Ignore the smell. That’s just the scent of $50 million in annual revenue and Jules’s cheap cologne."
Roxanne followed him, her mind already spinning. The Base was the heart of the machine, and she was about to start pulling the wires.
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