No One Owns Me

Chapter 5 — Inside the Lion’s Den

Up close, the warehouse looks less abandoned and more like it’s been holding its breath for decades. Weathered red brick bleeds rust; heavy steel doors hang slightly ajar, pocked with bullet holes from years past. High windows stare down like blind eyes, and three black SUVs sit parked in perfect formation—no dust, no scratches, every inch tended to. This isn’t a place people forget. It’s a place they keep hidden.

I stop twenty feet from the entrance, brushing a stray strand of hair over my ear to cover the tiny device tucked there. “I’m at the door.”

Ward’s voice hums soft and steady in my ear. “We’ve got eyes on you. You’re clear so far.”

“From where? You’re half a mile out.”

“Trust me, sunshine. We see everything.”

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “I swear I’m taking your nickname privileges away.”

He laughs. “Good luck catching me first.”

Then Duncan cuts in, tone sharp with worry. “Casey. Remember the plan. Get in, confirm what you can, get out before they lock you down. No heroics.”

“Define heroics.”

A beat of silence. Then Ward snorts. Duncan sighs.

“You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

I square my shoulders. My pulse hammers fast, but it’s not fear—not really. It’s the thrill of finally stepping out of the shadows. Lorenzo knows I’m here. He’s been waiting. And this time, I’m not running.

I walk forward.

Two men step out before I even reach the threshold—broad-shouldered, all black, handguns holstered but easy to reach. Neither looks surprised.

“Casey Grant,” the taller one says, like greeting an old acquaintance.

“Most people say hello first,” I reply.

He lunges for my arm. I twist away fast, but his grip tightens anyway. “Don’t touch me.”

The second man draws his weapon, levelling it at my chest. “Move. Now.”

I raise my hands slow. “Fine.”

They pat me down rough, yanking my folding knife from my jacket pocket with a smirk. They don’t feel the second blade strapped tight inside my boot. Good.

Inside, the warehouse swallows me whole. Metal gantries ring the upper walls, and the main floor stretches huge and empty—save for sixteen men, all armed, positioned like they’ve been drilled for this exact moment. I catalogue it all in seconds: two fire exits, four CCTV cameras, a glass-walled office perched above the stairs, a service door near the back, and a drainage channel running along the base of the far wall.

“Sixteen hostiles, four cameras, two exits,” Ward murmurs in my ear.

I almost smile. “You counting too?”

“Only to keep up with you.”

“Show-off.”

“Learned from the best.”

The guard shoves me hard between the shoulder blades. I stumble on purpose, catching myself on one knee. He laughs.

I don’t. Because as I looked up, I saw it: a camera angled dead at my face, its red light blinking slow and steady.

Lorenzo is watching. Of course he is.

They drag me up the stairs.