No One Owns Me

Chapter 23 — The Warehouse

The motorcycle tears through the dark, tires biting into tarmac. I barely feel the wind or the cold, barely hear the engine’s roar. There’s only one thought in my head, burning bright: Reach her. Reach her before it’s too late.

Duncan rides close behind. Drake leads the way, scouting ahead. No words pass between us over the radios. We don’t need them. We all carry the same fear, the same drive.

Fifteen minutes in, Drake slows and signals to stop. Ahead, half-hidden behind a line of dead trees, stands the warehouse: jagged brick, broken windows, no lights, no signs. Three black vans sit parked by the main doors—exactly the ones we saw on the road.

“This is it,” Drake says, killing his engine.

Duncan swings off his bike, gaze fixed on the building. “You’re sure?”

“Plates match. Location matches. Everything lines up.”

I stare at the shadowed walls, my pulse hammering. “She’s in there. I know it.”

Duncan nods, his jaw set hard. “Then we bring her home.”

We move forward, quiet as shadows. The side door stands slightly ajar, unlocked. Drake pauses, frowning.

“Too easy.”

“Trap,” I say, tightening my grip on my weapon.

“Probably,” Duncan says. “But we don’t have a choice.”

“Then let’s spring it.”

We slip inside. The air smells of dust and rust. Rows of empty crates stretch into the dark, metal walkways looming overhead, every sound amplified against the concrete. Silence wraps around us—until a small, broken voice cuts through it.

“Ward?”

My blood freezes. That’s her.

“Casey!”

“Wait!” Duncan grabs my arm, but I’m already moving.

Another cry, sharper this time. “Ward, help!”

I run, boots thudding loud, not caring who hears. “CASEY!”

We burst into the main chamber. There she is—tied to a heavy wooden chair, head lolling, fresh bruises blooming across her jaw and temple, clothes torn. But her eyes snap open the second she sees me, bright and alive.

My breath catches. “Casey.”

“Ward.”

I rush forward, knife already in my hand, slicing through the ropes around her wrists and ankles. She sways, almost collapsing, and I catch her before she can fall. Her whole body shakes against mine.

“I’m here,” I say, steadying her. “I’ve got you.”

She grips the front of my jacket like it’s the only thing holding her to the world. “I knew you’d come. I knew it.”

“I promised I would.”

Duncan kneels beside us, voice soft with relief. “Casey? Look at me.”

She turns, and her face crumples. “Dad.”

He pulls her gently into his arms, holding her tight, and for a moment the only sound is their quiet breathing.

Then Drake roars: “DOWN! NOW!”

Gunfire erupts, bullets sparking off the metal racks beside us. Chaos tears through the room. Men pour in from every entrance, too many to count.

“Get her out!” Drake yells, returning fire. “We’ll hold them off!”

Duncan tries to pull Casey to her feet, but her legs buckle. “I can’t—they hit my leg—”

“I’ve got her.” I lift her carefully, supporting her weight against my chest. She rests her head on my shoulder, warm and real.

“You came,” she whispers again, like she still can’t believe it.

“Always.”

We move fast, Duncan covering our backs, shouting directions. We reach the side exit we came through—then a slow, mocking laugh echoes from the walkway above.

“Ward!”

I stop, turning. Lorenzo leans against the railing, calm as ever, looking down at us. His gaze lingers on Casey, then shifts to me, sharp and knowing.

“You really would move heaven and earth for her, wouldn’t you?”

“Stay back,” I growl. “This is over.”

“Over?” He smiles. “You think rescuing her changes anything? You think you’ve won?”

I tighten my hold. “We’re taking her home. That’s all that matters.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward. “You don’t understand. She isn’t just a girl. She’s the key. The key to everything the Crown has ever wanted.”

Casey lifts her head, glaring up at him. “Go to hell.”

“This isn’t over, little heir,” Lorenzo calls, as he steps back into the shadows. “Not by a long way.”

He’s gone before anyone can fire.

We burst out into the cool night air. Duncan opens the van door, and I lay Casey carefully across the back seats. Before I can pull away, she reaches out and wraps her fingers around my hand.

“Ward?”

I squeeze back. “I’m right here.”

“You said you weren’t going anywhere.”

“I meant every word.”

Duncan looks between us—at her hand locked in mine, at the way I hover like I’m still afraid she’ll vanish—and this time, there’s no warning, no demand for distance. He just nods, quiet and solemn.

“Let’s get her home. Somewhere safe.”

I glance back at the warehouse, dark and silent now. Lorenzo’s words echo in my head, sharp and cold: She is the key.

Casey is safe. For now. But whatever the Crown is really after… this fight is far from over. And we’re only just beginning to see what it will cost.