Chapter 7 – The Docks in Fire
Rain slicked cobblestones reflected the orange glow of torches as Logan's strike team moved silently through Moscow East's abandoned docks. Every shadow could conceal a threat, every sound could betray their presence. He adjusted his gloves, eyes scanning the perimeter, amber glinting under the stormy sky.
"Eyes up," he murmured, voice low but commanding. Ethan, Dante, Mikhail, and the others fell into formation behind him. Each member moved with precision — trained, deadly, prepared to eliminate any obstacle.
"This place is crawling," Mikhail whispered into the comm, his fingers dancing over the mini-holo display. "Cameras pick up movement near the warehouses—possible Crimson Lotus scouts."
Logan's jaw tightened. "Take them out quietly. No mistakes."
---
Inside one warehouse, figures moved like ghosts. Crimson Lotus had claimed this dock for operations, and their spies had been watching for weeks. Logan's mind went back fifteen years, remembering his father's empire collapsing, his twin sister's heart failing — lessons in betrayal and survival burned into his bones. Never let anyone corner you. Never let them know fear.
The team advanced. A faint whistle sliced through the night air — a warning, or a trap? Logan didn't wait. He signaled with his hand, and in synchronized motion, the strike team descended. Shadows collided with steel and flesh.
Gunfire cracked, silenced rifles barking like ghosts. Ethan neutralized one scout; Dante flipped another over a crate. Mikhail hacked the warehouse door system, trapping enemies inside with them. Logan moved through the chaos, a phantom of wrath and precision.
And then — a sharp pain bit through his side. He stumbled, catching himself against a crate. A knife had grazed him, nicking under his rib. Not enough to drop him, but enough to let a spark of anger and frustration flare.
"Logan!" Dante called, fending off a flanking scout. "You're hit!"
"I'm fine," he snapped, pain burning in the muscles of his torso. But inside, his mind ticked. This wasn't supposed to happen.
The fight continued. Crimson Lotus members revealed themselves as more than scouts — a carefully orchestrated ambush. The leader, a man masked in crimson, struck fast, precise, and ruthless. Logan parried and countered, but the brief distraction gave the enemy a moment to escape.
"Target escaped!" Mikhail cursed.
Logan's amber eyes glared into the darkness. "Not for long. Trace their comms. They'll make a mistake, and we'll be ready."
---
Back at the mansion, Catty moved through the dimly lit halls, her hands carrying folded linens. The storm outside made the air heavier, pressing against the tall windows. Something felt off — an almost imperceptible tension that made her step lightly.
Sofia appeared at her side. "You shouldn't be walking around. The letter… the warning… it unsettled everyone."
"I just want to make sure everything's in order," Catty said softly. Her green eyes scanned the hall. Something told her the danger wasn't far off.
"You're not wrong," Sofia murmured, voice low. "Keep your ears open."
---
Back at the docks, Logan surveyed the aftermath. Crimson Lotus had left a message — a crimson ribbon tied to a broken crate, the scent of iron in the air.
"They're playing a game," he muttered. Ethan checked the minor wound under his rib and shook his head. "Nothing serious. You're fine, but we need to move."
Logan's amber gaze hardened. "Then we finish the sweep."
---
Hours later, he returned to the mansion, rain soaking his coat. Minor blood streaked his side, hidden beneath his uniform. Catty, tasked with bringing him towels, stepped into the study. She froze when she saw him seated, quietly removing his gloves.
"Oh," she whispered, setting the tray down.
Logan looked up, amber eyes catching hers. "Bring the water. Carefully." His voice was calm but commanding, carrying an intensity that made her heart tighten.
As she poured, her hand brushed the edge of the wound under his coat. He flinched slightly, not in pain, but reflex. Catty's breath hitched.
"I—I didn't—" she started, but he held up a hand.
"Don't touch it more than you have to," he said softly. Protective, not indulgent.
She nodded, still staring, unsure how someone could be so calm after a firefight. Isabella entered quietly, eyes narrowing at the scene.
"Well, look at this," she said, voice sweet but edged with malice. "The little maid tending to the devil himself."
Catty stiffened. "I'm only doing what was asked."
Isabella's grin twisted. "Of course. Just… careful. You're learning fast. I'd hate for your curiosity to get you hurt."
Logan didn't respond. He watched Catty, unreadable, amber eyes flickering with a subtle warning.
---
Later, in the quiet of the mansion, Catty sat in the small utility room, replaying the evening in her mind. The docks. The fight. The minor wound. The way Logan had looked at her — more than just an observation, yet nothing she could name.
A faint sound of movement caught her attention. She peered out the door: Ethan was returning, silent as always. His gaze lingered on her for a fraction longer than necessary. A spark of warmth touched her chest. He's protective, too…
Outside, rain still lashed the windows. The mansion was silent for a few fleeting moments, the storm outside masking the tension that would only grow.
But somewhere beyond the gates, in the shadows of the docks, Crimson Lotus was already moving. They would strike again.
And this time, no one would be ready.