Chapter 130: 130. FELIX YEATS (POV)

Leave the basement without a word, my mind racing, trying to piece together every scrap of information Phil just gave me. Nox already gave me what I needed. Simon's going to try to get to Montreal through the port, but he’ll need a boat to get there. He must have some guys ready to help him. I’ve been with Isabelle for a few months now—plenty of time for him to plan all this shit.

The fluorescent lights over the stairwell slice across my face like razors. Up ahead, the empty hallway waits for me.

“Get out of there. Now,” I order quietly through the radio. “Tony, Phil, and Roger are with me. The rest of you, surround the port area—quietly. I need to get there without drawing attention. We’ll close in on them, and I need a drone with audio.”

I move through the twisted hotel hallways, feeling the heat of my holster pressing into my waist. Each step ticks like the sound of a clock winding tighter with my rage. Simon, you son of a bitch, you have no idea what’s coming for you.

I reach the control room, where the monitors are already back up—one small window blinking with the feed from the warehouse, encrypted and locked on a fixed cam. I sit, take a deep breath, and grab the coffee Phil hands me. I need to stay sharp, and this is the only way. Caffeine turns me into something else.

“Give me the cleanest feed,” I say. Phil answers with keystrokes—then the image fills the screen. The warehouse is lit by yellow bulbs, a car is parked inside, and Simon is carrying Isabelle out of it, in his arms. She’s still unconscious—whatever the hell he gave her to knock her out is still working.

“Zoom in—3x on the rear.”

The license plate’s clear: YWX-7394. The same one Phil already mentioned. I quickly map out a plan in my head.

I close my eyes for a moment.

“Alright, we’re splitting up. The Alpha Team—comprising Phil, Roger, and five more—go through the secondary access, around the back of the warehouse. Enter through the east service door. Total caution.”

I grab my gun and place it on the table. “Beta Team—me, Tony, and three others—we go through the front. We’re getting Isabelle back. No talking. Take out whoever you have to. Except Simon—he’s mine.”

Everyone agrees. I like that—obedience without question.

“We’ve got thirty seconds, max. I want her back in ninety. If we hit ninety and she’s not back... I open fire. Understood?”

Phil presses the confirmation button. I sit up straighter. Feels like every muscle in my body just locked into place.

I see Isabelle’s face again—messy hair, calm breathing from the sedative—she needs to wake up in my arms.

And Simon? He’s going to see me coming, and he’ll regret every second he put Isabelle in danger.

“Let’s go,” I say, standing up. The team scatters like a shadow. A chill runs down my spine—but there’s another heat burning in my chest. It’s not just possession. It’s love. A criminal kind of madness, sure. But it’s everything she is, everything my world has to offer, along with the wreck I’ve become.

We leave the hotel in a convoy. My car, a black armored one with tinted windows, pulls up beside theirs—Tony’s behind the wheel, I’m in the passenger seat, with three other men in the back. The rest follow in other cars, heading to the port.

My heart’s racing. I watch through the side windows. The city at night feels heavy with silence, but we’re flying through it. The cars keep a safe distance from each other, just like I planned: full security, low exposure.

“Anything from the necklace?” I ask quietly, eyes still on the road.

Nothing. No signal—nothing at all. Not only is the audio dead—it’s like the thing’s been tampered with. Another wave of rage rolls through my chest. Simon’s gone too far.

The road to the port runs through wide avenues and almost empty streets. At a green light, we speed up, one of our cars pulling ahead to block any traffic. Tony takes a hard left, sticking to the secret route. We cross over lit bridges, lights reflecting off the river—it’s the perfect setting for a getaway.

A message from Phil pings on my phone:

“Cameras transferred to server. Simon’s plate changed: DDY-4821. North-south direction, exited through the south lot to the highway. Gate 12 opens at dock 6.”

I close my eyes for a second. Rage and the urgency to reach her crush everything else in my head.

I show the phone to Tony, who reads it without taking his full focus off the road.

“Lock position. Step on it—toward the port. We’re cutting him off.”

The engine growls louder. We speed up.

About five minutes later, we reach the restricted access to the port. The gate lifts, recognizing our vehicles. Tony slows down, weaving between massive shipping containers. The early morning fog mixes with the smell of saltwater and diesel oil.

Our engines echo in low, muffled tones. Phil activates the internal radio:

“Confirmed—car spotted leaving dock 6, now heading along the east pier.”

“Perfect,” I say. “No noise. Close in.”

The port fog swallows me as I step out of the car. The gun sits heavy and ready in my hand. Tony steps out, too, alert. Phil’s already moving ahead with the men. Still no sound from Isabelle. Not a whisper. The silence burns hotter than anything.

And it makes me even more furious inside.

“There!” Tony shouts, pointing.

The black car with the DDY plate speeds around the corner, heading toward the main exit.

Shit. If he’s in there, if she’s in there... they’re about to escape, just like Nox said. But not while I’m still breathing.

“Phil, left flank. Tony, cut them off from behind.” My voice stays steady.

I move into position between two rusted metal pillars. Line up my aim. I don’t hesitate.

The first shot hits the back window—it shatters with a sharp crack. Second shot, side panel. Third... close. The driver ducks like he could see it coming. The bastard’s got reflexes. But not good enough.

Tires scream against the asphalt. I fire again. Fourth. Fifth. Sixth.

The car jerks but doesn’t stop. One of the tires looks blown, but it’s still going. I pull the trigger one more time. Empty.

They’re gone. The engine noise fades into the thick night.

“Fuck!” I yell, unable to hold it in. I lunge forward, slamming my fist into the car hood. The metal dents under the hit.

“We go after them now!” I shout, my voice echoing into the heavy port fog.

Tony moves beside me, Phil and the others close in from behind. I’m still gripping the gun tight against my body—solid support, lungs locked up, adrenaline thumping through every vein.

I run for the car, jumping in with Tony. Phil’s already in position in the other vehicle.

“Cover the rear! Go through the alley next to dock three!” I command as we roll forward. My eyes scan every shadowed edge—he could try to vanish into a warehouse, a boat, any dark spot he thinks he can hide in.

We drive on, gun aimed out the window. I can still hear the distant screech of tires.

Then, Phil’s voice cracks through the radio:

“Boss, he went into the cargo area. There’s an open container about 300 meters ahead.”

My heart spikes. I give Tony the signal.

“Perfect. That’s it—we’re boxing him in.”