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Marshall made the turn into the small city park behind the motel, and Tank's gaze swept over the dense tree line that helpfully concealed their movements. The park became their strategic staging ground, a covert vantage point to assess the situation before making their move.
Joey was hunched over her equipment, eyes focused on the satellite image. She broke the silence with a crisp, professional tone that only showed up in the most critical situations. Usually, she preferred a healthy mix of sarcasm and insults. "Satellite images show a few access points, and the east side seems to be the most vulnerable. That's likely where the signal is originating."
Tank nodded, a sense of purpose settling over him. His team surrounded him, and the unspoken understanding among them grounded him. Black Tower was a family, and he knew they would protect Lia and Kaylie as if they were their own.
Jackson swiftly retrieved the drone: a sleek, sophisticated piece of equipment designed specifically for covert reconnaissance. The small aircraft hummed to life, its rotors spinning as it ascended into the air, disappearing into nothing but a speck as it climbed higher. The drone's camera fed real-time images to the team.
Tank's eyes flitted between the satellite image and the live feed from the drone. The motel, a nondescript L-shaped building from the sky, stood as the focal point of their mission. He memorized the layout, the positions of Moreno's men, and the potential escape routes.
The atmosphere crackled with tension as Joey's voice cut through the silence. "We've got company, guys." Her words hung in the air like an ominous prelude, and Tank's eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, the calm and control he had cultivated now threatened by a shift in the situation.
The drone's camera panned to capture the approaching figures, confirming the very unwelcome presence of Citadel. The team huddled around the live feed. Shane Lowell, Citadel's CEO, stepped out of his luxurious SUV, his tailored suit and polished shoes a stark contrast to the gritty surroundings of the seedy motel.
His sharp features and penetrating gaze spoke of a man accustomed to wielding power, navigating the intricate web of corporate intrigue with ease.
Joey, her eyes narrowed, studied the screen intently. "What the hell is Shane Lowell doing in a place like this? This doesn't fit their usual modus operandi."
Marshall muttered under his breath. "Citadel doesn't make appearances without a good reason. Whatever it is, it's not going to be good for us."
Tank, his eyes fixed on the live feed, observed Lowell's movements. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what Lowell was doing here. The CEO's confident stride carried an air of urgency. Lowell paused on the sidewalk outside the motel rooms, speaking with Moreno’s men stationed there.
Jackson voiced the unspoken question. "Should we intercept Lowell? Figure out what Citadel's playing at?"
Tank, his mind working through the possibilities, shook his head. Despite the overwhelming urge to storm the hotel and gun down anyone obstructing his path to his girls, he knew he couldn’t do that.
"Not yet. We need more intel. Watch and wait. Citadel has their own agenda, but we need to know what game they're playing before we make a move."
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
The air inside the cramped motel room hung heavy with the acrid scent of stale cigarette smoke and a heavy curtain of despair. Kaylie felt Lia's small form trembling against her on the bed, the little girl's sobs punctuating the tense silence that enveloped them. Paul glared at them from across the dimly lit space.
"Please, Paul," Kaylie implored, her voice strained with desperation. "Let us go. Lia's scared, and so am I. We can find a way to make this right, for her sake."
Paul's eyes, once familiar, now held chilling indifference. She remembered finding him so charming and handsome all those years ago. When he offered her the warmth and adoration she’d longed for after a life of being passed from home to home, it had seemed like an answer to prayer.
It hadn’t taken long for that facade of kindness to disappear into shackles of emotional and physical abuse. The sweetness occasionally popped to the surface as he apologized for losing control and erasing her concerns with showers of gifts and compliments.
Love bombing, she now knew to call it.
There was no hint of that misleadingly charming man now. He scoffed at her words, the bitterness of past betrayals etched across his weathered face.
“We could be a family, Paul. Isn’t that what you want?” It was a Hail Mary, a last-ditch effort to tame the vindictive glint in his cruel eyes.
“Oh, Kaylie,” he crooned, crossing the room and brushing his hand across her cheek.
Bile rose in her throat, burning a path inside her at his nearness. She forced herself to look up at him. He lifted his hand and struck Kaylie across the cheek, the force of the blow sending a shockwave through her.
"You left me, Kaylie. Worse, you took my daughter from me. All of this is on you," Paul spat, his words venomous as he justified his violent actions.
Kaylie’s head spun, a wave of dizziness threatening to pull her into blackness.
“I should kill you. You’re probably sleeping with that lumbering idiot.”
She wanted to deny it and stand up for Anthony’s integrity, but the words remained locked in her throat as Paul continued his angry tirade.
“You certainly have a type, don’t you? Moreno or Olson,” he spat. “It doesn’t matter which crime family you sleep your way into, Kaylie. You’ll never actually be important to anyone,” he sneered. “Yes, I should dump you in the river and let little Cecelia here forget you ever existed. But,” he sneered, “I have a better use for you.”
