Chapter Sixty Seven

Chapter 67

The metallic tang of blood lingered in Jemima's nostrils as she pressed her hand harder against her wounded arm.

“Fuck!” Jemima cursed out loud, the pain was sharp and unrelenting, but it wasn't enough to dull her focus. She crouched behind the shipping crate, trying to steady her breathing. Around her, the symphony of chaos continued- gunfire ricocheting off steel, the shouts of men barking orders, and the eerie creak of dock planks under hurried footsteps.

"Marcus!" Jemima hissed, craning her neck to see him crouched behind another crate, his hand on his ribs. His face was pale but determined. "You good?"

"Yeah, just peachy," Marcus grunted, his voice tight. "But we've got to move. They'll pin us down here."

This was not good, Jemima thought to herself. How was she going to find answers if she kept on reiterating the same mistakes?

From a few feet away, Jay's voice came through, low but urgent. "They're fanning out. If we don't regroup and push back, we're screwed."

Jemima's jaw clenched. “Fuck!” She groaned out in exasperation again, momentarily ignoring her bleeding arm.

“Calm down Jem. Getting frustrated wouldn’t get you anywhere,” Marcus advised, his breathing ragged as he stared at her through dizzy eyes.

He was exhausted.

“Don’t tell me that Marcus,” Jemima spat, her anger palpable. Alan had escaped again, and now they were sitting ducks at the docks. She wouldn't let it end here—not like this.

“Okay, overreact then and see where that leads us,” Marcus shot back, his anger a perfect blend with the searing pain that shot through his rib. He had barely been grazed by the bullet but it hurt regardless.

“You’re right, I’ll keep calm,” she muttered as she sniffed back unshed tears.
She nodded at Marcus, signaling him to stay low. "Jay, cover us. We'll move toward the storage containers on the left."

Jay didn't respond, but the sharp crack of his gun firing told her he was on it. Jemima and Marcus darted from their hiding spots, weaving between crates as bullets whizzed past them. Jemima stumbled once, her arm screaming in protest, but Marcus grabbed her elbow, steadying her.

"Don't pass out on me now," he muttered, his tone laced with both worry and teasing.

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," Jemima shot back, biting through the pain.

They reached the storage containers, pressing their backs against the cold steel. Jay joined them moments later, his expression grim.

"Reinforcements just arrived," he said. "At least five more, heavily armed. And Alan's probably halfway to wherever he's planning to hole up next."

"Dammit," Jemima muttered. Her mind raced, trying to piece together a plan. "We need to split up. If we stay together, they'll corner us."

Jay's brows furrowed. "Splitting up is suicide, Jem."

"Do you have a better idea?" she argued. "Marcus and I will draw their fire. You circle and cut them off. If we're lucky, you can flank them and take out their leader."

Jay hesitated, his gaze flicking to her bloodied arm. "You can barely hold your gun."

"I can manage," she snapped, her eyes blazing with determination.
“I can do this,” Jemima spat muttered to herself. At that point, she didn’t know who she was trying to convince anymore- Herself or Jay?

Jay's lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded. He knew she needed this closure and he wasn’t going to argue with her about it. "Fine. But don't do anything stupid."

Jemima smirked despite the tension. "No promises."


Meanwhile, back at the safe house, Diane Valerian paced the length of the dimly lit room, her fists clenched at her sides. The news of Alan's betrayal and the subsequent ambush had reached her, but she felt powerless, confined to the shadows.

“Fuck!” Diane screamed, facepalming in agitation.

Alan was working for her and she had not expected him to go rogue and join his father.

"Damien, we can't just sit here," she said, her voice taut with frustration.

Damien Valerian, seated in a worn leather armchair, exhaled a long sigh. His sharp features were etched with worry, though he tried to mask it. "We've sent reinforcements. We can't jeopardize the mission by showing up ourselves."

"Marcus and Jemima are going to find out that Alan was working for us," Diane snapped, her icy blue eyes blazing. "Do you think I care about protocol right now?”

“Well, what did you expect when you tried to recruit Jon Ross’s son? I warned you, didn’t I? Now look how deep we are in this shit!” Damien snapped, his nose flaring up as his temper rose.

“But…”

Damien's jaw tightened. "This isn't just about us, Diane. If we make a move now, Jon will know we're involved. We can't tip our hand."

Diane glared at him, but she didn't argue further. Deep down, she knew he was right. But the helplessness gnawed at her like a relentless tide, threatening to drown her.

***

Back at the docks, Jemima and Marcus executed their plan. They darted between containers, firing sporadically to draw the attention of their pursuers. The air was thick with tension, every creak and shuffle amplifying their nerves.

Jay, meanwhile, moved stealthily along the outer edge of the docks, his sharp eyes scanning for an opening. He spotted the leader—a stocky man with a scar running down his cheek—barking orders to the others. Jay took a deep breath, steadying his aim.

Before he could fire, a figure emerged from the shadows behind him. Jay spun around just in time to block a knife aimed at his throat. The attacker was fast and relentless, forcing Jay to engage in a brutal hand-to-hand fight.

Jemima heard the scuffle and cursed under her breath. "Jay's in trouble."

Marcus glanced at her, his expression grim. "Go. I'll hold them off."

She hesitated for a split second, torn between her brother and her boyfriend. But Marcus gave her a firm shove. "Go, Jem!"

She didn't need to be told again. Ignoring the searing pain in her arm, she sprinted toward the sound of the struggle.

Jay was holding his own, but his opponent was skilled. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, and his breathing was labored. Jemima didn't hesitate. She raised her gun, aiming for the attacker's leg.

The shot rang out, and the man crumpled to the ground with a pained grunt. Jay glanced at her, relief flashing in his eyes.

"Nice timing," he muttered, wiping the blood from his brow.

“Wouldn’t want my man to be skewered,” Jemima said smugly.

“Wouldn’t you love to eat?” Jay winked, hinting at a different meaning.

Jemima smirked, but the moment was short-lived. More footsteps echoed in the distance.

"We've got company," she said.

Jay grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the edge of the docks. "We need to regroup with Marcus and get out of here. Fast!"

****
Back at the Safe House

Diane paced again, her movements becoming more frantic. Her phone buzzed with a message. She snatched it up, reading it quickly. It was from Ava.

“Any updates? I'm worried sick.”

Diane typed back, her fingers trembling slightly.

“No news yet, hopefully your father has it under control. We can only hope Alan doesn’t trigger any memory in Jemima.”

Ava's response came quickly.

“I need to be there. I can't just sit here. I need to make sure she doesn’t remember.”

Diane sighed. She understood the sentiment all too well.

“Not yet. Be with the boys.”

****

Back at the docks, the situation was growing dire. Marcus was pinned down, his ammunition running low. Jemima and Jay managed to circle back to him, but the odds were stacked against them.

"We can't hold them off much longer," Marcus said, his voice grim.

Jemima's mind raced. They needed an out, and fast. Her eyes darted to the water beyond the docks, an idea forming.

"We jump," she said.

Marcus stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Are you serious?"

"They won't expect it," she argued. "It's our best shot."

Jay looked between them, then nodded. "She's right. We're out of options."

Reluctantly, Marcus agreed. Together, they made their way to the edge of the docks, dodging bullets as they went.

"On three," Jemima said, her voice steady despite the chaos. "One... two... three!"

They leaped into the icy water below, the shock of the cold stealing the breath from their lungs.

****
Alan's POV

From the safety of a nearby warehouse, Alan watched the scene unfold through binoculars. A smirk tugged at his lips as he lit another cigarette.

"They're resourceful," he muttered to himself.

Behind him, the scarred man appeared, his expression grim. "They escaped."

Alan exhaled a plume of smoke, unbothered. "For now. But they're playing right into my father’s hands."

"What's next?" the scarred man asked.

Alan's smirk widened. "We wait. It's only a matter of time before they lead us to what we want."

****

Jemima, Marcus, and Jay dragged themselves onto the shore, soaked and shivering but alive.

"That was insane," Marcus muttered, wringing out his shirt.

"But it worked," Jemima said, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

Jay glanced at her arm, his expression darkening. "We need to get you patched up."

“Not now babe,” Jemima breathed, her teeth clattering against the other- the cold was getting to her. She wrung out more water from her clothes.

“Don’t be stubborn Jem…”

Jemima waved him off. "Later. Right now, we need to figure out our next move."

Despite the exhaustion weighing on them, the determination in her voice was unshakable. They weren't out of the woods yet, but Jemima wasn't about to give up.

Not now. Not ever.