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"Stay low, stay close," I growl, leading her towards the hidden back exit.

We slip out into the night, the sounds of shouting and gunfire fading behind us. The path to the boat dock is treacherous with tangled roots and sucking mud, but Pamela doesn't complain, keeping pace beside me.

Finally, the small dock comes into view, our getaway boat bobbing gently in the dark water. I help Pamela in, then quickly untie the mooring line.

Just as I'm about to jump in, a shout rings out from the trees. A figure emerges, gun raised. Without thinking, I lunge forward, tackling him into the murky water.

We grapple in the shallows, his gun lost in the initial impact. He's strong, but I'm stronger. My hands find his throat, squeezing. For a moment, I see the fear in his eyes, feel the life ebbing from him.

"Koda!" Pamela's voice cuts through the red haze of violence. "We need to go!"

I release my grip, leaving the man gasping and sputtering in the water. In one fluid motion, I heave myself into the boat and gun the engine. Only when I'm sure we're not being followed do I slow down, turning to check on Pamela.

She's huddled in the bottom of the boat, shivering despite the warm night air. Without a word, I pull her into my arms, feeling her slim body shaking against my chest.

"It's okay," I murmur, my voice rough with adrenaline and emotion. "You're safe now. I've got you."

Pamela looks up at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I was so scared," she whispers. "When I heard the gunshots I thought..."

"Shh," I soothe, running a hand through her tangled hair. "It'll take more than a few thugs to take me down."

She manages a weak smile, then her gaze falls to my injured arm. "You're still bleeding. Let me look at it."

As Pamela tends to my wound with supplies from the emergency bag, I steer the boat deeper into the bayou. My mind is racing, trying to figure out our next move. They compromised our safe house, and we're back to square one.

But as I look down at Pamela, her brow furrowed in concentration as she wraps a bandage around my arm, I know what I must do. I'll keep her safe, no matter what it takes.

"Where will we go now?" she asks, finishing with the bandage and looking up at me.

I take a deep breath, considering our options. "I've got one more place we can lay low. It's not as comfortable as the cabin, but it's secure. We'll hole up there, figure out our next move."

Pamela nods, trust clear in her eyes. It humbles me, that faith. Makes me want to be worthy of it.

As we speed through the dark waters of the bayou, leaving behind the shattered peace of the past weeks, I make a silent vow. I'll end this threat, whatever it takes. Not just because it's my job, but because Pamela deserves a life free from fear. A life where she can pursue her dreams, share her incredible cooking with the world.

A life, maybe, that includes me.

The thought should scare me, instead it fills me with a fierce determination. We've survived this night. We'll survive whatever comes next.

Nine

Pamela

The dock creaks under our feet as we disembark from the speedboat, the gentle lapping of water against wood the only sound in the pre-dawn stillness. Koda's massive form moves with surprising stealth, his yellow eyes scanning our surroundings for any sign of threat.

"This way," he grunts, leading me towards a tarp-covered shape at the edge of the dock.

With a swift motion, he unveils a sleek, menacing-looking motorcycle. It's all black and chrome, a machine built for speed and power. Just like its owner.

"Hop on," Koda orders, swinging his leg over the seat. "And hold on tight."

I hesitate for a moment, the events of the night still swirling in my mind with the crash of the cabin door giving way, the deafening gunshots, the terror of not knowing if Koda was alive or dead. But there's no time for fear now. I climb onto the bike behind Koda, wrapping my arms around his waist.

The engine roars to life, and we're off, tearing down empty roads as the world slowly wakes around us. The wind whips at my hair, carrying away the last traces of smoke and gunpowder. I press my face against Koda's broad back, seeking warmth and comfort in his solid presence.

After what feels like hours, Koda slows the bike, pulling into a deserted rest stop. The fluorescent lights of the empty parking lot cast an eerie glow in the early morning light.

"I need to make some calls," he says, pulling out a burner phone I didn't know he had. "Stay with the bike, keep your eyes open. If anyone approaches?—"