The Surrogate He Discarded

Morgan’s head snapped toward the warehouse as a single gunshot shattered the silence.

His expression darkened instantly.

”Damn it.”

He yanked the earpiece closer.

”Who fired?”

”They’re putting Isobel in danger.”

”Boss,” Jack replied, his voice crackling through the comms, ”it wasn’t our team. I already confirmed it. None of our men have opened fire.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed.

”Then who?”

A tense pause followed.

Then a series of gunfire was heard.

Morgan’s face darkened.

”There are new vehicles entering the compound.”

Jack’s voice grew more urgent.

”I think it’s the police.”

Morgan cursed under his breath.

Everything had just become more complicated.

Without another word, he sprinted toward the rear of the warehouse.

”Let’s go to the back. There is a fire escape there,” he barked.

”We can reach the second floor from there.”

His men immediately fell in behind him, boots pounding across the gravel as they raced through the darkness.

Morgan’s gaze never left the silhouette of the warehouse.

”Move.”

”We’re not losing her tonight.”

...

Meanwhile, at the second floor, Kristoff slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt into place. The metal lock clicked with a hollow sound that seemed far too fragile against the chaos outside.

It wouldn’t stop them.

But it might steal a few precious seconds.

Gunfire exploded through the warehouse, each shot echoing against the steel walls.

His jaw clenched.

Was it the police?

Or was it the enemies of the kidnappers who finally caught up with them?

He had no time to ponder.

Snatching the nearest wooden chair, he swung it with all his strength at the fire-exit door. The metal door opened. A gust of cold night air rushed inside as the door flew open.

Kristoff hurried to the edge.

His stomach tightened.

The emergency staircase had been raised, leaving a drop of nearly two meters to the ground below.

Not enough to kill him. But enough to injure him or Isobel.

His eyes darted toward the front of the warehouse. More gunshots rang out—closer now. The sharp gunshots blended with angry shouts and the pounding of boots.

Whoever was fighting had forced their way inside.

It was now or never.

Kristoff dropped into a crouch.

”Get on my back.”

Isobel’s gaze flickered to the yawning gap beyond the fire exit. The ground looked impossibly far beneath them, swallowed by shadows.

She hesitated.

”Now.”

The quiet authority in his voice cut through her fear.

Without another word, she climbed onto his back.

Her arms slipped around his shoulders, trembling as she clung to him.

”Hold on.”

She nodded against his shoulder.

”Tighter.”

She tightened her grip until her fingers ached, her knuckles turning white.

Kristoff rose to his feet, adjusting her weight with practiced ease.

”Wrap your legs around my waist.”

She obeyed without question, locking herself against him.

For the briefest moment, neither of them moved.

The wind whistled through the open doorway.

Gunfire echoed somewhere in the darkness.

Then—

BANG!

The locked door convulsed under a brutal kick.

Wood splintered.

Another impact followed.

The hinges screamed.

”Damn it!”

Another crash followed, harder this time.

”Who bolted this door from the inside?”

The furious voice was followed by another brutal kick. The hinges groaned, and splinters burst from the wooden frame.

Kristoff drew a slow breath.

One chance.

That was all they had.

He backed up a few steps.

Then he ran and launched himself into the night.

For a heartbeat, the world disappeared beneath them.

Isobel felt nothing except the wind rushing past her face. Her stomach lurched as they hung weightless in the darkness, suspended between the warehouse and the unforgiving ground below.

A scream clawed at her throat, but she bit it back.

Gunfire erupted behind them.

Sharp. Relentless. Terrifyingly close.

She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face against Kristoff’s shoulder, praying he wouldn’t lose his footing.

They hit the ground.

The impact rattled every bone in Kristoff’s body.

His knees bent deeply to absorb the force before he rolled his weight forward, his martial arts training taking over on instinct. Pain shot through his legs, but he ignored it. As long as Isobel hadn’t been hurt, nothing else mattered.

Kristoff caught his balance, every muscle protesting from the impact.

Just a few more steps.

Beyond the strip of open ground, dense reeds swayed in the darkness. Once they reached them, they would disappear into the night.

He shifted Isobel’s weight and took a step.

Then another.

A sharp metallic click shattered the silence.

Another.

Then several more.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Kristoff stopped.

He couldn’t see them.

But he didn’t need to.

Every instinct screamed the same warning.

They were surrounded.

He felt the invisible weight of gun barrels trained on him from the darkness, each one waiting for the slightest wrong move.

The night seemed to hold its breath.

Then a voice, cold enough to freeze the blood in his veins, drifted from the shadows.

”Put her down.”

The command was calm but sharp.

A heartbeat later, the voice delivered the rest.

”Or you die.”

Kristoff froze. He knew that voice.

Morgan Foster.

Slowly, he turned.

The last person he had expected to see.

Why was Morgan here? Had he come to rescue Isobel?

How did he arrived so fast?

Kristoff answered his own question. Of course, he must have a tracking device on Isobel.

...

Slowly, Kristoff loosened his grip on Isobel’s legs.

”You can get down now. They aren’t enemies,” he murmured.

She slid from his back, her legs buckling the instant they touched the ground. The jarring leap had left them weak and trembling.

Before she could fall, Kristoff caught her by the waist and gently steadied her.

A sharp crack split the night.

Bang!

Something hissed past Kristoff’s ear.

Instinct made him flinch as the bullet vanished into the darkness behind him.

A warning shot.

The message couldn’t have been clearer.

One more move...

And the next bullet wouldn’t miss.

Kristoff slowly released Isobel and raised both hands, palms open to the darkness.

”I am not your enemy,” he called, his voice calm despite the hammering of his heart. ”Don’t shoot.”

Before anyone answered, Isobel stepped forward.

”Morgan!”

Her voice broke as she called his name.

”It’s Kristoff! He saved me!”

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

The gun barrels remained fixed on Kristoff.

The night was eerily still. Then the shadows shifted.

Morgan stepped into the pale moonlight.

The pistol in his hand remained unwavering, but the fury on his face faltered.

His eyes swept over Isobel, searching frantically for injuries.

Only when he saw that she was standing—shaken but alive—did the rigid line of his jaw loosen.

His gaze shifted to Kristoff.

Disbelief flickered across his face.

”...Kristoff?”

He froze.