Chapter Eight: Walking the Line

Storage unit 247 sat in the middle of an industrial wasteland, surrounded by identical metal boxes that baked under the noon sun. Raven pulled her car into the dusty lot, scanning for any signs of surveillance or trap. The Diamondbacks weren't known for their subtlety, but Venom struck her as the type who preferred chess to checkers.

Her phone buzzed: Blue Honda, license plate starts with 7G. Keys under rear bumper. Drive to Pier 19, warehouse with the red door. Leave package on desk, take envelope. One hour. - V

Simple enough, but Raven knew that simple jobs in the criminal world often had the most dangerous complications. She found the Honda exactly where Venom had indicated, a nondescript sedan that blended perfectly into urban traffic. The keys were magnetic-locked to the underside of the bumper, and when she popped the trunk, she found a manila envelope sealed with tape.

She didn't open it—that would be a rookie mistake—but she could feel the weight and shape. Documents, most likely. Financial records, contracts, or intelligence that the Diamondbacks needed moved without digital traces. The kind of courier work that required someone with a clean face and no criminal record.

If only they knew.

The drive to Pier 19 took her through the heart of Diamondback territory, past businesses that she now recognized as fronts and strongholds. She made mental notes for her next report to Jax, cataloguing security measures and personnel while maintaining the facade of a nervous newcomer just trying to follow orders.

The warehouse was exactly as described—a massive concrete structure with a bright red door that stood out like a beacon. Raven parked the Honda and approached on foot, every sense alert for danger. The door was unlocked, opening onto a cavernous space filled with shipping containers and the smell of salt water and diesel fuel.

A desk sat in the middle of the warehouse, illuminated by a single overhead light. Following instructions, she placed the manila envelope on its surface and looked around for the envelope she was supposed to collect. It was tucked under a ledger, thick with cash that she could feel through the paper.

"First job?"

Raven spun around, her hand instinctively moving toward the knife concealed in her jacket. A man emerged from behind one of the shipping containers—tall, lean, with the kind of predatory stillness that marked him as dangerous. She recognized him from the Saints' intelligence files: Snake, one of Venom's enforcers and the man responsible for several gruesome executions.

"Yes," she replied, keeping her voice steady. "Just following orders."

Snake approached slowly, his eyes never leaving her face. "You're the one asking questions about Michael Rodriguez. Heard you had some interesting conversations with Tessa and the boss."

"I'm just trying to understand what happened to someone I cared about," Raven said, playing the grieving girlfriend role. "Venom said working for you might help me find answers."

"Might," Snake agreed, circling her like a shark. "Or it might get you killed. Depends on how smart you are, how well you follow orders, and whether you can keep your mouth shut about things that aren't your business."

He stopped directly in front of her, close enough that she could smell cigarettes and gun oil on his clothes. "Let me give you some advice, sweetheart. Michael Rodriguez died because he forgot his place. Started thinking he was more important than he was, started making decisions that weren't his to make. You want to avoid his fate, you remember that you're just a courier. You pick up packages, you drop them off, you don't ask questions about what's inside."

"Understood," Raven nodded, projecting the right combination of fear and determination.

Snake's smile was all teeth and malice. "Good. Because if you disappoint Venom, if you cause problems for this organization, you won't just disappear quietly like your boyfriend. We'll make sure your death sends a message that lasts."

The threat hung in the air between them as Snake walked away, disappearing back into the maze of shipping containers. Raven waited until she heard a door slam in the distance before allowing herself to breathe normally again. Her hands were shaking as she pocketed the envelope and headed back to the Honda.

The drive back to the storage facility passed in a blur of adrenaline and analysis. She'd completed her first job for the Diamondbacks, but more importantly, she'd gathered intelligence about their operations and confirmed that Michael Rodriguez had indeed been working for them before his death. The fictional backstory was holding up under scrutiny.

She switched back to her own car and drove toward the Saints' clubhouse, her mind racing with everything she'd learned. The package exchange, Snake's threats, the layout of the warehouse—all of it would be valuable to Jax and his war council. But first, she needed to process what had just happened and prepare for whatever came next.

The clubhouse was buzzing with activity when she arrived, men moving with purpose and urgency that suggested something major was in motion. She found Jax in the garage, bent over the engine of his Harley, his powerful forearms flexed as he worked. His long dark hair was tied back, revealing the strong line of his neck and the intricate tattoos that covered his shoulders.

"How did it go?" he asked without looking up, but she could hear the tension in his voice.

"Better than expected," Raven replied, moving closer to watch him work. Even focused on mechanical tasks, there was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, the careful precision of his large hands as they manipulated tools and engine parts.

"Define better."

"I completed the job without incident, met one of Venom's enforcers, and confirmed that Michael Rodriguez was indeed working for them before his death." She paused, watching as he straightened and turned to face her. "I also learned that they kill people who ask too many questions or step out of line."

Jax's hazel eyes darkened with concern. "They threaten you?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said, though the memory of Snake's cold smile still sent chills down her spine.

"That's not what I asked." He moved closer, and she could see grease stains on his black t-shirt, could smell the combination of motor oil and masculine scent that was uniquely his. "Did they threaten you?"

"Snake made it clear that disappointing Venom would be bad for my health," she admitted. "But that's expected. They're testing me, seeing if I'll break under pressure."

Jax's jaw clenched, and she could see the effort it was taking him to control his temper. "I don't like this. You're getting in too deep, too fast."

"It's what we planned," Raven reminded him. "The deeper I get, the more valuable intelligence I can gather. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," he said, his voice dropping to that husky tone that made her pulse quicken. "But that doesn't mean I have to like watching you walk into danger."

The air between them charged with electricity, the same magnetic pull that had been building since their first meeting. Jax's eyes traveled over her face, lingering on her lips, and she could see the hunger there, barely held in check by his iron self-control.

"Jax," she whispered, taking a step closer.

"We can't," he said, but his resolve was wavering. "Not here, not now. Too many people, too many complications."

"Then where?" The question slipped out before she could stop it, bold and direct in a way that surprised them both.

His hands came up to frame her face, thumbs stroking across her cheekbones as he studied her with those incredible hazel eyes. "When this job is done, when you're safe from the Diamondbacks, we'll figure this out. But right now, I need you focused on staying alive."

"What if I don't want to wait?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, she thought he might give in, might pull her against him and damn the consequences. But then footsteps echoed in the garage, and they sprang apart as Diesel appeared in the doorway.

"Prez, we got word from our contact in the police department," Diesel announced. "The Diamondbacks are planning something big. Moving product tomorrow night, but they're using routes we've never seen before."

Jax's expression shifted instantly from desire to deadly focus. "How big?"

"Big enough that they're pulling in muscle from three other cities. Whatever they're moving, it's worth a war."

As the men discussed strategy and logistics, Raven felt the weight of her double life pressing down on her. She was supposed to be gathering intelligence on the Diamondbacks, but instead she was falling deeper under the spell of Jax Savage, a man whose touch could make her forget every careful plan and calculated risk.

The war between the Saints and Diamondbacks was escalating, and she was caught in the middle with divided loyalties and a heart that was becoming increasingly difficult to control. One wrong move, one moment of weakness, and she could destroy everything they'd worked for.

But as she watched Jax command his men with natural authority, his powerful frame radiating confidence and danger in equal measure, she wondered if she was strong enough to resist the pull between them.

Some attractions were worth any risk.

Even if they got you killed.