Chapter 9: Into the Glades – The Abduction
Miami sweltered under a blood-orange sunset. Vice HQ buzzed as Captain Steele paced, jaw clenched.
“Cherry’s gone,” she announced grimly. “Last seen leaving Rico’s place around 2 a.m. GPS went dark near the edge of the Everglades.”
Zinshed slammed a fist on the table. “She was tracking Victor’s leftover network. We thought we shut them down—”
Salty’s face hardened. “We didn’t.”
Delphine stood. “We get her back. Or we burn the swamp.”
“Subtle,” Lila muttered. “But I’m in.”
Operation Everglade Reign began at dawn. The team suited up—drenched in bug spray, armed with machetes, heat-sensing drones, and just enough attitude to scare off crocodiles.
A grimy trail led them deep into the Glades, to a rundown shack surrounded by surveillance gear and... men in gator-skin vests.
“They’re stylish and evil,” Rico whispered, binoculars up. “Yup, she’s in there. And look who’s guarding her—Victor’s brother, Valentine Kane. Real psycho vibes.”
Cue synchronized takedown. Fists, flashbangs, alligators getting confused and running away.
Inside, Cherry sat tied to a chair, chewing gum. “Took you long enough.”
“You didn’t look worried,” Zinshed said.
“Wasn’t. I had a nail file in my bra. You know me.”
Valentine emerged from the back room, shirtless, scarred, and holding a grenade launcher.
“Let’s dance!” he screamed.
He fired—and the shack exploded. The team scattered. Salty shielded Lila. Delphine and Zinshed dove into the swamp, guns up.
From the smoke, Valentine appeared again, like a ghost of Miami’s bad decisions. But Cherry was already behind him—nail file in hand.
She jabbed his leg, Rico tackled him with a gator-wrestling leap, and Zinshed cuffed him mid-splash.
Mission complete.
As the dust settled and the sun rose over the swamp, Salty turned to Lila.
“We almost lost one of our own.”
“You didn’t,” Lila whispered, lips brushing his. “Not today.”
But their story wasn’t over yet…
Chapter 10: The Heat Never Sleeps – Salty’s Sendoff
One week later, the Vice squad threw the wildest rooftop party Miami had ever seen—music, fireworks, and a strictly optional clothing dress code.
Cherry wore thigh-high boots and zero regrets. Rico DJed shirtless. Zinshed actually danced. Delphine twirled in his arms, softer now, smiling.
Captain Steele drank straight from the bottle, muttering “retirement is a lie.”
Salty arrived fashionably late.
Wearing nothing but white pants, sunglasses, and a grin that said trouble just clocked out.
Behind him? Lila... and two other women.
“Is this a Vice party or a harem audition?” Cherry asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lila rolled her eyes. “He’s charming, not mine.”
Yet as the night wore on, the lines blurred.
Salty danced with Lila, kissed her like he meant forever—then somehow ended up entangled with a trio of admirers: a Swedish embassy officer, a Cuban salsa instructor, and one of Steele’s daughters (oops).
The next morning?
Salty’s bed looked like an after-hours photoshoot.
Silk sheets, scattered dresses, and him in the middle of it all, sipping espresso shirtless as sunlight streamed through penthouse windows.
Zinshed called. “You alive?”
Salty grinned. “Alive, exhausted, slightly bruised, but never better.”
“Season finale?”
“Wrap it with style, brother.”
And so, the curtain fell on Season 2.
The Vice squad stronger. Lovers found. Enemies buried.
And Sgt. Salty?
Well, he was exactly where he belonged.
In the heat.
In the sheets.
In Miami.
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