Carlos made his entrance then, an overconfident waddle set to the rhythm of his own misguided bravado. His bald head shone under the weak lights like a beacon of idiocy. He spread his arms as if he were about to embrace them or perhaps takeflight—though it would take more than hubris to lift him off the ground.
“Bienvenido! Bienvenido!”Carlos chuckled, spreading his arms as if he were about to offer a hug instead of a bullet. “I can’t believe you actually came because of a boy.” He laughed again, the sound grating on Matt’s already frayed nerves. “And all four of you too.”
Matt’s response was instinctive, hands clenched at his sides, his fury barely contained. “Where’s Andy?” he demanded, voice low and dangerous—a growl from the depths of a beast roused to wrath.
Carlos feigned thoughtfulness. “We’re here to do a deal, are we not, Señor Caine?” He tipped his head mockingly. “No deal, no boy.” The arrogance oozed from him like oil from a slick.
The taunt was a match to gasoline; Matt felt the flames lick up his spine. “You can shove your deal,” he spat.
From beside him, Tory piped up with feigned disappointment, lighthearted as ever despite the gravity of their situation. “Damn, Matt, no fun tonight? Just endless jabber?”
Matt could almost appreciate Tory’s attempt to slice through the tension with humor—if the situation weren’t so damn dire. Every second wasted on Carlos’ theatrics was another second Andy was in danger.
“Listen up,” he shot back at Carlos. “No deal. Your trash won’t taint my city. Now bring me Andy.”
Carlos recoiled as if slapped; rejection wasn’t in his playbook. He puffed up like an indignant rooster facing down an unruly henhouse. “You’ll all die here!” he blustered.
Matt met Carlos’ fury with an arctic smile. “You’re mistaken,” he corrected him coolly. “You’re the one who won’t walk away.”
Carlos sputtered on the backdraft of his own rage—his brain short-circuiting between fear and anger—then issued hiscommand like a petulant child denied his toy. “Shoot them! Kill them all!”
Matt’s world narrowed to the pinpoint focus of survival and rescue. He’d always had a talent for reading the room—call it a sixth sense for when the chips were about to fall. Now, every cell in his body screamed that this was the moment, the precipice of violence from which there was no turning back.
With the grace of a seasoned gunslinger, Matt drew his weapon, a fluid extension of his will. His finger caressed the trigger like a lover’s promise—swift, sure, and deadly. The report of the gun sliced through the chaos, and Carlos’ command died with him, a perfect circle of silence between his brows.
James, ever the sharpshooter, was a machine of lethality. His movements were fluid, each pull of the trigger ending with another enemy crumpling to the ground. He moved through the room with the grace of a dancer, deadly and unerring.
William dove low, rolling with feline agility across the grimy floor. He came up behind a rusted steel column, both guns drawn and firing in rapid succession. The sly smile that tugged at his lips spoke volumes; this was his element—chaos wrapped in gunpowder and steel.
Tory’s approach was art in motion. He flowed through the fight like water around stones—each kick, punch, and shot a seamless part of his choreography. His movements were an elegant blend of martial prowess and deadly accuracy, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.
The warehouse erupted into chaos—a storm of bullets and blood that turned the air metallic with violence. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off steel beams and concrete walls, adding brief flashes of light to the dim space. Bodies hit the floor one after another, their lives extinguished in rapid succession.
In minutes that felt like hours, silence fell as abruptly as it had shattered. The Mexicans lay sprawled in pools of their own making—blood turning the concrete dark and slick.
William sighed, holstering his weapon with a casual flourish. “Well, that was disappointingly brief.”
“Could’ve used more resistance,” Tory agreed, sliding his gun back into its concealed holster with a shrug.
Matt ignored their banter; his focus narrowed to a single purpose. He stormed toward the corridor, each step fueled by urgency and fear for Andy.
The four men set upon the doors like wolves upon sheep—kicking and bashing until wood splintered and metal bent.
It was William who found it—the last door guarding their prize. Matt’s heart thundered loudly in his chest as he descended into the depths of the building, his voice, usually so commanding, now trembled with raw fear. “Andy!” The name tore from his throat, a plea to the void that swallowed it whole.
He skidded to a halt at the sight before him. Andy lay sprawled on the cold concrete floor, his form as still as death. The sight was like a punch to Matt’s gut—a brutal, vicious assault on his senses. Andy looked like a discarded puppet whose strings had been cut, every bruise and streak of blood a testament to the cruelty he had endured.
Bile churned in Matt’s stomach; it was one thing to know about brutality, another to see its aftermath painted across someone he—God help him—cared about. His legs moved of their own accord, bringing him to Andy’s side in frantic steps.
Matt’s stomach twisted into a knot, his insides a roiling sea of dread and bile. He knelt beside Andy, hands trembling as they lifted the young man’s fragile form, and Andy’s head lolled back. Andy’s face was marred with wounds that told unspeakable stories, and Matt’s whole body trembled with the weight of it all.This wasn’t just any face—it was Andy’s: the plucky kid with the lightning wit who could spin laughter out of thin air.
Matt’s heart lurched. “Hey,” he croaked, voice barely a whisper over the lump in his throat.
Andy’s eyelids fluttered weakly, those brown eyes that once danced with mischief now dull with pain and confusion—a pair of glazed windows to a battered soul. “Matt… I’m not… hallucinating, am… I?” His voice was barely there—a ghost of sound.
“No, pet,” Matt assured him with all the tenderness of a confession whispered in the dark. “No hallucinations. I’ve got you.”
Relief washed over Andy’s features—a smile flickering there for just a moment before darkness claimed him again.
