"Rules of engagement," Zeke says, his voice hard. "We're going in to rescue captives and arrest traffickers. Deadly force is authorized if threatened, but we want prisoners who can testify. Especially Sergei Volkov. We need him alive."
He looks directly at me when he says it. Making sure I understand. Making sure I won't let rage override training.
"Understood," I say.
"Good." Zeke checks his watch. "Twenty-one hundred hours. Time to move."
We gather our gear. Final checks. Final confirmations. Harlow beside me, focused and deadly. Beautiful and terrifying all at once.
She catches my eye. "We survive this," she says. Not a question. A command.
"Both of us," I agree. "No exceptions."
Her fingers tighten on mine. A promise without words.
Outside is dark. Full dark with no moon. Perfect conditions for what we're about to do. The vehicles wait, engines off, hidden in the trees. Beyond them, the forest stretches black and infinite. And somewhere in that darkness, eight women wait to be rescued.
Sergei Volkov waits too, though he doesn't know it yet. The man who killed Emma. The man who thought he could murder a sheriff's wife and walk away clean.
Tonight we prove him wrong.
We load into the vehicles without speaking. Zeke takes point in his SUV with Nate and Caleb. Irving and Morris follow in the tactical van. Chris brings up the rear. Harlow and I climb into my truck, and as we pull out of the forestry station, heading toward the assault position, her hand finds mine in the darkness between us.
Her fingers lace through mine and squeeze once. A promise. A pact.
We may be walking into hell together, but it's better than walking in alone.
10
HARLOW
The convoy moves through darkness without headlights, navigating by night vision and GPS coordinates burned into memory during the briefing. I sit in the passenger seat of Rhys's truck, tactical vest tight across my chest, rifle between my knees. The weight is familiar. Comforting in ways it shouldn't be after two years away from this life.
But tonight I'm not running from who I was. Tonight I'm exactly where I need to be.
Rhys drives with the same controlled precision he does everything else. Hands steady on the wheel. Eyes scanning the road ahead through night vision goggles. We haven't spoken since leaving the forestry station. Don't need to. The silence between us isn't empty. It's full of everything we said, and didn't say, in that upstairs room. Every promise we made with our bodies and our words.
The radio crackles. Zeke's voice, barely above a whisper. "Rally point in two minutes. Kill engines and proceed on foot."
"Copy," Rhys says.
He pulls off the road into a stand of spruce trees. Zeke's SUV is already there, barely visible even with night vision.The tactical van carrying Irving and Morris slides in beside us. Chris's vehicle brings up the rear.
We exit the trucks without slamming doors. Every movement deliberate, minimizing sound. The cold hits immediately, sharp enough to burn lungs and sting exposed skin. My breath fogs in the air despite the darkness.
The team gathers in a loose circle. Zeke at the center, map spread on the hood of his SUV. The green glow of a tactical flashlight illuminates our faces in eerie detail.
"Final positions," Zeke says, voice low and hard. “No changes. Deadly force is authorized if threatened,"
Rhys's jaw tightens but he nods. We've been over this. Justice, not revenge. I can see the war raging behind his eyes, every instinct screaming at him to end Sergei right here.
Zeke looks at Rhys and me. “South team, you approach from here. Harlow enters the main holding building, secures the captives. Rhys provides cover and watches for runners. Once captives are secure, signal and we move. We want prisoners who can testify. Especially Sergei Volkov." Zeke's expression hardens. "He's the key to rolling up the network."
"Synchronized watches," Zeke says. "Mark on my count. Three, two, one, mark."
I press the button on my tactical watch. Zero-one-forty-five hours. Fifteen minutes until go time.
"Comms check," Zeke orders.
