The shout echoes across the lot, and suddenly everything goes to shit.
Gunfire erupts.
Muzzle flashes light up the darkness.
I'm moving on instinct, taking cover behind a rusted shipping container, returning fire.
One trafficker goes down.
Then another.
But there are more than we thought—ten, twelve, spilling out of the warehouse like roaches.
"Fuck!" Hakon's voice in my ear. "They were waiting for us!"
A trap.
They knew we were coming.
"Push forward!" Fenrir commands. "Get to the vehicles!"
I break from cover, sprinting toward the van.
The kids.
I have to get to the kids.
Bullets whip past me.
I fire back, drop one man, keep moving.
Twenty feet from the van.
Fifteen.
Ten.
I can see them through the window now—small faces pressed against the glass, terrified eyes finding mine.
I'm almost there.
Almost—
I see him at the last second.
One of the men from the bar—the nervous younger one, except he's not nervous anymore.
He's coming at me from the right, something glinting in his hand.
I try to turn, try to bring my gun up.
Too slow.
The blade catches me in the side.
White-hot pain explodes through my body.
I stagger, grab the man's arm, slam my elbow into his face.
