Silence.
They want to play. Let’s play.
I slap C four on the door, step back, and press both detonators.
The ground rumbles. The SUV shoots up in a ball of flames as the front door of the warehouse flies off its hinges. I peer through the scope of my AR-fifteen and enter the warehouse. The duffel bag crossing my body is filled with explosives and guns.
“What the fuck?” One of them shouts.
“Drop your fucking weapons,” I roar.
They all stand around Meridea, their guns drawn and pointed at her bound form in the center of the warehouse. She looks up at me with wide eyes.
“I’m here for my woman,” I snarl.
Glenn’s face turns crimson with rage. “What the fuck is going on?”
“You said you just met the guy.” The back of Glenns hand flies across her cheek.
“Don’t lay another fucking hand on my woman. She’s carrying my child,” I shout.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
She doesn’t believe me—not yet—but there’s no time for explanations.
Glenn levels his weapon at me, his hands steady.
“I’m a trained soldier,” I warn him. “I wouldn’t try that.”
But his finger tightens on the trigger.
“Drop your weapons,” my brothers’ voices command from behind Glenn and his crew.
One of the men shifts his aim, pointing his gun directly at Meridea’s head.
“Monty, you don’t want to do this,” she says through clenched teeth, her voice unwavering despite the danger.
“If you hurt her, I’ll make you suffer for days instead of hours,” I growl, my voice cold and lethal.
“You hate me that much, huh?” Meridea taunts, her tone sharp, baiting him.
“Yes,” he spits, his hand trembling as he points the gun at her. It’s clear now—Monty wanted Meridea for himself, and his bitterness fuels his rage.
I don’t wait. My shot finds its mark, shattering the gun from Monty’s hand. The weapon clatters to the concrete floor as he screams, clutching his bloody hand.
Then chaos erupts.
Shots ring out wildly from across the room. Meridea said there were five of them. They must’ve enlisted assistance from their sick following. A bullet strikes my abdomen.
“No,” Meridea cries out.
I don’t let it slow me down as I dive onto Meridea, bringing the chair down to the right.
Gunfire echoes all around us, the metallic smell of blood thick in the air. I can’t let her—or the tiny life growing inside her—get hurt.
Reaching down, I pull the switchblade from my boot and slice through the zip ties binding her wrists and ankles. The second she’s free, Meridea grabs the Glock from my waist holster and levels it at Glenn.
“You fucking asshole,” she roars, pulling the trigger. The shots hit true—one to his shoulder, another to his leg.
