He scanned the east corridor—Rhys’s channel had gone quiet. Wherever he was, he trusted him to handle his flank.
Exhaling once, sharply, he forced down his own emotions. Lives depended on his clarity—Emily’s most of all.
He glanced toward the next skylight where Dev crouched, willing him to give the order. A beat later, he met his gaze and nodded before it came through his earpiece: “Move in.”
Alec rappelled through the open window, landing hard behind a stack of crates with his weapon up. More Devlin men and federal agents stormed through the doors in full tactical gear. The traffickers were now badly outnumbered.
“FBI! Don’t move!” an agent shouted.
Two guards fired and were taken out permanently.
Alec surged forward. He slammed a gunman taking aim into a support beam, disarmed him, and kept moving. Another raised his weapon—Dev’s shot dropped him before he could fire.
Benny whirled, knife up. Too slow.
Alec tackled him, driving him into the concrete. The blade skittered away. Benny fought, fists swinging wildly, but Alec had size and, more importantly, rage on his side. He landed one brutal punch to his face, cracking bone. Benny’s head smacked the floor. He lay motionless, not dead. A pity.
***
Rhys moved through the chaos—controlled, lethal. He’d already neutralized two guards. He spotted a woman being dragged behind the stage, short black skirt torn, top stretched and stained. She kicked and clawed, fighting with everything she had. The thug hauling her away was twice her size, but she wasn’t giving up.
He didn’t hesitate. He snatched up a folding chair and swung. Metal slammed against the thug’s head with a brutal crack. The man staggered but didn’t go down, although he did release the girl.
“Bloody hell.” Rhys lunged, tackling him into a stack of crates. Wood splintered. A hook to his jaw, a knee to the ribs, and a vicious elbow drop later, the bastard slumped to the floor, out cold.
“A rescue right out of the WWE,” a shaky voice whispered. “Your timing could have been a little better. Sooner, maybe.”
Rhys turned. “Gaby?”
She stood against the wall, shaking, eyes too bright. “Hi, Rhys,” she said, lifting her hand in a weak wave. Then her face crumpled, and she launched herself at him. He caught her instantly, arms locking around her.
She smelled of fear and a sharp chemical tang as he held her close.
***
“All clear,” Dev called in his ear.
“Shit. That was too easy,” Mateo muttered.
“Denali?” Alec demanded.
“He bolted out the back. I’m in pursuit,” Leland replied, sounding winded. “Don’t worry. His slaver ass is mine.”
“Emily!” Alec shouted, scrambling to his feet.
She broke from a cluster of girls behind the stage and ran straight into him, sobbing. He caught her mid-stride and hauled her against his chest.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice raw.
“Enzo escaped,” she choked out.
“Not now. Leland’s on him,” Alec assured her, pressing his face into her hair. Sirens wailed as federal teams swarmed the building. “Everyone else is going away for a long time. You’re safe now, baby.”
***
Rhys heard the all clear. One mission down. Another was beginning, however—because Gaby was shaking against him, and none of this made sense.
He hadn’t a clue where to start, so he asked her. “What are you doing here?”
