They took her.
Rage hits like a freight train, hot, blinding, roaring through every vein. My vision tunnels. My hands shake, but not from fear, from fury.
I’m going to kill them.
All of them.
I hit the radio. “Gray. They took her. Cabin’s trashed. I’m coming to ops.”
Gray’s voice cuts through, grim, steady. “Copy. Team’s assembling. Get here.”
I run to my truck and drive as fast as I can to the barn where our ops room is located.
The ops room is already alive when I burst in. Gray at the head of the table, face carved from stone. Mae is at her station, fingers flying as she pulls feeds from every camera. Symon is loading magazines into his vest, jaw tight, eyes burning. Maverick stands silent in the corner, sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, the whetstone singing against steel like a death knell.
Gray looks up. Sees my face. Knows.
“They got her,” I say. Voice flat. Dead. “Door blown. Skillet on the floor. Blood on it. Her laptop’s gone.”
Symon slams a magazine home. “Motherfuckers.”
Gray’s voice is ice. “Sitrep. What do we have?”
Mae speaks first. “Cameras caught three men in black tactical gear and masks, moving in from the north treeline at 16:48. They breached the door at 16:51. SUV plates were clean, no match in any database. They headed south on County Road 12. Last ping at 17:03, at the old warehouse district outside town. Abandoned feed mill. We’ve got thermal from the drone. There are four heat signatures inside. One small. One pacing. Two stationary.”
My hands clench. “She’s alive.”
Gray nods. “For now.”
Symon cracks his neck. “Then we move. Now.”
Gray’s eyes meet mine. “You lead.”
I nod once.
We gear up fast. I strap on extra mags, check my Glock, and slide a knife into my boot. My mind is focused, lethal.
Gray pulls me aside before we roll out. “You’re too close.”
“I know.”
“You can’t think straight if you’re emotional.”
My voice is flat. “I’m furious. They took something that’s mine. I’m going to get her back.”
Gray studies me. Nods. “Bring her home.”
I will.
We load into two blacked-out Suburbans. Gray drives lead. I’m in the passenger seat, rifle across my lap, staring at the road like it personally betrayed me.
Symon is in the back. “We hit hard. Fast. No prisoners unless they surrender.”
Maverick’s voice is quiet. “They won’t.”
“Good,” I answer back.
The warehouse district is a ghost town with rusted silos, broken windows, and acres of cracked concrete. We stage two miles out. Drones overhead. Thermal shows four signatures inside the main building. One small and curled in a corner. Megan.
