Not by a long shot.
56
Raine
The storm had passed, but its shadow lingered in the hollow eyes of the rescued. I walked through the makeshift shelter the Rangers had set up in a church basement, the smell of wet clothes and strong coffee hanging heavy in the air.
Mothers clutched their children too tightly, fathers sat with their backs to the walls, as if bracing for another wave that hadn’t yet come. Faces pale, clothes torn, hands trembling. Survivors—but barely.
I crouched beside a boy no older than ten, his knees drawn to his chest. His mother stroked his hair, her eyes glazed with shock.
“You’re safe now,” I whispered, even though the words felt thin. I glanced at the mother, offering what little strength I could. “The men who took you—they won’t touch you again.”
The boy’s head jerked up, eyes wide. “They said they wouldn’t kill us.”
My heart stopped. “What do you mean?”
“They said… they said we were too valuable.” His voice shook. “Said they had to keep us in good shape… for the doctors.”
The mother’s face crumpled, fresh tears streaming. She shook her head, clutching him tighter, but he kept going, desperate to get it out.
“They said they were preserving organs. That some of us were worth more alive. That…” He buried his face in his mother’s chest, sobs breaking through.
I couldn’t breathe. The words hit me like a bullet, colder than the rain, sharper than the storm.
Preserving organs.
The pieces snapped together—the delayed backup, the vanished bodies, the masked men who hadn’t fought to the death but retreated like predators measuring their prey.
This wasn’t just kidnapping. This was harvesting.
I rose slowly, my legs unsteady, my ribs screaming with every breath. Across the room, Adam had just stepped inside, scanning for me. The second his eyes locked on mine, he knew something was wrong.
I crossed the floor, my voice low, urgent, only for him. “They weren’t going to kill them, Adam. They were keeping them alive. For their organs.”
His face went still. Hard.
And in that silence, I knew one thing with terrifying clarity.
The ridge hadn’t been about winning or losing.
It had been about inventory.
57
Adam
The second Raine’s words hit me, I felt the ground shift.
Organs. Preserving them. Inventory.
I’d seen cartel operations, warlords, black-market deals. But this—this was different. This was organized. Industrial. Not some back-alley butchers—it was logistics. Science. Supply and demand.
And someone had decided to use my ridge as their testing ground.
Back in the motel lot, I gathered my men. Hawk sat stiff on the hood of the SUV, his bandaged arm propped against his knee. Russ crouched low, a notebook open, already sketching timelines and connections. Blade leaned in the shadows, knife twirling slow between his fingers. Logan stood just outside the circle, restless, but this time no one pushed him back.
“They weren’t taking hostages for ransom,” I said. My voice carried, hard and flat. “They were preserving people. For their organs.”
