“Positions. Now.”
The plan had sounded clean back at the motel. Block the road. Force the stop. Quick, precise, in and out. But nothing about the roar of engines bearing down on us felt clean. It felt like standing in the path of an avalanche.
Hawk swung the SUV across the bridge, headlights flooding the asphalt, blocking the single lane. The truck’s brakes screamed in protest, the convoy shuddering as the black SUVs fanned wide.
“Contact!” Hawk barked.
The world erupted.
The first SUV swerved, doors flying open before it even stopped. Men spilled out, masks down, rifles already raised. Gunfire cracked, bullets sparking against the guardrail. The sound tore through me—deafening, relentless.
“Out!” Adam’s hand shoved the door open, dragging me with him. My boots hit asphalt, my ribs jolting with pain, but I keptmoving. The pistol was in my hands before I knew it, muscle memory snapping into place.
I fired. One masked man stumbled back, another dropped. The recoil jarred up my arms, sharp and violent, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
Blade moved like a phantom, silent and merciless, his knife flashing under the strobe of muzzle fire. Hawk’s rifle barked steady bursts, controlled and precise. Logan shouted something I couldn’t hear over the storm, his pistol blazing as he cut down another.
Adam was a wall beside me, steady and unbreakable. He moved like he’d been born for this—because he had. Every step, every shot, covering me, shielding me, his voice barking orders I couldn’t even process through the chaos.
The refrigerated truck loomed in front of us, its engine still rumbling, driver hunched low behind the wheel. One of the black SUVs slammed sideways across the bridge, blocking escape.
We were boxed in.
A bullet sparked off the guardrail inches from my head. I dropped to a crouch, heart hammering, breath ragged. My hands shook, but my aim didn’t waver. Another masked man went down.
I should have been terrified. I was. But beneath the fear was something else—fury. Fury at the ridge. Fury at the clinic. Fury at the thought of what was locked inside that truck.
This wasn’t chaos anymore.
This was war. Will this war ever end?
77
Adam
Gunfire shredded the night. Sparks lit the guardrails, the bridge a cage of ricochets and shouting.
I moved low, controlled bursts from my Glock dropping one masked man after another. Hawk’s rifle thundered from the far side of the SUV, Logan firing sharp and fast beside him. Blade was already in the thick of it, knife flashing, efficient and brutal.
Raine was on my flank—steady, breathing hard, but holding her ground. Every instinct screamed to shove her behind me, shield her, drag her out. But then I saw the way her pistol barked steady, saw the masked man crumple under her shot, and I knew—she wasn’t here to be saved. She was here to fight.
“Keep pressure right!” I barked into comms. “Russ, status!”
Static. Then Russ’s voice, calm under fire:“Back vehicle neutralized. Driver fled, no sign of cargo. I’ve got Boone tracking.”
“Copy. Focus on containment.”
The refrigerated truck groaned, its engine still idling heavy, driver crouched low behind the wheel. That was the prize. Proof. Evidence. Maybe even lives inside, if we weren’t too late.
I dropped two more hostiles, then keyed comms again. “Blade—breach the truck!”
He didn’t hesitate, just sprinted low through the gunfire, sliding under the bumper of the SUV boxing us in. A masked man lunged for him, rifle raised, but Blade’s knife was faster, flashing once before the man folded.
“Driver!” Hawk roared, ripping the cab door open and dragging the man out by his collar. The driver kicked, screamed, but Hawk slammed him against the grill hard enough to rattle the hood.
I closed in, Raine at my side, her breath ragged but steady. Together we moved toward the rear of the truck, toward the locked doors.
Bullets still cracked across the bridge, but I barely heard them now. All I saw was that steel latch. All I heard was the hum of refrigeration in my memory.
