Strapped down, IVs taped to their arms, eyes glassy with sedation. Breathing, but barely.
Raine’s hand clutched a girl’s, her voice soft, breaking. I couldn’t let myself stay in that moment. Not now. Later, maybe. But right now, they were still in the line of fire.
“Move!” I barked.
Hawk hauled the driver to the asphalt, zip-tied and gagged before he could spit another word. Logan covered the left flank, his pistol flashing as two masked men made a final desperate push. Blade slipped between them, silent and merciless, steel flashing red under the headlights.
Russ’s voice crackled in over comms, tight but calm.“Perimeter’s holding. Boone says no reinforcements on the feed—yet.”
“Not good enough,” I growled. “We strip this truck and roll before they regroup.”
Hawk vaulted into the trailer, his rifle slung as he started cutting restraints. “They’re sedated heavy,” he said, voice grim. “Not walking out on their own.”
“Then we carry them,” I snapped.
Blade slid into the trailer, his movements efficient, unhooking IV lines like paper. Logan cursed but followed, lifting a man off a gurney and slinging him over his shoulder.
I turned to Raine, her face pale but fierce as she steadied the girl’s arm. “Get her loose. We’ll cover you.”
Her eyes locked on mine, steady. “She’s coming out.”
Another burst of gunfire rattled the bridge. I leaned out, dropping the last masked man with a single shot. The silence that followed was heavy, too heavy, the kind that warned this wasn’t over.
“Two minutes!” I barked. “Everyone moves or I torch this truck where it stands.”
Raine flinched but kept working, her fingers gentle, precise. Hawk hauled another victim down the ramp, Russ appearing at his side to take the weight. Blade shoved one more free, his eyes scanning the road even as his hands never slowed.
Logan staggered past me with his burden, sweat running down his face, his voice rough. “This isn’t a shipment. It’s a slaughterhouse.”
My chest burned, fury boiling like acid.
“Not anymore,” I said.
I fired one last glance inside the truck. Twelve souls, barely clinging to life, pulled from the jaws of hell. My men moving like a machine, Raine steady in the storm.
This wasn’t the victory. Not yet.
But it was proof.
And proof meant the bastards behind this had just made their first mistake. And someone better do something this time, or all hell will break loose.
80
Raine
The flashing red lights at the hospital felt like salvation. After hours of chaos, gunfire, and cold storage nightmares, the convoy of battered SUVs rolled under the glow of floodlights. Nurses and doctors poured out to meet us, gurneys already waiting.
I climbed out with the girl still clinging weakly to my hand. Her lips were cracked, her skin gray, but when the nurse touched her shoulder she whispered one word—“Mama.”
The sound split me open.
The nurse nodded quickly. “We’ve been calling families since you radioed ahead. She’ll see her mother tonight.”
Tears stung my eyes. For a moment I couldn’t breathe.
Behind me, Hawk and Logan hauled another man onto a stretcher, Russ guiding them with calm efficiency. Blade, expression unreadable, carried a boy who couldn’t have been more than twelve, his small arm dangling over Blade’s broad shoulder. Even he softened when the boy stirred against his chest.
The hospital staff worked fast, triaging IV lines, checking vitals, wheeling the survivors into the ER. One by one, they were swallowed by the bright doors. Safe.
