I adjust the rifle slung across my back, boots pounding asphalt as I cut through the alley behind the warehouse. Raze is already ahead, that psychotic grin on his face as he tosses a grenade through a busted window.
It blows, ripping half the wall apart. The fireball lights up the sky. Screams follow.
I click into the comms. “All units, move in.”
Metal crunches under my boot as the force of my kick snaps the door frame. I’m inside before the noise dies, gun raised, already moving.
“Thames dies tonight.”
Gunfire erupts—idiots trying to defend their boss. I drop two before I hit cover. Blood sprays. One twitches. I shoot him again just to watch him stop.
“Split and sweep,” I bark into the comm. “Torch the exits. Not one of these fucking bastards leaves.”
Raze’s deranged laughter cracks through my earpiece. He’s a bloodthirsty bastard, exactly the second-in-command you need in a slaughter like this.
I reload and stalk deeper into the building. This is what I’m made for—killing rats in holes. I don’t feel adrenaline. I don’t feel shit. Just the void of a man born in hell, raised on violence, built to destroy.
I move toward a distant door, unloading death with every step. A figure lunges from the shadows, knife flashing. Ducking, I pivot and smash a roundhouse kick into his jaw, bone crunching beneath my steel-toed boot. He collapses. One bullet to the back makes sure he stays down.
I press on, navigating the maze of corridors. Near the back a crash echoes, and I raise my rifle, inching closer. Rounding a corner, a body slams into me, sending my rifle clattering across the cement floor.
A fist swings, nearly catching my jaw. I lurch forward, driving my knee into my attacker’s gut. They stumble, and I seize the moment, pinning them against the wall. My forearm presses into their throat, cutting off air. Their green eyes blaze.
What the hell?
Not a man. A woman, face half-covered by a mask, nails raking my arm as she fights my grip on her windpipe.I squeeze harder, drinking in the fear in her eyes, the fight in her limbs.Then—out of nowhere—a sharp cry behind me. I glance over my shoulder.
A kid?
Cowering in the corner.
She uses the split-second distraction. Elbow to my ribs, knee to my thigh, teeth to my shoulder. She moves like a feral thing, biting, kicking, clawing. Not trained. Not professional. But desperate and fucking fast.
I slam her down, pinning her to the concrete. She thrashes beneath me, smaller than I expected. Her mask slips slightly, exposing flushed skin, sharp cheekbones.
I press my hand to her throat. “Wrong fucking night to play hero.”
Her elbow slams into my ribs. Pain detonates in my chest.
“Fuck.” My grip slips.
She tears free, snatching the knife. In one vicious motion, she thrusts it toward my throat—I twist just in time. The blade misses its mark, diving deep into my shoulder instead. White-hot pain flares. I stagger back, and she’s already dragging the kid, bloody knife in hand.
This bitch is dead.
I take off after her, ignoring the blood soaking my shirt and vest. My boots hammer the floor, the warehouse a blur of shadow and smoke.
“You can run. But you can’t fucking hide.”
She slams through a side door. A bullet cracks and her scream shreds through the air as she hits the ground, blood spraying from her side.
“Grab him!” someone shouts as the boy tumbles from her arms.
A man lunges. She’s on her knees, barely upright. One shot—perfect aim. His skull explodes, and he collapses. She’s losing blood fast as she crawls to the kid, shielding him with her body.
More of Thames’s men storm in. I fire, dropping two. She’s still in my sights. She’s not getting out of here alive.
Then—her gun’s up, aimed straight at my chest.
