“Copy,” he says. “Understood.”
He looks at me, and for the first time, I see something other than boredom in his expression.
Fear.
“What’s happening?” I ask, though I already know.
He doesn’t answer. He pulls his gun and moves toward the window, peering out at the main floor below.
The chaos starts all at once.
Shouting. Running footsteps. The crash of the main entrance being breached. Gunfire—sharp, staccato bursts that echo through the warehouse like fireworks.
And then the world turns white.
The flash-bang comes through the window, shattering glass and filling the room with blinding light and deafening noise. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw myself sideways, chair and all, hitting the floor hard as Tattoo Neck screams and fires wildly at nothing.
Stone.
He came.
He came, and now all hell is breaking loose.
I curl into a ball, zip-tied hands over my head, and pray that I survive long enough to see him again.
22
STONE
The warehouse erupts into chaos the moment the FBI breaches.
Flash-bangs go first—three of them through the ground-floor windows, turning the night into a strobe of white light and concussive thunder. Then the tactical teams pour in, black-clad figures moving in precise formation, shouting commands that get lost in the roar of gunfire.
I’m not supposed to be inside. Pilkin made that clear.
Perimeter support, she’d said.Let my people handle the extraction.
Fuck that.
“Stone!” Hawk grabs my arm as I move toward the loading dock entrance. “Pilkin said?—”
“I know what she fucking said.” I shake him off. “Josie’s in there. I’m going in.”
“Then I’m coming with you.”
“No. Hold the perimeter. Make sure no one gets out.” I check my weapon—Glock 19, full magazine, one in the chamber. “Lee, you’re with me. Tank, back up Hawk. Nobody leaves this building unless they’re wearing a badge or a cut.”
“What about Steel?” Tank asks.
I look up at the neighboring building where a shadow moves into position on the rooftop. The kid found his perch. Now he just needs a target.
“Steel does what Steel does best.” I pull my balaclava down. “Let’s move.”
The loading dock door is already open—FBI cleared it thirty seconds ago. Lee and I slip through the gap, staying low, moving fast. The main floor is pandemonium. Workers scrambling for exits. Guards returning fire from behind processing tables. FBI agents advancing in two-man teams, methodical and relentless.
But I’m not here for the main floor.
“Second level,” I shout over the gunfire. “Josie’s in the office.”
