And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Everyone in position?” I murmur into the comm, fingers steady as I check the chamber of my Glock one last time.
“Check,” City whispers back.
“Locked and loaded,” Bayou comes in from the southeast.
“All set,” Raid reports from the north.
“Good to go,” Grit signals from the west.
Hoodoo’s voice is calm.Too calm. “Ready.”
“Perimeter secured,” Jarred, our prospect, calls down the line.
I draw a slow breath, feeling the weight of every man listening. “This isn’t just another run-of-the-mill Cartel,” I say quietly, letting the truth sink in. “Intel confirms the women they’re movin’ aren’t being sold. They’re bein’ programmed, drugged, conditioned to enter prison systems voluntarily. Once inside, they’re fed into a breedin’ program. They don’t even know what they’re volunteerin’ for until it’s already over.”
Silence follows.
“They’re manufacturing assassins for the Nest,” City says, jaw tight even through the radio.
“Exactly,” I reply. “And tonight, we end that shit.”
“Movement,” Raid murmurs. “Van on east approach. No lights.”
I lift my scope, tracking a matte-black panel van crawling between the containers like a predator that knows it owns the dark. It stops. A hidden door slides open, and two guards step out.
Between them is a young woman who’s barely conscious. Her eyes are glassy, and her feet drag, as if her body has already given up the fight.
My grip tightens. Rage simmers low and lethal.
“Fuck,” City breathes.
“They’re loading the next batch,” I confirm.
“All units,” I order, my voice ironed flat. “Move in. Silent and fast. Bayou, City, flank east with me. Hoodoo and Grit cover the north. Jarred, Keith, hold the exit.”
We move as one, silent and precise, through the stacks like smoke in the dark. Years in this life have taught us how to disappear in plain sight. I take point, our eyes locked on the disguised hatch near the container. Raid overrides the lock with a flick of his wrist, and it hisses open.
Our eyes widen as we look down inside, seeing a metal staircase plunging into the darkness.
This is it.
This is what we came here for.
“Radio silence,” I signal, lowering my voice to nothing. “Hand signals only.”
I gesture once, sharp and silent, and we move. One by one, we descend the staircase into hell.
The corridor hits me first—bleach, sweat, and fear soaked so deep into the concrete it’ll never come out. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, one flickering erratically, as though it’s something ripped straight out of an asylum. I’ve seen lockups,pits, places meant to break men. This is worse. These women don’t even know where they are anymore.
I step to the first door and peer through the narrow window.
Dozens of women sit in sterile rows, hands moving with mechanical precision as they package drugs. No talking. No hesitation. Just empty, repetitive motion. Their eyes are gone. Not dull.Gone. Like someone scooped out everything human and left only the bodies behind.
Ghosts.
That’s all they are now. Ghosts still breathing.
