My brothers. My crew. We’d walked through worse and come out meaner. We’d do it again.
I shifted my gaze to Brock and Micah on the other side of the driveway. Brock’s eyes met mine, and he nodded. I gave him a short tip of my head in return. We were set. It was go time.
We moved, breaking cover as three black pickup trucks with reinforced front ends and bulletproof glass hit the main gate at forty miles per hour. The impact was tremendous, metal screaming against metal, and the gates sprang open.
Gunfire cracked through the night air immediately, muzzle flashes strobing in the darkness, catching the guards posted at the perimeter completely off guard. Their carefully planned defensive positions were suddenly meaningless as the Ravens poured through the breach with overwhelming force.
The distraction was brutal and loud and absolutely perfect, exactly what we needed to draw every eye, every weapon, every ounce of security attention to the front entrance while we slipped through the shadows.
Inside the auction house, Dean’s voice came through my earpiece, steady despite the chaos around the house’s perimeter. “I’ve got eyes on her. Stage center.”
The blood roared in my ears, drowning out everything except the significance of those words. She was there. She was alive. After days of worst-case scenarios playing on an endless loop in my head, after imagining her broken and bleeding and beyond my reach, I was finally close enough to save her.
“Don’t lose her,” I snapped, carrying every ounce of fear I’d been holding back for seventy-two sleepless hours. “I don’t care if every guard in the place has you by your balls. Don’t let her out of your sight.”
“As someone who is rather attached to his balls, I got it,” Dean responded.
This fucking guy.
I wanted to be the one in there, the one who swept her out of hell. I never pegged myself as having a hero complex, but a part of me very much wanted to be her hero. I’d settle for getting her out alive.
We surged forward into the maelstrom, Maddox and Mason flanking me, their movements synchronizing with mine.
While our crew struck the front, we took the rear with Brock and Micah. Mason produced a breaching charge from his pack, the small explosive device no bigger than a cigarette pack but carrying enough punch to turn steel into scrap metal.
The blast was loud but contained, sending a shockwave through the ground beneath our feet. The door blew inward in a shower of wood and dust, revealing a fully staffed kitchen. They were on the ground, covering their heads as we plunged inside.
Glass crunched underfoot. A toppled champagne bucket made the floor glitter. The staff was smart to stay put; a few ran outside once we passed, escaping into the night, but they wouldn’t get far. Then again, they weren’t my concern, and I spared them nothing but a fleeting glance. I had much bigger fish to gut and fillet.
Shouts echoed from somewhere deeper in the complex, the sound of people realizing their evening was disintegrating around them. We moved toward the center of the house, checking doors as we went.
My tactical light cut through the smoke-filled corridor, illuminating the walls. The beam swept back and forth as we advanced, navigating into what had probably once been a formal living room and dining, but they’d been combined, creating a space to hold an intimate auction. It was difficult to see through the diversion of smoke we’d created and the scrambling of bodies attempting to get out of the house. I shoved some guy who ran into me to the floor, stepping over him when my boot itched to kick.
Dean’s voice crackled through my earpiece again, tense now but still controlled: “Situation’s deteriorating fast. I’m trying to get to her.”
“Don’t try. Just do it,” I snarled into the mic, my pace increasing. “I’ll find you. Just keep her moving. Let me know the moment you have her.”
My gaze swept the stage at the far end of the room just as a handgrabbed my shoulder, yanking me back. A blade whizzed through the air where I’d been a hair before, grazing the material of my black shirt.
Brock’s gun went off, dropping the guard as the bullet embedded in the guard’s thigh. “Don’t make me have to save you, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’d felt the sting of a knife.”
“You take the rest of the first floor. Micah and I will head upstairs. Comm if you find her first,” Brock advised. He had a knack for this, for giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed.
From the corner of my eye, I spotted a guy on the floor reaching for a knife or a gun, I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t wait to see. My foot connected with his face. His head snapped back, and he fell backward on the floor, lights out. One less menace to worry about.
Locked in, my focus narrowed to clearing a path. Men were falling, scrambling, and cursing. I didn’t see faces, only shapes moving between me and one point: the stage.
“Kreed,” Fynn hissed in my ear. “You’re up. Dean has her. Two o’clock from the stage. Cloak. Moving now.”
I scanned over a line of collapsed chairs and a toppled bar, finally landing on a flash of a dark cloak. My gut clenched. Dean was hauling her away from the two guards charging off the stage. He kept looking back, eyes meeting mine for half a breath, and I read the fear in him as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud.
I moved, mindless of the bullets thudding into plaster. Someone behind me shouted. I hadn’t even noticed my brothers at my side until another guard lunged at Dean with a knife. Mason was there before the blade had a chance to reach its mark, swinging his elbow into the guard’s jaw. He crumbled. I took two more steps. Dean shoved Kaylor toward the side exit and turned to face the onslaught.
“Go!” he barked at her, but Kaylor didn’t budge as if her legs had stopped working.
I reached them, and the cloak fell off her head, the lights hitting her face. My breath left me and caught in my chest. She looked likeshe’d been hollowed out, the same eyes, but glassy, pupils too slow, mascara streaks making little black rivers down her cheeks. Her hands trembled, and for a second, I thought she’d collapse.
