Cruz and Ocho moved in behind them, crowbars in hand. They located the sealed crates they were after and made quick work cracking them open. One by one, the men began unloading smaller crates onto a wheeled dolly.
Rafe hadn’t been tasked with handling the merchandise, not that he cared. Tonight, he’d been relegated to lookout and problem-solver. He stood watch as the men alternated between loading the dolly and moving it out to the waiting truck.
“Faster,” Cruz ordered the others, patrolling around like a general. “Come on, let’s go! Look alive.”
Rafe caught up with Fish on the side. “Hey, talk to me. Whose shit are we stealing tonight?”
“I don’t know, man,” Fish answered in a low whisper. “Some kinda arms dealer, according to Ocho. LaSalle’s got friends who’re willing to pay about anything to get their hands on whatever’s in those crates.”
Cruz eyed Rafe cautiously, a strangely smug look in his eyes as Fish and Axel came back for another load. Rafe didn’t like the look the gang leader had on his face. He didn’t like the feeling that he was somehow the brunt of an unspoken joke.
“Something funny, Cruz?”
He shrugged. “I’m not laughing, man.”
“Neither am I,” Rafe said. “What the fuck’s going on? What are we hauling out of he—”
The sound of a vehicle approaching outside the warehouse snagged his attention. A car door opened. A pair of boots slapped against concrete.
The guards who’d left a few minutes ago had circled back unexpectedly. One of them double-timed it inside the warehouse. “Yo, Jansen. It’s just me. Forgot that damn birthday card for my wife.”
He walked in farther. “Hey, you know there’s a rental truck sitting outside? Meeks and I just texted the boss to see if he might’a sent someone over for that new shipment. . . . Jansen?”
Rafe stood in front of him now, moving through the warehouse in the blink of an eye. Palming the man’s balding forehead before he had a chance to voice his surprise, Rafe dropped the guard into an immediate trance.
But he wasn’t the last of their problems.
The guard’s partner had circled around to the back of the warehouse for a sneak attack. His command to Cruz and the other men to freeze was answered by a hail of gunshots from the gang. He howled sharply and returned fire. The scent of blood filled the air.
Son of a bitch.
Rafe flashed into the fray and found Axel dead on the floor of the warehouse, the back of his skull blown out. The guard was dead too. He lay in a growing pool of blood a few yards from where Cruz continued to bark orders to his men.
“Forget about loading the dolly. No time now.” The gang leader grabbed one of the crates and started to hurry away with it. “All of you grab what you can and let’s get the fuck out of here!”
Rafe wheeled on him, blocking his path. His eyes burned like coals, glowing against the blanched whiteness of Cruz’s face. The spilled blood would have been enough to bring Rafe’s fangs out, but it was fury and suspicion for this man that made the sharp points erupt from his gums.
“What the hell are you and LaSalle up to here? What the fuck is in these crates? Tell me before I decide to tear out your damn throat.”
Cruz didn’t look scared. He looked . . . triumphant.
He let go of the crate he was holding.
It hit the floor between them, the crash echoing like cannon fire. Rafe felt a sudden heat gathering beneath him. He glanced down, shocked to see luminescent, milky blue rivulets leaking out of the broken slats.
Holy hell.
Liquidized ultraviolet light.
He’d known the advanced technology existed. It was one of Opus’s favorite new developments—and something they had been attempting to weaponize on a large scale for some time. In the past few months, the Order had destroyed other caches of the Breed-killing rounds of UV light. Evidently, not all of them.
And Rafe had never seen the shit up close and personal like this before.
It seared his eyes. He staggered back, shielding his face with his arm.
It wasn’t enough to stop the burn that washed over him as the streams of pure light surrounded him.
He reached for Cruz on a bellowed roar, but the gang leader danced out of his reach on a low chuckle.
