The now unprotected front end of the main building loomed ahead, yellowish light leaking from behind a curtain tacked over the window. A banger track thumped faintly from inside, too loud, too careless.
Breakneck slid the reticle to the corner of the garage door. “Overwatch on bay,” Breakneck replied, he acquired that target soon after he checked on Ice’s team. “Free to move.”
Bones stayed low between Skull’s legs, eyes tracking everything. Blair followed with her weapon up, heads on a swivel, moving toward the garage bay. The ground between the gate and the main building was a stretch of gravel and oil-stained dirt that might as well have been a spotlight if you didn’t know how to move in it. Blair surprised him by matching Skull and Bones’s rhythms, body low, strides fast but economical, a quiet, collected vector of intent.
He felt that twist in his chest again. Hated it.
Suddenly, one biker stepped out, head swiveling, hand on the pistol at his hip. Breakneck exhaled, squeezed, cut him down. The second jerked back inside, Skull taking him out before he could utter a word.
Breakneck kept his scope trained on his teammates, tracking movement in measured sweeps. Skull and Bones moved through the space with quiet efficiency, clearing corners, checking shadows. Blair moved with them, her pace controlled, her attention forward.
The bay was nearly clear when something shifted at the edge of his vision.
A man eased along the inner wall of the garage, staying tight to the structure, careful with each step. He held a pistol low, moving slowly, deliberately, his focus fixed on Blair’s back.
Breakneck adjusted his aim and squeezed the trigger.
The suppressed shot struck the biker in the head, pink mist sprayed against the concrete. He dropped without a sound, collapsing against the wall before sliding to the floor.
Blair halted, then turned just enough to register the body. She gave a brief nod, already moving again.
Breakneck waited a moment longer, confirming there were no other heat signatures, no delayed movement. When he was satisfied, he keyed his mic.
“Clear,” he said. “Ice, move.”
Ice’s voice came through, clipped and calm. “We’re hitting the pit. All callsigns hold position.”
On the far side of the main house, Ice’s team engaged the men around the fire pit. The suppressed shots were faint, almost lost in the night air. Breakneck watched figures fall one by one, the firelight flickering as bodies crumpled into the dirt.
The compound was quiet again, as if nothing had happened.
Inside the house, no one stirred.
“East is clear,” he said. His ribs burned with every micro-adjustment. “Garage is quiet.”
“Brown, Skull. Barricade the exit into the bay. Brown, front and center for stack. Skull, you and Bones will be pivoting to the rear, hold the door, and get us some live ones for interrogation. Let me know when you’re ready to move.”
Breakneck stayed on overwatch, scanning windows and doorways, ready to call anything that shifted out of place.
“Door’s secured,” Blair said as she, Skull, and Bones regrouped at the corner of the garage, then moved along the exterior wall, breaking apart. Skull and Bones slipped around the structure toward the back of the house, while Blair headed toward the front door for breach, meeting Ice and the rest of the team as they cornered the structure.
Skull’s voice came through the comm. “In position, Ice.”
“Copy,” Ice responded.
He knew what Ice’s next command would be. Before the words finished, Breakneck was already moving. He slid backward off the ridge, let gravity carry him down the incline. Every jolt sent a stab of pain through his torso, but he rode it, used the momentum to get to his feet at the bottom. He covered the last few yards at a run, keeping low, weaving through the shadows until the clubhouse bulked up in front of him, dark and close.
He swallowed once, hard. He hoped Marques was still alive. Still in there. Hold on, man, we’re coming.
Blair tilted her head slightly, listening in on the same feed. He watched her shoulders tighten.
“Break, we’re at the door,” Ice said. “We need you in the stack.”
He could feel the heat of bodies, the sharp scent of gasoline, spilled beer, and motorcycle oil. Voices from inside, muffled by the walls. Laughter. Shouting.
Boomer shifted and caught sight of him. “Goddamn ghost,” he muttered. “One second he’s whispering in our ears, next second he’s breathing on my neck.”
Breakneck ignored him, sliding into place behind Blair.
