He gave something like a nod before closing his eyes, face going slack as the adrenaline crashed and whatever strength he had left drained away.
After a few minutes, Kodiak said, “Stable for now. We need to move him.”
“Top floor’s clear,” Boomer’s voice came over comms. “Beef found three more. We dropped them. No hostiles left moving that we can see.”
“Copy. We have Marques. Basement,” Ice replied. “Bag their toys first.”
Blair kicked the knife away from the handler’s outstretched hand as Boomer and Beef entered, relief etched in Beef’s face. Boomer scooped up the pistol and tucked it behind his vest. Beef moved back to the hallway, watching the stairs, weapon up, eyes wide but steady.
Ayla’s voice followed. “You’ve got a narrow window before any friends or neighbors decide to drive by and check the party.”
“Understood,” Ice said. “We exfil now. Boomer, take overwatch up top. Beef, help Kodiak with Marques. Blair, Break you’re on point. Move.”
They turned back toward the stairs. Blair led, Beef on her right. As they climbed, she could feel the weight of the building pressing in on her, amplifying the sound of her boots, the beat of her heart.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway yawned open again. She stepped back into the main room, weapon swinging to cover the angles she knew they had already cleared, but that didn’t stop her from checking them again. The floor was a minefield of bodies, spent cases, knocked-over furniture.
“Movement,” Break’s voice snapped into her ear. “Back left corner.”
Blair pivoted even as the words hit. A biker exploded up from behind the counter, a roar tearing from his throat, shotgun barrel swinging toward the cluster of them moving through the space.
She was closest.
There was no time to think, just react.
He crashed into her, the shotgun barrel slamming across her vest as he drove her backward. Her rifle flew from her hands as they went down hard, her shoulders crunching into the floor, air blasting from her lungs. The biker’s weight came down like a slab of concrete, rank sweat and leather stinging her nose.
He jammed the butt of the shotgun into her side, aiming to bring the barrel around, but she twisted, grunting, and drove her forearm up under his chin, forcing his head back. His spit hit her cheek as he snarled.
Breakneck was on him a second later, fingers biting into the man’s vest as he hauled him off her. They hit the floor in a tangle, Breakneck’s grunting as the biker drove an elbow into his side. Breakneck’s face went white around the edges, his grip faltering.
The biker saw it. His gaze sharpened with ugly satisfaction, hand darting for the knife on his belt.
Blair rolled to her knees, grabbed the shotgun where it had skittered, and rammed the barrel up under the biker’s sternum for leverage.
She used every ounce of strength in her body, shoving with a hard, upward jerk.
The biker lost his balance. Breakneck used the shift, planted his boot in the man’s gut, and heaved. The man flipped, crashing onto his back.
Blair drove the butt of the shotgun into his face. Bone crunched. She hit him again, once, twice, until he stopped moving.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
She stood there, chest heaving, sweat and someone else’s blood streaking her cheeks. Breakneck watched her from the floor, breath ragged, eyes dark with something that wasn’t only adrenaline.
“You good?” he asked, voice rough.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“You saved my ass,” he said quietly.
“Team effort,” she answered, grabbing his forearm and pulling him up. “Come on. We’re not done.”
He let her haul him to his feet, his face pale, tremors in his hand, something else burning in those gray eyes, something deep that had nothing to do with injury.
They moved again.
By the time they stepped out onto the porch, Kodiak and Beef had Marques between them, the guards’s arms over their shoulders, feet dragging but moving.
