My Neo.
His voice in my ear bursts to life.
“I’m in, guys. Alarms are disabled. You’re good to go in one minute. Over.”
Everyone converges, guns drawn. Even Samson has one in his hand. It just goes to show that we can’t fuck this up, that we need to make sure this ends tonight.
They came for what’s ours. We’ll watch them burn beneath the moonlight.
Neo is on our comms, directing us, his voice a calming balm for my nerves. I’m always like this when I’m on a mission, but usually the job isn’t personal. They’re just tasks, things we need to do to rack up favor and fortune.
But this time we’re doing it for revenge.
“I’m looping the guys in, by the way. The ones back at the house,” Neo says.
My feet falter as Cade swears beside me. I touch my earpiece. “What?”
“They insisted, and I don’t blame them. They want to make sure you’re safe.” Neo hesitates. “Jackson was the one who rallied for it. He was quite adamant.”
Dalton tenses, but his gaze doesn’t veer from the scope on his gun. We move silently down the pier, the lights having been shut off by Neo thirty seconds ago. There are no other lights except the ones in the tinted windows of the yacht.
“I see heat signatures. Ten in total. Two up top, four on the main deck, and the rest belowdecks,” Neo says.
I can hear them. Confused shouts ring out as those on board try to figure out what’s going on with the electrics. The chaos is a good sign. It suggests their training is inferior to ours.
Not a surprise, really. I doubt there’s another group on earth that went through what we did. Add in the familial ties and loyalty to one another, and you’re left with one thing.
An unstoppable force.
On my signal, we split up—Cade, Harley, and Samson moving up, and Dalton, Matthias, and me moving down.
We’re wraiths, moving through the darkness, seeking out our targets.
Muted gunshots ring out above us. Seconds later, there are muffled thuds and splashes as bodies hit the water. There’s no other sound. Not a single scream as my brothers clear the upper decks.
That was easy.
Dalton finds the door to the lower deck and leads the way down. Halfway, he lifts his hand, and we stop, listening.
Neo is silent on the other end of the line, letting us focus.
It calms me knowing he’s safe. That, although he’s close, he’s far enough away from this to not be in danger.
Dalton lets his arm fall, and we move, our guns trained ahead as our fingers slide against the triggers. Six men whirl in our direction, guns raised, as panicked shouts fill the air.
They don’t have time to get off a single shot. We take them down quickly, their bodies dropping to the ground like marionettes with their strings cut.
We fan out, checking the faces of all the bodies. We’ve all memorized Gordon Marino’s picture.
He’s not one of them.
The door flies open, and our guns swing toward it. It’s just Samson, taking up the entire frame. “All dead. You?”
“Yeah,” Cade says, looking almost disappointed. “I didn’t even get to use my garrote cord.”
He holds it out, and Samson shrugs. “Could always lop one of their heads off with it. They’re dead anyway. They won’t miss it.”
Cade stares down at the bodies like he’s considering it, and I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
