I hit call and Ruin answers on the first ring.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“Front gate breach. They shot up the driveway.” The words come out fast, jagged. I glance at Ryder as I continue, speaking to both of them. “Full lockdown. You at the cottage?”
A grunt.
Relief hits so hard it almost buckles my knees. “Stay there. Don’t go back. Scar, Hound, Bulldog—they’ve got it handled.”
A beat. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I drag a hand down my face. “Just—fuck. Keep her safe, Ruin. Please.”
The silence on the other end is heavy.
“Fuck,” he exhales.
“We’ll finish this shipment and head back. Ryder and I.”
“When?”
I scan the empty lot like I’m expecting hell to rise from the concrete. “An hour. Two tops. You and Charlotte stay put. Panic room. Do not leave that house. You understand?”
“Got it.”
We hang up.
Ryder’s already sweeping the perimeter again, rifle braced and ready.
My phone buzzes immediately and I answer.
“My fucking compound was hit,” Blaze roars in my ear. “What the hell is going on, Wolf?!”
My heart drops. This really was a trap. Just not the one we expected. “So was mine,” I growl. “Reapers too, I’m guessing.”
A beat of silence tells me enough.
“Let’s move the shipment and get the hell back.”
“I want a word with your Bug after this,” Blaze snaps, then disconnects.
So do I. This feels wrong, too clean. Hit our compounds. Drag us out here. Make us scramble. But that’s too obvious. And the fact that my instincts are still screaming tells me we’re not done. Not even close.
Ryder and I move toward the three transport trucks. Seven hundred thousand dollars’ worth of weapons, enough firepower to bury Hell’s Army.
Blaze and Shotgun stroll across the lot toward us. Irritated, not cautious. Rebel and his two prospects approach from the west side, Rebel tossing Blaze a casual salute—expression blank.
It almost looks normal. The silence presses down heavily. Honest. Even Ryder lowers his weapon slightly. We close in on the trucks. Then—
Crack.
One of Rebel’s prospects drops. His dead weight slams into concrete with a dull thud.
Crack. Crack.
Chaos detonates. I dive for cover as bullets tear through the air. From the corner of my eye, I see Shotgun clutch his chest. Blaze grabs him, trying to drag him somewhere safe, but there is no safe.
We’re exposed. Open ground. No clear source. Cover is minimal, but Ryder and I sprint for a shipping container flanked by two smaller ones and drop behind it.
