Riven headed for the rear exit when some asshole in black tactical gear stormed in, rifle notched at his shoulder, night vision goggles covering his face. She knocked the guy’s arms to the right, avoided the worst of the spray of bullets, one grazing her arm.
McGuire looked for an opening that didn’t have part of Riven in the crosshairs when she grabbed a pan and swung it like a bat. The merc reeled backwards, head slamming against the wall, gun slicing a line across his cheek. The NVGs twisted on his face,leaking in just enough light they became a hinderance as Riven swung the pan again — connected with the asshole’s jaw.
A massive crack cut through the air, blood splattering against the wall before the guy collapsed, foot twitching.
Cross’ voice sounded over the comms. “Loading dock’s hot. Four bodies. Try VIP garage upper level.”
McGuire grabbed an evacuation map off the wall, traced out the route with his finger. “Eastern stairwell, now.”
McGuire caught Riven’s gaze, nodded at her arm, but she shook it off as they took the door half-blocked by the downed merc, then turned right — booked it along the hallway. Red exit signs glowed in the building smoke, a string of floor lighting leading them along. They reached the end of the corridor, hit the stairwell going in hot and fast.
Patch swept the lower level. “Clear. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
McGuire slapped him on the back. “And now, you’ve jinxed it.”
They started up, feet barely making a sound, the smoke noticeably thinner. Riven took point as they neared the next door, G1 painted on the steel with thick black strokes.
She grabbed the handle, showed the countdown before yanking it open, coming in behind them as he and Patch darted through.
Two bulbs flickered in the corners, the muted glow casting long shadows across the concrete floor. A ramp stood black against the far wall, the weak light glinting off a rolled-up metal door to their right. Half a dozen vehicles filled the spaces, the chaos of the main floor nothing but a weak thrum.
Patch turned toward the ramp, cocked his head. “Something’s coming.”
Tapping.
Distant, then closer, too fast for walking but not quite running.
They detoured to the nearest vehicle, a Dodge pickup, lifted suspension, dark tinted windows. Patch used his elbow to shatter the window just as a swarm of Keane’s men rounded the ramp, short, controlled bursts of gunfire chewing up the concrete.
McGuire tugged Riven against him, blocking any possible hits as Patch reached in, finally opened the lock. His buddy slid across to the driver’s side, McGuire taking the passenger seat while Riven hopped in the back. She cracked open the rear sliding window, laid down some cover fire while Patch stripped the wires, finally getting a spark jumping between them.
Bullets pinged off the side, a couple cracking the windows, punching through, as the engine chugged over, coughing out black smoke before it rumbled to life. One of the fan belts screeched, hissed out a high-pitched whine as Patch threw it into reverse, peeled backwards.
Smoke billowed up from the tires, burnt rubber saturating the air as Patch swung the vehicle around, McGuire hitting Keane’s front line with a steady stream of brass. His men dove for cover, barely getting out of the way as the truck bore down on them, engine growling.
McGuire caught a glimpse of Keane as he stormed through the other entrance, mouth pinched tight, blood and soot smeared across his cheek. He didn’t waste any energy running them down, just stood there, gaze locked on McGuire’s. A predatory glare that acknowledged an equal. An unspoken promise of retribution.
Stone’s voice carried over the comms. “You’ve got two truckloads heading up the ramp. They’ll box you in. Block the entry, drop a frag, and head for the exit door at the end of that wall. We’ve secured a truck.”
Patch swore under his breath. “He makes it sound so easy, like there aren’t already a dozen assholes milling around, waiting for an opportunity to fire.”
“It’s part of his charm.” McGuire nudged Patch. “Youcanblock the entry, right?”
“Don’t be an ass.” Patch hit the gas, revved the engine a bit higher, then yanked on the parking brake — slewed the vehicle sideways across the asphalt, tires squealing, more rubber burning beneath them.
The truck slid about twenty feet, stopping perpendicular to the ramp, the bumpers hugging each side. They poured out the driver’s door, huddled at the front quarter panel while Patch grabbed a canister out of his inner jacket pocket.
He looked them both in the eyes. “It’s the only one I’ve got, so we need to make it count.”
Riven nodded, twitching at the pop of gunfire eating up the other side of the truck. “Yeah, yeah, no second chances. Now, throw the damn thing.”
He snorted, pulled the pin and lobbed it up and over the hood. The canister clicked off the concrete, voices shouting out a warning a second before it blew — reduced the garage to a wash of light and sound.
Patch motioned them out, covered their gauntlet run down the concrete wall to the exit door before racing after them. A few shots whizzed past, all a bit high, before they crashed through the door — fell into the open air.
Rain sliced across the slick alleyway, wind blowing discarded boxes and trash down the street. A mix of Creole spices and brine rode the currents, thunder and lightning rattling in the distance.
Stone opened the rear door on a massive Ford truck, waved them over. “If it’s not an inconvenience for you, we should probably hurry.”
