Page 43 of Kiwi

"You heard what he said back at the house." I keep my eyes on the road.

"His boss could be anyone, Kiwi. For all we know, the bastard was fuckin' with us," Riggs tells me, but his words fall on deaf ears.

"You lost your shit back there." He points out.

"He was dead either way," I say through clenched teeth.

Nova punches the roof of the vehicle numerous times. "Prez, Goddammit. What is the plan? I can't take the silence and the unknown. Abel, brother, they took my baby." Hearing the agony in Nova's voice has my grip tightening on the steering wheel.

"What's the plan?" Wick echoes from the back seat.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat the situation. We have a small window of opportunity to intercept the cargo Cowboy is tracking. The shipment in question is traveling south. Right now, we don't know where their final destination is. If we don't make it within the next 24 hours…" he leaves his words unfinished.

On the way back to the private airstrip, I weave in and out of traffic, blowing through several lights along the way. We have a three-hour flight back to New Orleans, and I'm not wasting one second getting us there sooner.

Hours later, we've landed, and the wheels on our Harleys are eating pavement as we race toward the clubhouse. The yard is filled with cars and trucks belonging to the family, leading me to believe Riggs wants everyone on lockdown. Parking our bikes, we file inside. You could hear a pin drop the moment we walk through the door. Every member, along with their women, are sitting around the room.

Promise rushes toward Nova, with Jaxson in her arms. Tears fall from her face as she walks into his arms. A heaviness descends on us all, as Nova consoles his family. "I'll bring her home beautiful," he tells her.

"Church," Riggs' voice booms, and every brother stands.

With each member standing, Fender closes the door, and Riggs puts his phone on the table. He's been speaking with Cowboy and his team since we arrived a few minutes ago. Riggs speaks. "We have confirmation that a shipping container, transported by truck, is traveling 49 south. They should reach Louisiana near midnight." Riggs stops talking when there is a knock on the door. He lifts his chin at Fender to find out who is interrupting us when the women know not to disturb us while church is in session. The door swings open, and standing in the doorway is a face we haven't seen in New Orleans in some time. Cowboy walks into the room. "For those of you who haven't met him yet, this here is Cowboy. He is one of many on the Ops team, with me, Wick, Tequila," Riggs pauses a beat, then continues. "Anyway, Cowboy is joining the mission." Riggs looks at Cowboy, giving him the floor.

"Alright. The target was traveling 49 south. Approximately forty minutes ago, satellites showed they changed course traveling I10." Cowboy opens a folder that he has clutched in his hand. "They stopped along this particular stretch of roadway." He shows the first image. "They opened the back of the container. For what reason, we don't know. We believe they are heading toward a national park in this area." He points at an aerial image, then looks around the room. "It's an ideal location to transfer the women from truck to boat. The inlets around this particular area lead straight out to the Gulf of Mexico."

"So, they're not headed for Florida?" Wick asks.

"That is still undetermined. I suggest we head out as soon as possible, with no more than five or six men. Travel only with what you can conceal on your person and get there before they arrive. I drove here in a passenger van. I'll fall in behind you guys," Cowboy informs us.

"I'd like to join you," Jake cuts in.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, brother." Riggs clasps his shoulder.

Night has fallen by the time we hit the road. Eight men strong, we head south, toward our destination, which is forty-five minutes away. Judging by the last report Cowboy received an hour ago, the men who have Piper are three hours behind us. Bikes rumble behind me as we speed down the highway. We keep to backroads as much as we can to avoid drawing attention to ourselves. The ride feels longer than it should as I think about what Piper is going through. Adrenaline courses through my veins, mixed with anxiety of the unknown. Then, I think about the last words I spoke to her, and the look on her face. I will never forgive myself if I never get the chance to tell her I'm sorry.

The farther we travel into the rural areas, streets lights become fewer, and homes are spaced further apart. The darkness of night swallows the bikes, and the air feels heavy and ominous as if the Grim Reaper himself is riding with us. Riggs and Jake slow, making a right onto a dirt road, bringing the rest of us to a stop roughly ten miles down. The smell of fish tainted water and wet grass lets me know we are near water. Riggs turns off his bike and walks down the row of Harleys. "We leave the bikes here," he orders.

Cowboy, who has stayed a decent distance behind us, arrives, pulling the van further ahead. He climbs out, joining the rest of us. "Target site is situated at the end of the next road over, nestled along the inlet. We travel on foot from here. "

Riggs, Jake, Logan, Nova, Gabriel, Austin, Cowboy, and I check our weapons, then tuck them away before we start making our way through the tall grass, trudging through mud and muck that coats our boots. I have no idea how long it takes us until we notice dimly lit lights in the distance. Riggs throws a fist in the air, and we stop moving. Huddling together, we kneel. I take in the small compound several yards away. At first glance, nothing seems out of the normal until I spot at least four storage pods on the farthest side of the property, along with at least eight armed men milling around. "You see what I'm seeing?" I whisper to Nova, who is kneeled beside me.

"Yeah, brother."

Just as he says those words, headlights break over the hill on the road leading toward the camp. A semi hauling a similar storage container like the ones on sight slows, the air brakes hissing as it comes to a complete stop. We look on as two men climb from the cab, meeting two other men walking in their direction, before heading toward the back end of the truck. With bated breath, we watch the double doors swing open. With guns drawn, they usher several women from inside. My eyes immediately zero in on Piper the moment she comes into view. One guy shoves her, hard, and Piper stumbles, falling to her knees. My body moves instinctively, but Logan grabs hold of my arm, pulling me back. My heart sinks, and my blood boils as I watch them lead her and the other women away, placing them into another container nearby.

Facing us, Riggs fires off his command. "Logan, you and Reid keep low and head for the north end of the camp. It gives you the highest vantage point to use your sniper rifles." Shifting, Riggs looks to his left. "Nova, you and Fender make your way around the south perimeter near those two trailers over there," Riggs points, then turns to me. "Kiwi, you and Gabriel trudge through the tall grass past Logan and Reid's mark, and position yourself near the water's edge." Lastly, he speaks to us all before we disperse. "They outnumber us. Timing is everything. When you hear my signal, move in. This ambush needs to be quick. We don't stop until every man is dead, and Piper is safe."

With a precise steady movement, Gabriel and I find our way to the water's edge, where we find three rickety oyster boats situated along the bank. Unseen behind the thick marsh grass, Gabriel and I sit and wait. Time slows to a crawl. I can see little through the darkness, but we can hear the murmurs of men talking several yards away nearly drowned out by the droning of cicadas and croaking frogs. The warm air is thick with the smell of decaying vegetation. A harsh voice is heard not far from our position.

"Get the boats ready to transfer the women." A few seconds later, the shuffling of feet alerts us to someone moving in our direction. Gabriel pulls a long blade from the inside of his boot. He peeks over the tall grass, then ducks back. He signals that two targets are approaching, so I slide a knife carried at my side from its sheath. We haven't heard Riggs signal yet, but Gabriel and I both know these two threats need to be eliminated. They stand only a few feet away from our location, with rifles slung low at their sides. Before the men step onto one of the boats, Gabriel and I make our move. Without making a sound, we rush them from behind. My palm covers his mouth, stifling his scream as I run my blade across his neck. The man struggles against my hold, as the rush of his warm blood coats his shirt. He fights, desperately grasping for his weapon that I've gained control of before his body goes limp. I lower his dead weight to the ground and look at Gabriel just as he pulls his blade from his target's chest. Blood gushes from the chest wound and the jagged puncture site on his neck.

Gabriel and I drag the bodies to the bank and quietly roll them into the water for the gators to find. Two shots ring out, giving us the signal, it's go time. Men shouting and rapid gunfire breakout as we draw our weapons and head toward the fight. Bullets whiz by my head as I rush toward the container pods. Popping off shots, I take down three men along the way. A couple of men now stand between me and the container we watched Piper be loaded into. Aiming, I pull the trigger. My bullets hit their mark, and one-person stumbles backward, his body slamming against the container door, and the other dropping to the ground with a shot in his head.

Running up to the container, I notice the chain and padlock. "Dammit," I slam my fist against the thick steel. "Piper. Baby, if you're in there, answer me."

"Oh my God, Tai!" Piper's terrified voice slices through the chaos surrounding me. "Tai." She begins banging on the wall from the inside.

I frantically look around, searching for anything to bust the lock, then I spot a crowbar lying beside a toolbox. As I reach for it, a searing pain rips across the top of my left shoulder. "Motherfucker," I hiss at the pain. Suddenly, I'm tackled to the ground, landing on my back. I lose my grip, and my gun lands on the dirt out of my reach. Meaty hands wrap around my neck as I grab for the knife at my side.