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“Go, go, go!” Roger shouts.
We go hard and fast, knocking the door down with our masks on as flash and smoke grenades break through the windows. Everything unravels fast, so fast that we can barely keep up. Our bodies know to move before our weary minds can register the next order. Muscle memory is an extraordinary tool to have on a night like this.
We move like ghosts, opening fire on anyone who gets in our way.
Drake, Kai, and I make our way through the cabin, past flying bullets and through clouds of thick, grey smoke. We avert our eyes from the grenade flashes as we head to the other side of the ground floor. There are one too many Devils in this place, all armed to their filthy teeth, prompting us to open fire.
A little piece of me dies with every man that we have to take down.
I never enjoyed killing.
“Where the fuck is she?” Kai snarls as he manages to take one of the bikers alive. The skinny, raggedy-looking twenty-something laughs in his face.
“Fuck you.”
Kai smacks him over the cheek with the butt of his Beretta M9. “I’ll break all of your teeth, one by one before anybody can stop me.”
“Where’s Colton?” Drake asks.
But he gets the same reply: cold, careless laughter. These people have gone so far off the deep end for the guy that they’re openly ready to embrace death or worse, and it doesn’t bode well for our mission. Dread threatens to scramble my senses as I anxiously look around.
“There’s a top floor,” I say to the guys.
SWAT boots thud through the whole cabin, an annoyingly large and sprawling residence with one too many rooms. But the more they search, the more Black Devils they take out, the farther away we seem to get from completing our mission favorably. The smoke isn’t helping, either, but that was a risk we were willing to take in order to haze the enemy.
“Fucking hell,” Drake snaps and shoots up the stairs.
We follow, our hearts pounding as we desperately search for Nadia through nothing but mayhem and violence, white flashes and chaos.
Hold on, baby. We’re coming.
30
Nadia
I hear the noises. The shouting. The constant popping and banging. Violence unfolds somewhere dangerously close to my dark spot in the basement, and it makes my blood run cold as I stand and try to listen while also banging on the door.
“Let me out!” I holler, then try to push it open with my shoulder.
My back hurts. My legs are stiff. But a much needed shot of adrenaline brings my whole body back to life as I dare hope there may be rescuers here. Who else could be causing all that bedlam?
I freeze as the door swings outward and Kyle grabs me before I can do anything. He’s got me by the hair, his hold firm as he yanks me through the narrow corridor. The smell of smoke is intoxicating, and it’s making my eyes sting.
“What’s going on?”
“Come on, sweetheart, we need to get you out of here,” he says in a rushed voice.
I try to look around, to figure out what’s going on. There’s too much smoke, too many turns. Windows are shattered. Boots thud frenetically across the ground floor. Gunshots echo everywhere, along with men’s voices darting every which way. Bodies falling. It’s happening too fast, and I can’t make much sense of any of it.
My heart is beating a thousand miles a minute.
I’m coughing, struggling to breathe, and constantly tripping as I try to keep up. My scalp burns, but Kyle won’t let go of my hair. The closer we get to wherever he’s taking me, the clearer the air becomes.
“Nobody knows about this exit,” he says as we enter a small room. Even in the darkness, I can still recognize a desk and dusty bookshelves. It’s some kind of private study. “Whoever built this place was running a booze line during the Prohibition Era. Check this out.”
He pushes me to the side and pulls open a bookcase. Through the window next to it, I see a large stone wall. This cabin wasn’t just built with a solid, river stone foundation. It was carved into the frickin’ mountain. I gasp at the sight of more darkness and milky-white cobwebs, but I don’t have a single second to spare.
“Fuck you, Kyle,” I slap his hand away and try to run in the opposite direction, bolting straight for the door as violence and chaos grow louder somewhere beyond. I’m not sure what I’m about to walk into, but I’ve got a feeling it beats sticking around here with dirtbag Kyle.
