Page 71 of His Kidnapped Irish Mafia Virgin

“We’ve got resistance,” he replied. “About eight men holding the storage rooms.”

“Can you handle it?”

A short laugh came through the speaker. “They’re already running.” The line went quiet again.

I pushed deeper into the warehouse, stepping over shattered crates and discarded weapons without slowing. Some men surrendered. Others fought back. It made no difference. The assault continued with relentless precision, swallowing one section of the building after another.

“Left rooms and loading floor secure.”

Each report brought us closer, but Victor Hale was nowhere to be found. I asked if anyone had seen him.

“He’s already moving.” Diggs replied, scanning the corridor ahead. “A man like Hale doesn’t stay still once shooting starts.”

He was right. Victor was a coward before he was anything else. If he believed the syndicate could no longer protect him, he’d already be looking for another way out. My radio crackled again.

“Liam.” Ronan’s calm voice came through. “Rear escape team reports attempted movement toward the drainage route.”

I stopped walking. “How many?”

“Fifteen armed escorts.”

I looked toward the corridor leading deeper into the warehouse.

“He’s still inside,” I said.

Victor Hale had spent years running from consequences. He trusted other people to die for him while he searched for another escape route. He would never lead from the front. He would wait. And when he believed the path was clear, he would run. I wasn’t going to give him that chance. I raised my weapon and looked at the heavy steel door waiting at the end of the corridor.

“That’s where he is,” I said quietly.

Diggs glanced at the reinforced entrance before nodding once. “Then let’s go get him.”

I stepped toward the door, every instinct telling me that the nightmare we’d been chasing for weeks was waiting on the other side.

The first breach didn’t break the syndicate. It only woke them up. Gunfire erupted from the upper walkways almost immediately, forcing several of our men behind stacks of rusted shipping crates. Bullets tore through the metal walls, sending sparks into the air as the warehouse echoed with shouted orders and the deafening crack of automatic rifles.

“They’re dug in!” Michael shouted from behind cover.

“I can see that,” I answered, firing toward the balcony where two gunmen had pinned down the advance team. One disappeared behind the railing while the other dropped after Diggs put a round through his shoulder.

“Move!” I shouted. “Don’t give them time to regroup!”

We pushed forward in disciplined waves. One team laid down covering fire while another crossed the open floor, using machinery and cargo containers as protection. It was an orchestra of controlled chaos.

A grenade rolled across the concrete.

“Down!” Paddy roared. The explosion shook the entire building, filling the air with smoke and broken pieces of concrete. Two of our men were thrown backward.

“They’re trying to stall us,” Diggs said, coughing through the smoke.

“They’re trying to buy Hale time to escape,” I replied.

Another burst of gunfire answered me. Three men rushed from a side corridor with rifles raised, hoping to catch us while our vision was blocked. They never made it halfway to us. Sean’s team intercepted them from the opposite flank, cutting them down before they could fire more than a few rounds.

Sean’s voice came over the radio, calm despite the battle raging around us.

“Western corridor is secure. Ronan was right. They were preparing to move people through the drainage exit.”

Ronan’s strategy had changed everything. Instead of driving straight into the strongest part of the warehouse, we’d divided our forces before the assault even began. One team locked down the drainage tunnel. Another sealed the loading docks. A third controlled the surrounding roads. By the time the syndicate realized what was happening, every escape route had already been closed off.