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The bullet hits the man beneath the ribs, and his grip falls away as he collapses against me.

I shove him to the floor and look at Rafe. “I had him.”

Rafe steps over the body and checks the office. “He had you.”

Murphy’s voice comes from the far aisle. “Clear here.”

Then Eamon shouts, and gunfire erupts from the loading bays behind us.

We spin back as two more men breach the side door, firing into the warehouse. Cal hits the dirt beside the entrance.

Murphy drags him behind a stack of timber while Rafe and I split up, each taking a different side of the aisle.

Rafe fires and a guy drops. When the other guy turns toward him, I shoot before he can pull the trigger.

The bullet clips his neck; blood spurts, and he crumples.

Rafe looks over at me and smirks. “Nasty shot.”

When we reach Cal, Murphy has both hands pressed to the wound, blood running through his fingers.

“I’ll get him out,” Murphy says.

Rafe crouches beside them. “We all go through there. Murphy, take Cal. Eamon, cover him.”

Cal grips Murphy’s sleeve. “Leave me.”

“No,” Rafe says.

“I’ll slow ya down.”

“You already do that.”

Cal tries to laugh and chokes instead.

Rafe hooks an arm beneath his shoulders while Murphy takes his legs. Together they lift him and start toward the corridor.

I cover the rear with Eamon, firing in turns. Then a shadow shifts above the loading bay.

“Someone’s on the walkway,” I say. “They’re wearing a black mask like a respirator. The one from the pictures.”

Rafe glances back and clocks the slim figure. “That’s the Crowe’s Butcher, alright.”

The masked head turns toward us. Even at this distance, the stillness in the butcher is eery as we’re watched.

Rafe lowers Cal into Murphy’s arms.

“That’ll be the fucker directing this shitshow.” He reloads his gun. “I’ll go after them. Head straight to the offices and down the emergency exit. Sera, stay with them.”

I grab his sleeve. “Saint said pairs.”

“He also said to kill any threats.”

The Butcher turns and disappears along the walkway as Rafe pulls free. “I’m not letting that bastard walk out of here.”

“Rafe.”

He checks his magazine and looks at me, his expression tight with the same rage burning through mine.