By midnight, we’re paused at a secluded gas station on the edge of the county line, filling our tanks, refueling with cheap food and energy drinks, and washing the worst of the grime off in the back bathrooms.
I press my weight into the cold brick wall, eyes sweeping the darkness for any hint of danger. Horrific images of what Marigold might be suffering claw at the mental cage I’ve forced them into. The memory of her surviving Damon’s hell once already threatens to shatter what’s left of my sanity.
But I can’t let that happen. Thatcannothappen. She needs me whole if I'm going to find her alive.
Even if it felt like a huge part of my soul had disappeared the moment I learned she was gone.
The shrill ring of my phone rips me from the darkness in my mind. Pope’s name blazes on the screen, and I answer before the sound can even die.
“We found where a stash of his men is camped out,” Pope says, his voice vibrating with a dangerous mix of relief and fury. “We couldn’t find them before because they’ve been hiding out in the deep woods right at the western edge of the city line. I don’t know why the hell we didn’t think to look there at first, Tomcat. It’s so dense that I didn’t even consider that anyone would actually navigate through it to set up camp. That’s entirely on me. I fucking failed you, brother.”
“Fucking stop,” I growl, my tone so low and lethal that it leaves absolutely no room for argument. “None of us thought of it. How many do we think are down there?”
“Vortex sent his thermal drone out over the canopy. Picked up six heat signatures so far.”
“That’s not where she’ll be,” I state flatly.
“Yeah,” Pope agrees, a heavy sigh crackling over the line. “I've never dealt with this bastard before, but from the horror stories I’ve heard and what we’ve learned from Marigold’s past, you’re exactly right. He’s going to want her all to himself somewhere. He won’t be too far from his men, though. Damon is so used to having them around for protection that I don’t think he’ll be close enough for them to get to him quickly if shit hits the fan. Vortex is running the drone outward through the city now. Cypher is still burning up the traffic cameras. You might beat the rest of us to finding his exact location once you squeeze his men.”
“Drop me the pin of their coordinates right fucking now. I want these motherfuckers, Pope. I’m about to lose my goddamn mind if I don’t lay my eyes on her soon.”
“We’ll find her, Tomcat. The bastard is going to get exactly what’s coming to him,” Pope says.
He gives me everything I need before hanging up. I gather my brothers beneath the flickering gas station lights, sharing the intel in a tight huddle. Joker wastes no time, mapping out a plan. Stealth is our top priority. We’ll ride to the edge of the woods, ditch the bikes, and move in on foot. Vortex will track their heat signatures, making sure the targets stay put until we close in.
As soon as the plan is set, my mind sharpens, colder and steadier than it has been since Storm’s desperate warning on the highway.
Inside my chest, everything locks down so tight that only lethal determination slips through the ice.
Goose, a solid prospect who’s been earning his place with us for the last year, meets us at the drop-off, driving the weapon cage. He cuts the engine and slides open a side panel, exposing a hidden steel compartment packed with weapons.
“Grab what you need, brothers,” I order. “We have no idea what defenses or firepower we’re up against. Be ready for anything.”
I reach into the cage, grabbing extra loaded magazines for my sidearm, a heavy tactical blade, a high-tensile wire garrote, and a solid ball-peen hammer. I test the weight of the hammer, swinging it through the air in a short, brutal arc. I can already picture the exact feeling of cracking Damon’s skull open with it, watching his brain matter spill across the floorboards, and a dark, vicious satisfaction purrs deep through my chest. This. This specific tool I am going to save especially for that motherfucker.
Unless my woman gets to him first.
Once we’re fully decked out in gear, we slip into the tree line and make our way through the dense woods. For a group of bulky men whose steps are normally heavy as fuck on the asphalt, our approach to their perimeter is barely a whisper through the leaves. Every man in the line knows exactly how high-stakes this mission is, and not a single one of us is willing to fuck it up.
“There are four targets clustered in the middle of the clearing, two at twelve o’clock, three at nine o’clock, and two more stationed at three o’clock,” Vortex’s mechanical voice crackles quietly through the comm-pieces we all have securely in our ears.
Manic, Blitz, and Ducky immediately pivot to neutralize the three stationed near our primary entry point. Gavel and Munch silently ghost to the right to handle the two men at three o’clock. Gris, Blitz, and Bugsy shift left to hunt down the three at nine o’clock.
Basilisk takes a heavy stance right at my side as I give a series of sharp hand gestures, letting the rest of the officers know that I am going straight through the brush for the four bastardssitting in the fucking middle. Dogbreath and Ratso flash me a quick nod, letting me know they’re flanking around to take out the two lookouts at twelve o’clock, and then we all break away, completely vanishing into the thick brush toward our targets.
As Basilisk and I make our approach, my brothers start executing their kills, the cold clearing counts clicking rhythmically in my ear.
“Three done.”
“Nine down.”
“Twelve clear.”
Through the dense leaves, I see the four men sitting in the middle of their makeshift campsite suddenly becoming antsy. They’re shouting into the walkie-talkies they were using for guard rotations, their voices rising in panic when their perimeter guys completely fail to reply to their calls.
Basilisk and I burst through the edge of the clearing the exact second the four remaining bastards jump to their feet, drawing their weapons and standing back-to-back. As if that pathetic circle will do a single goddamn thing to save them from the wrath of the outlaws hunting them.
Basilisk cuts a glance at me, holding up two fingers as he points them toward the right side of the campfire, then taps his own chest. He’s taking the two on the right leaving the other two for me. I give him a sharp nod, waiting a microsecond until he’s slipped into position so we can breach the perimeter at the exact same time.
