The man’s skull shatters like a watermelon as he slumps forward, and I’m about to give a vicious grin when his stupid body topples from the roof and lands on the ground with a sickeningly loud thump.
Fuck.
“Guess we won’t be sneaking into the party, boys,” Ridge says in our ears. “Get ready to dance.”
I grab a grenade, and when the door bursts open and a dozen Noths come pouring out, I pull the pin and lob it with everything I’ve got, feeling confident that Brylee isn’t in the immediate vicinity. If I have to guess, I would say she’s farther in the abandoned warehouse, probably underground where it’ll be difficult for me to smell her.
The orange blast heats my face, and two of the fuckers fall as the explosion lights up the matted collection of unkempt dead leaves and sticks on the ground that no one’s bothered to clear out. A convenient little bonfire that makes the rest of our targets even easier to see as a few more come dashing out of side doors.
I raise my automatic and let my bullets tell those fuckers exactly what I think of them. Insults bite into their skin. Shred their souls. Make them cry like the pussies they are.
Kidnapping a woman?
My mate?
They’re pathetic and evil, and if I could strip the alpha designation from them, I would.
Next to me, a shotgun blast ripples through my eardrums.
I glance over. Luka’s not interested in subtle. He’s more livid than I’ve ever seen him as he steps forward fearlessly, reloading and shooting again and again. Eyes dark as the devil’s.
Spotting a glimmer of movement from my periphery, I see a gun sliding out from a second-story window of the metallic building.
“Sniper,” I call. “High. My three o’clock.”
“Got him.” Ridge’s tone is flat and even before the window shatters and bullets pour through the opening.
The gun falls out of sight.
No other Noths emerge, but I have no doubt this fight is far from over.
They’re lying in wait. It’s what we would do.
“Move in,” Ridge directs us, and we converge to clear the building.
Heart bombarding my ribs, we flow into the building like water, arrowing to the left, clearing out offices.
At the third door, we take fire from two fucks who’ve created a barricade out of old machine parts. They shoot from small openings between their wall of metal, crouched down so we can’t get to them.
I duck, but a blazing trail skims the top of my shoulder like someone’s dragged a match over it.
“Hit!” I call out.
“Smoke bomb,” Kylian responds.
He tosses it toward the bastards, and we clear out of the room, closing the door behind us.
“I got this,” Luka says, planting himself just past the doorjamb. “Go.”
Trotting down the hall, I spot another Noth. As I raise my arms, I suck in a breath between my teeth, embracing the burn from my wound.
I blast four rounds through that Noth, not stopping until he slumps. Still, the fury of getting shot rides me as the other guys take out targets, coordinating over our earpieces.
But I’m distracted.
Because I don’t smell her.
Not at all. Not even the tiniest bit of scent. Not even a charred, fear-ridden version of her sweetness.
