“I know!” Carter snaps. “Shot his fucking hand, not his head.”
Blaze comes around the van dragging a man by the back of his shirt and slams him face-first into the concrete. “This one tried to run.”
Hammer says, “He failed.”
The man groans.
Blaze kicks the gun away from his hand. “Yeah, he did.”
A door at the far end opens. Two men bolt. Wrong direction. Cain’s team is waiting.
The first goes down under Cain’s hit, folded like his body forgot how to work. The second makes it three more steps before Shadow catches him from behind and drives him into a support beam. Blood sprays from his nose. He stays conscious. Useful.
I move toward the office.
Logan’s voice cuts behind me. “Cobra.”
“I’m not gonna kill him. Yet.”
The office door is cracked. Someone inside breathing too fast.
I kick it open.
A man sits behind a desk with both hands raised, face pale, eyes darting from me to the gun on the floor just out of reach. “I don’t know anything,” he says immediately.
I stare at him. Men always say that first. Like it saves them. I step inside.
He scrambles back in the chair until it hits the wall. “I just handle intake.”
Wrong thing to say.
My hand closes around his throat, and I lift him out of the chair enough that his shoes scrape uselessly against the floor. “Intake of what?”
His eyes bulge. “Girls,” he chokes. The word leaves him wet and thin.
I slam him into the wall. Not hard enough to kill. Hard enough to make the next answer easier. “How many moved through here?”
“I don’t—”
I slam him again. “How many?”
“Twelve this week,” he gasps. “Maybe fifteen. I don’t know exact. I swear.”
The room behind me is still loud, but the firefight is dying. Control returning. Good.
I lean closer. “Where do they go?”
He shakes his head.
I squeeze. Not enough to crush. Enough to show him how close it is. “Where?”
“Different hubs,” he rasps. “South. East. Private transfers. Auctions. I only get intake and temporary hold.”
“Who runs it?”
His mouth opens. No sound.
I squeeze harder. “Name.”
