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*
‘We have to retreat! We don’t have any option! The longer we stay here, the more brothers we lose!’ Rainer shouted to Wolf. The gunfire was so loud and constant that it was hard to hear what was being said. It felt as though they’d walked into a war.
It was horrifying.
Hearing yells — both of Drifters and Deathers — hit by the barrage of bullets was horrendous. This was a nightmare. Had to be. There was no way that someone in his organization would have tipped off the Death Division, was there? They had to have some sort of intel.
How could he have been this stupid? How could they have all been so stupid? To have come so close to destroying this place, and the Death Division as a whole, just to fail at the final hurdle.
It was a trap.
Of course it was a trap.
Crank was right next to him, holding onto the gasoline barrels. If a stray bullet hit one of those it would be instant death for the four of them.
Wolf didn’t want to give up. He didn’t want to walk away. But he got the feeling that if he didn’t, he’d never see his Little Girl again.
‘Fuck! Fuck! You’re right. We have to retreat!’
Before he’d finished his sentence, Baron stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a shrill, powerful whistle. It was the sound none of the Drifters wanted to hear: the signal for retreat. Instantly, the sound of gunfire receded. Good. The guys in the forest were heading away, back to their bikes. Hopefully, the Death Division wouldn’t pursue. No doubt they’d lost some of their own.
‘We can’t go out through the back way,’ Crank said. ‘Too many of them.’
‘Right,’ said Rainer. ‘We push on through. It’s just those two by the front.’
They abandoned the gas tanks and ran around to the front gate, pausing behind the corner of the warehouse. There was no way to know where the two front guards were — they most likely were lying in wait for them, or for any Drifter who might try to escape. Sure enough, when Wolf stuck his head out for just a moment, he heard the crack of a gunshot. Luckily, he withdrew in time. He pulled it back, but not before he had a chance to see the positions of both guards. They were in cover, but — with luck — he could get a shot off at them.
With alotof luck.
‘What’s our move?’ Crank asked.
‘We need to—’
In that moment, Wolf made a split-second decision. He knew that every moment that went past was bad for them. The rest of the Death Division would be heading back into the warehouse compound right now. And that meant they had seconds before someone shot them from behind.
He didn’t have time to think. He didn’t have time to wait. All he could do was move.
Wolf had never even attempted a commando roll before. The idea of it was absurd. But somehow, it worked.
Pistol in hand, he threw himself forward and down. He hit the ground hard with his shoulder, but managed to right himself before firing off a round at each of the Deathers. Two hits.
But there had beenthreegunshots.
Fuck.
It was only a few seconds later that he realized that the blood on his shirt was his.
*
All of this madness, all of this suffering, all of it was because of Sophia.
Nanny Rae’s face was a mask of terror. The biker next to her, an evil-looking rat of a man with lank, greasy hair and swastika tattoos, was pressing a blade against her throat.
Standing in front of them was Hank Groat. And to the side, her father.
‘H-how did you find us?’ Sophia asked.
‘Darlin’, don’t say a word,’ Marcus cautioned, holding up his hand.
