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“We’re in,” Smoke’s thick, Scottish brogue confirms.“Lots’a bloody fuckin’ bodies.”
Out of my peripheral, I watch Kade ready his door handle. “Now?”
I turn to Blimp, then all the way around to see my brothers in the back. “Stay whole. Follow orders and stay in the truck, Blimp.” I clap his shoulder.
Knowing his role as getaway if needed, Blimp dips his chin in understanding as the rest of us pull our weapons to fight. In front of us, lit by headlights, is an open doorway, ready to enter, flanked on either side by our armed Corrupt Chaos brothers. This section of warehouse is our closest guess to where they’d hold the captives. Whether or not our calculations are right makes little fuckin’ difference. The three of us are on a mission.
Calling out my final round of orders through the comms, I smile wickedly over my shoulder to Kade.
The hunt is on.
Stepping into the unknown, the echo of gunfire greets us. High-octane adrenaline dumps into my system. Sweat beads on my brow. My muscles prime for a fight. Ready for anything. Kade and White Boy protect my six as I lead us into the bowels of our enemy’s camp. Lights flicker overhead as gray hallways lead us down more dingy gray hallways. Room by room, we search, uncovering little more than stolen car parts and electronics.
“Need Doc. We’ve been hit,” comes through the comm as we progress, focused on our task. I clear a room, Kade clears the next, then White Boy. Like a well-oiled machine, we remain alert.
At another bend in the hall, Kade presses his spine against the corner. A demonic smile parts his goatee, and he tucks two blades to his chest as a round of voices carry. I ready my gun. Our gazes catch in a don’t-get-dead comradery. We chin lift as one. It’s showtime.
“Come out, come out, you dead motherfuckers,” he taunts.
Four young douchebags dressed in black jog around the corner. Bypassing Kade altogether, they come guns blazing, straight for me, and I’m ready. Dropping low, I avoid the spray of bullets as they chip away at cinderblock walls, clouding the air in chalky smoke.
In a masterful ballet of blades, my Texas brother engages, slicing and dicing in a blur. Crimson coats him, the concrete floor, and walls as I masterfully unload into our enemies. One thigh, two thighs, three thighs, four. Five thighs, six thighs… ooops, they’re dead on the floor.
Not quite done, Kade plants his feet on either side of a corpse, slices open the man’s cotton shirt, and removes his innards with far more precision than I care to witness. Heavy wetness slaps the ground as Kade performs whatever surgery his dark soul hungers for. It’s not my place to judge. Not today. The guy’s already rotting in Hell. Let bygones be bygones.
On a groan, I stand to my full height and dust off my knees.
“Mother wouldn’t like this,” Kade hisses to himself as I take his spot at the corner, to make sure we don’t encounter any unwelcomed guests.
In a nearby room, White Boy whistles to get our attention. “You good?”
To be sure, I peer down the hall. It’s clear. “Yeah.”
“Well… I think I found something.”
Leaving Kade to his devices, I join White Boy in a room close to our collection of corpses and…
What the actual fuck?
Hospital beds full of women line both sides of a long, dimly lit room. Down the center, there’s a narrow path wide enough to roll a gurney through. Machines beep and chime their greeting as I pause long enough to soak in the scene. Over my shoulder, Kade observes the same and wipes his blades clean on the backside of his jeans.
Nose scrunching in revulsion, I shake my head. “What the hell is this place?” The angry vein in my forehead throbs.
On the other side of the space, White Boy aims his gun at two females lying face down on the floor, fingers threaded behind their heads. “Ask them.” He gestures to the bodies with his weapon.
So, I do. Without moving. Because I don’t wanna see this shit.I don’t wanna be near it. I don’t wanna think about it.
“Explain. Now,” I growl.
This had better be good.
“It’s our job,” one croaks.
Right. Their job.
I scoff.
“To do what?” I know what, but I’m askin’ anyhow. Consider me interested, ’cause we haven’t come across this style of sick fuckery yet. Not from Remy, anyhow.
