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“The team has eyes on the assets. They…they’re confirmed alive but show signs of distress and injuries.”
Tácito clenches his jaw at the news while Sloane pounds her fist onto her thigh.
“Boss, they’re preparing to engage the targets. We should hear if the extraction is successful soon.”
I nod while I consider the possibilities out loud. “Good, while they keep them busy, we won’t have to worry that we’re too late to stop a kill order.”
“There is one more thing…” During Ethan’s brief hesitation a world of more potential bad news fill my head. “They’ve confirmed Giulio’s presence. He’s not a hostage.”
Despite preparing myself for this, the news shatters something inside me. I had no illusions about the man, yet his willingness to lower himself to this level delivers a degree of pain off my usual scale.
“Valentino?” Sloane’s concern adds to the crushing hurt inside me.
But now’s not the time to wallow. I channel my silent suffering into my resolve. “We can talk about this later. Let’s roll out.”
If Truck Five hadn’t gotten to Luxe’s building in time, we planned to stall, but there is no need to delay anymore. No need to pretend this is a peace talk. Ghost Six wants my wife dead, has failed an attempt to make it happen. There can never be peace, only bloodshed.
The trucks stop and we pile out, all except Tácito and the driver. Sloane and I and the rest of our small team head to the specific building Matthew and Emerson designated for our meeting. My wrist pulses.
Two words, “Don’t die,” stare back at me. I catch Sloane’s gaze and she nods, having received the same message.
In a synchronized move, my team lowers our masks and shoots smoke grenades through the building’s windows. We charge inside amid the chaos, opening fire on anything that moves. Sloane and I move as a unit, our backs to each other. We circle the floor, firing. Thanks to our body cams, what we don’t pick up on, Tácito does, issuing warnings in our ears.
He saves my ass a few times.
As we down one body after the other, we check to confirm if they belong to Matthew or Emerson. So far, our two top targets have eluded us. Hopefully no one on the other teams have gotten to them yet.
Once we clear the first floor, Sloane and I cautiously move to the second. We silently move down the hall, checking the rooms off the main corridor.
“What the hell just happened to Sloane?” Tácito’s frantic voice yells in my ear.
I swivel around but she is no longer behind me. Panic floods my system, doing its best to override the calm I need, but I fight it down. I sign in front of the body cam that I’ll find her. The open door on my left seems to be my only option since Sloane wouldn’t have strayed too far from my side.
I peek around the frame. When no bullets come flying at my head, I enter the room. Piles of boxes obstruct my view, making it difficult to navigate, but I quickly determine she isn’t here. An open door leading to another room draws my attention and I follow my gut.
Suppressed thuds come from the direction ahead, reinforcing my decision to follow my instincts. Someone is shooting and I can’t tell what end of the gun Sloane is on, but deep down I know she’s surrounded by enemies. Alone with only herself to depend on until I get there.
I should have realized she’d been taken sooner. Despite not having time to pamper myself, my morose thoughts persist. The more I advance and pass more rooms, the louder the signs of a struggle sound. I’m getting closer.
“You thought you were too good for us.” A voice I don’t recognize says.
An oomph from someone else follows. Though unable to see, I imagine someone punching Sloane or worse. It takes everything I have inside me not to let the rage boil out and throw caution to the wind. These motherfuckers will get theirs, no matter what.
“Thought you were tough shit for going into the Air Force, didn’t you?” the voice sneers. “I’m here to show you that you ain’t shit. There are consequences for your bad decisions.”
I lower myself as close to the ground as physically possible and peek into the room. Half a dozen men surround Sloane, two of which are the ones we want. A few sport bloody noses and lips. Another couple show signs of swelling about their eyes and cheeks. My wife hasn’t taken her capture lying down, but they’ve since disarmed her and are taking turns pummeling her. From my angle, she is favoring her right leg.
“Bet you didn’t think your father-in-law would sell you out,” Emerson says, a grin a mile wide on his face.
“Damn, that Giulio is cold,” his son, Matthew, responds.
“That’s because these DeLucas ain’t shit. They never learned what it means to be true family. Case in point, an ungrateful son who runs away from the organization.” Emerson throws another punch, bringing Sloane to her knees.
“Yeah, once you’re in, the only way you leave is in pieces.”
“Yeah? I’ll make sure to rip you apart when I hand in your resignation letter,” Sloane responds.
I can’t tell if I’m proud of her, scared for her, or angry at her for talking shit at a time like this. Whatever you do, you’ve got to hang in until I can get to you. I keep my senses honed for an opening.
