Page 174 of Wreck Me

Too excitedly, judging by the way he was shifting around and being incredibly restless since we’d jumped into the unmarked black van to head down here to the Southend Docks, a portion of the area that was controlled by a small syndicate that was working hard—and rather viciously—to be the next up-and-comers. They’d made a bold move from drug running to dipping their toes into the flesh trade. A mammoth mistake on their part.

As they were about to discover up close and personal.

They had two transports coming in tonight to their warehouse. Transports of people.

It was despicable and just the kind of thing The Jackals existed to stop.

I laid my hand on Caleb’s shoulder as we crouched down at the north end of the docks, a hundred feet from the entrance to the open warehouse where eight men clad in leather and jeans were milling about, getting ready for the shipment, including the boss of the outfit, a big guy with salt and pepper hair yelling harshly at his puppets. He had quite the temper on him. That worked to our benefit. Those who couldn’t control their emotions made mistakes with the greatest of ease.

“Calm yourself, or you’ll remain here in the brush until this is done,” I warned Caleb.

“And you’re gonna take eight of them alone?”

“You know very well that I’m beyond capable of doing so.”

He stiffened at that, recognizing that it wasn’t merely a threat, that I would actually bench him if I had to. “Fine. I’ve got it locked down.”

“Just make sure that you do.”

“I do, Cas.”

“After this we’ll take a break before any further operations.”

“What? No. This is going great. I don’t want to stop.”

That was the problem—or becoming one.

At first, he’d had it under control, but now I was starting to see signs of his bloodlust resurfacing.

We’d been going at it too hard. I’d been overcompensating for shutting The Jackals down for so long. My bid to keep the three of them happy and give them the outlet they needed.

I watched the transport trucks approaching, saw Bastian’s mask over by the south side with Skylar’s wig—a purple one tonight—as the two of them broke position, getting ready to complete their respective tasks for this operation.

As the transport trucks drew closer and Skylar bolted into the fray to stop four henchmen who moved out from the south side of the warehouse to greet them, and Bastian darted for the trucks themselves to free the hostages, it created the distraction Caleb and I needed to move in.

I gave the word and Caleb and I burst from our point of cover and sprinted toward our eight targets in the north end of the open warehouse.

Two of them picked up on us and went to draw their guns before we were close enough to deliver hand-to-hand damage. I pulled my Glock and fired off two shots, one to the kneecap of each. It had them shrieking and dropping instantly. They wouldn’t be getting back up into the fight now.

“What the fuck?” the boss yelled as he noticed us.

“The Jackals!” another cried.

“That’s right, motherfuckers!” Caleb roared as we barreled into the open warehouse and he spun into the closest guy, ripped him over his shoulder, then smashed his boot into his face as soon as he hit the hard concrete.

I didn’t have any more time to pay attention, as he ran at two others with his usual enthusiasm, because three came at me.

One had an automatic, the other two brandishing blades.

I swept my leg at the hostile with the firearm—the most immediate threat—destabilizing him enough that his grip faltered on the gun. I was there in the next second, delivering a chop to the inside of his arm, then yanking the gun from his grip with ease. As I kicked him back, leaving him reeling, I spun toward another incoming assault that I felt, smashing the gun into the throat of said hostile. He choked and fell back. I spun the gun in my hand and slammed it into the side of his head. He dropped like a ragdoll and I detached the magazine, then tossed the now useless gun on top of him, while I tossed the magazine several feet outside the warehouse near the brush.

A kick to my back from the third guy jarred me only a little, something he wasn’t counting on, because he looked extremely stunned when I leapt up into a spinning kick that sent him careening up onto the raised platform.

I stalked over there, snagging another guy on my way and wrenching his arm up his back. He screamed as I broke it in two places, then yanked him down by it and smashed his face into the platform, putting him out of the fight.

As I watched the hostile I’d thrown onto the platform struggling to get to his feet, shrieks cut into my focus and I swung my head to see Caleb literally ripping into one of the hostiles with a blade, the guy’s shirt pushed up and held there by him while he carved into him, blood flowing down over his torso, his guts spilling out. Jesus Christ Almighty.

“Caleb!” I shouted.

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