Page 91 of Night Shift

For a beat, we all stood there wordlessly, listening to the distant waves crashing against the dock. This was it, just us and the looming battle. My grip tightened around my weapon, the taste of revenge sharp on my tongue.

“Lead the way, Mac. And remember, if this is a trap, it’ll be the last mistake you ever make,” Colton warned in a low growl.

We moved as one, a unit bound by a singular purpose, following Mac’s shaky lead. The warehouse loomed ahead, a Russian mafia stronghold hiding Samantha. My senses were on high alert. Every shadow was a potential threat.

We rounded a corner, flanked by towering stacks of containers, and crashed straight into a world of chaos. Two of the Russian lookouts spotted us before we could even blink, their guns up and firing before a single word was exchanged. This was a “shoot first and ask questions later” kind of scenario.

“Shit!” I yelled, diving behind a container as the first volley of bullets flew. Colton, Braxton, Conan, and the rest of our makeshift squad scrambled for cover, seeking protection behind anything we could find. The air cracked with the continuous gunfire. Bullets zipped past us, ricocheting off the metal containers with deafening cracks.

Without hesitation, we returned fire. My gun kicked in my hands, the sharp smell of gunpowder filling the air as we took down the two lookouts. They hit the ground hard, their weapons clattering onto the concrete.

Colton’s voice cut through the resulting silence like a knife: “Move, move, move! They know we’re here now!” The danger was obvious; our element of surprise had been blown to hell.

With no need to be stealthy, we sprinted toward the warehouse. One of the guys, without breaking stride, took aim and shot the wheels of the SUV and sedan parked inside the garage door, ensuring no one could make a quick getaway.

Pandemonium reigned when we breached the interior, gunfire ricocheting off the walls. The Volkovi were quick to respond. We were hit with a deadly hailstorm of bullets as we maneuvered through. We ducked, weaved, and fired, moving with a singular focus—to find Sam.

Mac, that treacherous snake, was surprisingly true to his word, leading me toward the office hallway where he suspected Sam was being held. With my heart racing and my gun ready, I remained wary. Every step was a gamble. A potential ambush waited around every corner.

Just as we neared the back area, the most unexpected thing happened. Sam, like a vision from heaven amidst the madness, came running out of the hallway, straight into the heart of the fray.

“Sam, get down!” I shouted, my voice barely audible over the discord of the battle. Every instinct screamed at me to run to her, to shield her with my body, to get her out of this hell.

The warehouse was a frenzy of bullets and chaos as Colton’s team pushed forward. They moved with lethal precision, each man a shadow darting from cover to cover, systematically taking down the Volkovi who dared to stand in their way. The smell of gunpowder and blood choked the air.

Mac and I made a beeline for Sam, whose auburn curls were a beacon in the madness. But then, out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two Volkovi approaching. They raised their guns and took aim directly at her.

“Fuck!” I cursed, my instincts kicking in. Without a second thought, Mac and I leaped forward, hurling ourselves into the line of fire. Time seemed to slow as we flew, guns blazing, returning fire in midair. The sounds of the warehouse—the shouts, the gunfire, the clattering of spent shells—all faded into a distant whirr as my entire focus narrowed down to stopping those bullets.

Conan, spotting the imminent threat, let loose a volley from his rifle, his aim true as ever. The bullet hit one of the Volkovi and sent him staggering back like a lifeless marionette cut from its strings.

I was almost on top of Samantha when a shot hit me. The force of the impact, even blunted by my Kevlar, was like a sledgehammer propelling me backward into her. We hit the ground hard. Samantha’s head made a sickening crack against the concrete, and she went limp beneath me—unconscious.

For a moment, I was disoriented, the world tilting dangerously. But then adrenaline surged, snapping me back to reality. Glancing around, I spotted the lifeless body of the second Russian. My return fire had found its mark even as I’d fallen.

Conan and I had stopped the immediate threat, but Sam and I were down. She was out cold, and I was dazed, my chest screaming in protest.

The fight raged around us, Colton’s men pushing the advantage. But, with Sam lying in a heap on the cold ground, I couldn’t focus on any of that. I trusted Colton’s team to finish this while I stayed by her side.

The stench of blood was thick in the air. As the last sounds of gunfire faded, I noticed Mac slumped against a container, a dark stain spreading across his chest. “Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

Conan scrambled over to us, quickly assessing Mac’s wound.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The cavalry was finally on its way. The remaining Volkovi didn’t stick around, vanishing into the shadows as they made their escape.

Conan kneeled beside Mac, his hands moving with practiced competence, but the grim set of his mouth told me all I needed to know. “It’s bad,” he mouthed.

Mac coughed, blood flecking his lips. “Tell Samantha…I’m sorry,” he rasped, each word a struggle. “She deserved…better.”

Conan nodded solemnly. “We’ll tell her, Mac. We promise.”

At that moment, I was overcome with a grudging respect for Mac. For all his faults, in the end, he’d shown a glimmer of decency. “You did one thing right,” I said to him, shifting my attention to Sam, who still lay unconscious beside me and was breathing shallowly. “She’s the best damn legacy you could ever have had.”

Braxton was already on his phone. “We need an evac, fast,” he barked into the receiver, clearly speaking to one of his EMT buddies. While Conan tended to Mac, Braxton and I sat on either side of Sam, keeping an eye on her vitals and ensuring her safety. All we could do was wait.

The police arrived in a whirlwind of sirens and flashing lights, securing the scene as Colton debriefed them on the events of the last few hours. Somehow the Volkovi had managed to run off and take their injured with them. Through it all, Colton kept a close watch over us, ensuring the police knew we were the good guys in this mess. Braxton’s friend, Chief Ayers, knew us all and didn’t hassle us with a lot of police procedures. There would be time for that later and I’d already given him my statement.

Soon, I got the news that all of Colton’s men were accounted for. A couple of them were banged up, but nothing life-threatening. That was a slight relief in the night’s chaos.

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