Page 32 of Wolf.e

Change of plans. Pack light and do not leave on your own, understand?

I pull my phone back from my face to look at the text as I finish my conversation with Mike.

I just stare at it for a solid minute after I hang up. I start to type but then stop myself. I’ve seen too much of him in the last two days. I need a little distance to think clearly.

I flip my phone over on the kitchen counter.

I know it’s childish but it's easier to just pretend I didn't see it, and besides, I don’t have to answer to him anyway. As I finish packing, I remind myself there will be women everywhere tonight—lots of them. More than enough to steal his attention. As I make sure everything is clean and ready for me to leave for the night, I settle with the idea that Wolfe is just paying attention to me because I didn’t fawn all over him this morning. And maybe the big, all-powerful president isn’t used to that.

No matter how much I try not to think about him, his words echo in the deep baritone of his voice this morning when he told me to make sure I answer his call.

Whatever. I think I’m sort of done doing every single thing everyone tells me.

He’ll get over it.

There’s a type of adrenaline, a rush you get from planning something and executing it perfectly, managing to keep all your men safe.

Robby cuts through the fencing at the side of the DOS safe house. We’ve received word that one of Gator’s protection backups has just arrived at his regular escort's motel room. Gator’s never alone but this is the closest he’ll get.

He’s hiding out like a fucking bitch.

I should be laser focused. I should have a one-track mind to get in, grab Gator, and get the fuck out, but I don’t. I’m goddamn distracted by the woman who hasn’t answered my text all morning, after I specifically told her to and it’s pissing me off.

“How are we?” Robby asks Kai over the walkie. Kai is in our service van on Country Road 3—the only road that leads to this dilapidated piece of shit house.

“Clear,” Kai says back. “Loop is still up and running on their security system, so be quick.”

Robby, Ax, and I squeeze through the gaping hole in the fence that’s in the woods at the back of the property and we wait. We’ve been studying these grounds for almost two weeks, we’ve got the land deeds, and we know every single person coming and going. We’re ready and we’re not leaving here without the man who stole Mason’s little sister’s innocence. One rule we live by? Women and kids are off fucking limits. Break those rules, you die, no matter who you are.

I listen for sound, for movement, anything, but there’s nothing. Just insects and nature. The rain from this morning has been gone for hours but the grass is still damp under our boots.

“Go,” I tell Ax, pointing in the direction of the house that’s over a hundred yards away. We take off, moving steadily through the trees and pop out near the backside of the house. My gun is a comforting and familiar weight in my hands as we make our way through the clearing between the woods and the back of this shithole they’re calling home. The moment my boot touches the edge of the clearing gunshots fill the air. We expected that.

I look back to Robby to check that he’s still good. He ducks behind a barrel, while Ax and I duck behind the deck rail. The deck is cluttered with furniture and old tires for us to take cover. We assess the direction the bullets fly from and how many shooters there are. Time moves oddly slow when you’re in a combat situation.

It’s the body’s way to fight for survival. Your training kicks in and you begin to run on autopilot and instinct. You become hyper aware of everything around you—the way the trees move, any creak in the floorboards, the wind. Everything.

I take aim and blast an empty beer can on the opposite side of the deck from where I am, hoping whoever is inside of the house isn’t as smart as I am. I’m happy to find out he isn’t as he pushes the door open and shoots. I snipe him behind the ear and he drops lifeless to the deck, and I wait. I knew him, he was a rank-and-file member—sloppy, always high. There’s usually two of them here at this time of day, so we wait for the second target for a few minutes, even though we know we only have a forty-five-minute window before number three is back. The absence of our second shooter makes me nervous.

I get my eyes on Robby and point to the side window. Not a chance we’re going in the back to be sitting ducks for Gator. I creep along the side of the deck until I’m under the window and pull a small pocket mirror out of my cut, using it to see inside. A shaky hand holding a Glock 17 points toward the back door. I wait.

Call it a side effect from growing up with my father. Patience. The ability to stay calm in an intense situation. I could go off half cocked and shoot the gun out of his hand or I could wait for a better shot and determine if this is, in fact, Gator shooting at us and if he’s alone. He doesn’t know I’m here, so I have the advantage. He inches forward, and I confirm it is Gator. He’s seen better days. Hole yourself up virtually alone in a cabin with various painkillers and booze, and I suppose you’d look the same—dirty, skittish, afraid.

It’s why I’ve never put that garbage in my body. It’s a weaker man’s escape.

The moment I get a clear shot through the window, I take it. I don’t want to kill him. Yet.

We’re gonna have some fun with him first and help him understand exactly why fucking with a sixteen-year-old is a bad fucking decision.

My shot hits Gator square in his right shoulder and he drops his arm, his gun clattering to the floor. I look back to Robby, then to Ax who’s still behind the deck rail and point to the back door. Ax takes off to climb the deck and I cover him. If Gator manages to reach for his gun, he’ll be down a hand before he ever picks it up.

I signal for Robby to move. He busts through the front door and kicks Gator’s gun to the other side of the room. I keep my eyes firmly planted on Robby’s figure through the window as he moves through the tiny house.

“Clear,” he sounds to let me know we’re good to go.

I pull my walkie out of my back pocket. “Still good?” I ask Kai. “We’re securing the package now.”

“All good,” Kai responds.

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