Page 83 of They All Own Me

"Dom, your nine o'clock!"

I spin, catch a glimpse of a gun barrel. My reaction is pure instinct – two center mass shots before the guy can even level his weapon.

"Thanks for the heads up." I check my magazine. "Getting low here. Let's push harder before we're shooting spitballs."

The stench of rust and mildew grows stronger as we approach the boiler room. Blood pounds in my ears, mixing with the distant hum of machinery. We've cleared every other inch of this warehouse, and my gut says this is it.

Connor signals from my right, holding up three fingers. Through the grimy window, shadows move behind the frosted glass.

"Two entry points," I whisper, gesturing to the main door and the maintenance access. "Isaac, take the side. Connor, you're with me."

"What if she's in the line of fire?" Connor's voice is barely audible over the mechanical drone.

"Then we don't miss." I check my magazine one last time. "These fuckers made their choice when they took her."

Isaac melts away toward the side entrance, his footsteps silent despite the debris-strewn floor. Connor and I position ourselves on either side of the main door.

"On my mark." I grip the handle, feeling the cool metal against my palm. "Three. Two-"

A scream pierces the air – Tatum's voice. My blood turns to ice.

"Fuck the count." I kick the door open, rolling to the right as gunfire erupts.

Connor's already moving, his shots precise as he takes down the first guard. The boiler room's a maze of pipes and shadows, steam hissing from somewhere overhead.

"Drop your weapons!" A voice calls out. "Or the senator's wife gets it!"

Through the steam, I spot Tatum tied to a chair. Blood trickles from her split lip, her eye swollen shut. Her shirt is torn, revealing bruises blooming across her collarbone. Something inside me snaps.

"You know what's funny?" I keep my voice deliberately calm, letting it carry across the room. "We came here planning to negotiate. Maybe even let you idiots walk away."

A nervous shuffle from behind the pipes. These fools don't know what real danger sounds like.

"But see, now you've gone and fucked up." I step forward, steam curling around my boots. "You put your hands on her."

"Stay back!" The voice cracks. "We'll-"

"You'll what?" Connor's cold laugh echoes from somewhere to my left. "Kill her? Then you've got nothing. And we've got no reason to leave any of you breathing."

Isaac's voice joins in from behind them. "And trust me, boys, you don't want that. Because now we're gonna take our time."

"Last chance," I announce, scanning the shadows. "Drop your weapons, step out where we can see you, and maybe – just maybe – we'll make it quick."

Tatum's good eye meets mine. Despite everything, there's fire there, not fear. My chest tightens.

"These fuckers aren't worth negotiating with," she calls out, voice hoarse but strong.

"You fucked with the wrong crew." My voice comes out as a growl.

The leader yanks Tatum's head back by her hair. "One more step and-"

I don't let him finish. My bullet catches him in the throat, spraying arterial blood across the pipes behind him. Connor and Isaac move in perfect sync, taking out the remaining two before they can even raise their weapons.

"Clear!" Isaac calls out, but I'm already rushing to Tatum.

"Those motherfuckers." Connor's voice shakes with rage as he covers us, his knuckles white around his gun grip.

I cup Tatum's face, careful of her injuries. Her good eye focuses on me, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her cheeks. "Hey princess, we got you."

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