Page 54 of Skull

Iceman tensed. “Execute.”

Skull felt the surge of unstoppable will. They were out of time, but ready to storm through whatever wall stood in their way. The wolfpack was knocking and it was now or never.

They sprang forward as one.

Walker’s heartdrummed in her ears as she followed Strekoza down a narrow corridor beyond the mansion’s central security office. The steel door they’d just bypassed had proven more of a nuisance than a challenge, each click of her lock-picking kit satisfying a small portion of her methodical mind. Now, with the hallway lit only by flickering emergency lights, they descended a set of worn stone steps. The stale air smelled of mildew and rot. Patches of moisture slicked the walls, each rough stone glistening faintly in the half-dark.

Distant gunfire erupted overhead. Sounded like the team had breached the mansion.

At the bottom of the stairs, they found a cramped space lined by six doors, three on each side. Rusted iron locks hung from every door, while a damp chill set in around them. Hummingbird’s skin prickled. This place felt ancient, as though the stone beneath her feet had seen every form of suffering. She glanced at Strekoza, her partner’s silhouette tense but ready. He nodded, signaling her to begin their search. Carefully, she crouched in front of the first lock, inserting her picks with practiced ease.

It gave way with a soft snick, and she pushed the door open. The stale odor of neglect hit her senses, making her stomach knot. The cell was empty with just chains and a small cot. She hoped Hazard and Leigh wouldn’t be in worse condition, but the gnawing fear clung to the back of her mind like a shadow. If Pincho had them locked up here, time was everything. Steadying herself, she moved to the next door, controlling her breathing.

As she picked the second lock, an unwanted but insistent thought surfaced. Skull. She could see him in her mind, the grim determination in his eyes, Bones at his side, forging onward through the mansion’s chaos. She knew he was capable, his entire team was the embodiment of lethal skill, but that knowledge didn’t quell the tightness in her chest. She realized with an odd pang that, in all her years of infiltration and covert missions, she’d never allowed herself the space to truly worry about anyone like this. It was a foreign feeling for someone who prided herself on self-sufficiency and unwavering composure. But the possibility of something happening to him or the dog, or any of them, felt like a knife twisting in her gut.

She forced her mind to return to the here and now. That was her to the core, thoughtful, bold, always working through contingencies. Yet for the first time, Walker questioned whether her sealed-off existence might have to change. Even a CIA Shadowguard operative could long for deeper connections, for a life that didn’t revolve solely around infiltration and elimination. Her lockpicks jostled in the tumblers. Maybe, she thought, there’s more to living than hiding behind her Shadowguard persona, never being just Walker, but always that quick and darting Hummingbird. Could she pull all those pieces of herself into one unified whole, for him, for her? The lock gave a final click, shaking her out of her introspection. Together, she and Strekoza pushed the door open, bracing themselves for what they might find.

18

Across the mansion,Skull ducked behind a toppled sofa as a bullet whined overhead. The interior was a battlefield of shattered mirrors, bullet-pocked walls, and broken furniture. Boomer and Kodiak advanced along one side of the grand hallway, returning fire as muzzle flashes lit the carved pillars. Iceman’s voice cut through the radio chatter, rallying them to press forward. Hazard and Leigh had to be deeper inside, and the team refused to be pinned down.

They surged into a broader foyer, columns rising on either side, an ornate chandelier swinging precariously overhead. The moment they stepped in, a fresh wave of hostiles emerged from behind marble statues. Automatic fire crackled, forcing the SEALs to dive for cover. Skull’s ears rang, adrenaline thrumming through his veins. Next to him, Bones crouched low, growling at the onslaught of muzzle flashes. With a quick signal from Skull, the dog advanced, sniffing out a route to flank the attackers.

Out of the corner of his eye, Skull saw GQ stumble, clutching his arm. Blood soaked the sleeve of his fatigues, and he gritted his teeth in pain. Kodiak, the team’s medic, immediately slid in beside him, pulling out a field dressing and quickly binding the wound. The hallway exploded with more gunshots and flying debris as they all took up defensive positions, returning suppressive fire to keep the enemy pinned.

“I’m never out of the fight,” GQ hissed, voice tight with determination as he tried to stand.

“Fuck, yeah, brother,” Kodiak muttered, tightening the bandage and fist bumping GQ. “Best I can do here. Remember, bullets bad.”

GQ gave him the finger and a grin, then tested his grip on the rifle, wincing but refusing to falter. “I can still shoot,” he insisted. “Now let’s finish this.”

Together they regained their footing, and Skull felt a surge of respect for the man’s tenacity. They poured on covering fire, their rounds clipping the last of the guards at the far end of the foyer. As the team inched forward, a chunk of plaster rained down from the ceiling, dusting their shoulders. The storm of resistance began to thin, but every passing second felt like a countdown to doom. Hazard and Leigh were waiting for them—just as, in another part of the mansion, Walker and Strekoza were closing in on the truth.

A new wave of hostiles might come any second. Skull gestured to Boomer and Preacher to clear the corridor to the left, while he and Bones covered the right. The tension radiating from the dog and the guys was palpable. Time was precious, and each step brought them closer to the answers they needed. If there was any hope of saving their missing comrades, they would have to push forward, wounds and all, no matter the cost.

Skull’s boots clacked against polished marble floors as he and the team pressed deeper into the heart of Pincho’s mansion. The grandeur of the corridors they passed through was impossible to ignore: tall, gilded mirrors, crystal chandeliers, oil paintings with heavy gold frames, and priceless vases displayed on ornate pedestals. Every inch of it reeked of dirty money, of fortunes built on destruction and misery. The opulence here was meant to impress, but all Skull could see was blood beneath the shine, the echoes of countless lives ruined by Pincho’s empire.

Rounding a corner, he spotted movement, armed men standing guard in front of an intricately carved double door. Two quick hand signals from Iceman sent Boomer and GQ to flank while Kodiak provided cover from a half-broken statue at the hallway’s edge. Skull dropped low, Bones at his side, adrenaline pumping in his veins. A rapid exchange of suppressed gunfire tore through the silence, and the mercenaries crumpled before they could get off a return shot.

Bones’s ears flicked forward, and in an instant, the dog leapt past Skull into the next corridor, growling fiercely. Skull heard a startled shout—another enemy, maybe trying to circle around. The attacker swiveled his rifle toward Iceman, who was stepping up to breach the door. Skull’s warning came a second too late, his stomach lurching at the sight of the muzzle swinging straight at their leader. But Bones launched, teeth flashing, clamping down on the hostile’s arm. The shot went wild, and the hostile dropped the rifle, clattering out of reach.

Iceman whipped around, firing two quick rounds before the man could recover. Bones released his hold, muzzle stained with fresh blood, but unscathed. A breath of shock passed among the guys. Bones had saved Iceman’s life in a split second. Skull hurried over, patting the dog’s flank. Relief swelled in his chest, though he forced himself to focus on the mission. Every precious second counted.

They reached another set of doors, the largest yet. Through cracks in the doorframe, Skull could see a figure pacing. Pincho. At Iceman’s signal, they stormed in, weapons at the ready. Pincho, dressed in black tactical gear far too pristine for real fighting, stood at the center of an opulent office lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. She clutched a pistol in one hand. Her expression, though taut with rage, carried a desperate edge.

“Drop the weapon and surrender!” Iceman barked. His voice rang with authority, echoing off the polished walls.

Pincho’s eyes flickered with something like defiance. She kept her finger on the trigger, refusing to comply. Before the standoff could escalate further, an elderly man stepped from behind a tall bookshelf, arms trembling as he raised them overhead.

“Please!” the man cried out, voice quavering. “Don’t shoot!”

Pincho snarled, “Get back!” But it was too late. The old man stumbled forward, pressing himself out of the line of fire. Boomer and Kodiak swiftly pulled him to safety, hustling him against a wall away from the showdown. Pincho spat a curse, frustration twisting her features.

Skull’s finger hovered near his trigger, heart pounding. There was little time for compassion, but neither could they gun her down without giving her the chance to stand down. The tension ratcheted higher. They had found Pincho at last, and any moment now, they might learn Hazard and Leigh’s whereabouts. Or be forced to end her life.

Down in thebowels of the mansion, Walker found herself face to face with the final locked door. Her pulse galloped as she knelt, lockpicks in hand, hoping with every fiber of her being that Leigh and Hazard might be beyond the threshold. Across from her, Strekoza hovered anxiously, running point.

Walker pushed the picks into the lock, each careful scrape echoing in her mind. The oppressive darkness of the dungeon pressed in from all sides, water dripping from the stone ceiling, and the air reeked of moldy decay. They had searched every cell but found no sign of the missing teammates. This final door was their last hope.

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