Page 62 of Rusty's Command

His lip twitched, and Rusty had the impression Tommy had commitments like that broken many times before.

Tommy huffed out a breath. “Okay. I’ll help. Just . . . can you stop your dog from looking at me like that?”

Soda’s intense focus hadn’t wavered.

“Soda, ease.”

She settled on her haunches but maintained her guard position.

“Better?”

Tommy nodded weakly.

“Good. Now, let’s start with who Wang called right before we crashed his party.”

“I don’t know.”

“What about the assholes buying the girls—who are they?”

“I swear I don’t know. I wasn’t involved in any of?—”

A door exploded inward, and the crash echoed like a thunderclap in the enclosed space. The women’s screams pierced the air as Rusty pivoted and brought up his weapon in a single fluid motion. His heart slammed against his ribs as dark figures in tactical gear flooded through the entrance like living shadows.

The familiar silhouettes of K9s moving alongside their handlers made his trigger finger ease off. “Stand down!” he shouted, sprinting toward Sienna with his hands up. “We’re friendlies!”

He reached her in three long strides and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay. These guys are on my team,” he murmured.

Bellamy’s massive frame led the assault team, moving with surprising grace for his size. Cooper stayed tight to his shoulder, and between them, Whiskey flowed like liquid coal across the stage.

“Clear!” Bellamy’s voice boomed off the walls.

Rusty holstered his weapon, and his racing pulse finally settled. “And the perimeter?”

Bellamy swept his gaze across the carnage. “No movement outside, and the place is dead quiet.”

A soft whimper drew Rusty’s attention to Soda. As usual, her bearing dissolved at the sight of her sister, Whiskey. He’d tried to train this response out of her during their early days together but eventually stopped fighting it. Maybe it was because he’d grown up as an only child, but something about their unshakeable bond touched him. When Soda’s tail startedwagging and she shifted her weight, eager to abandon her guard position, he smiled and said, “Soda, free.”

The command released something primal in both dogs, and Soda and Whiskey transformed from hardened military assets into puppies, spinning and play-bowing across the blood-stained stage while their handlers locked down the scene. The simple joy of their reunion cut through the heavy atmosphere like a blade of light through the darkness.

“So, no resistance at all?” Rusty asked again, surprised that they hadn’t encountered a gunfight on their way in.

“Not a whisper.” Bellamy’s mouth twisted. “Word of this bloodbath probably spread, and they bolted while they had the chance.” He eyeballed the scattered bodies, shell casings, and blood splatters across the stage. “Looking at this, though, can’t say I blame them for cutting their losses.”

When Coop’s gaze landed on Wang, a wolfish grin split his face. “Nice shooting. But damn, you could’ve saved some target practice for the rest of us.”

Rusty clasped his offered hand. “Next time I’ll try to leave you some scraps.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Ethan emerged from the shadows like a wraith, and his piercing gaze swept the carnage as Mojo’s midnight coat blended seamlessly with his handler’s tactical gear. “When you said ‘situation,’ I figured maybe a few tangos needed sorting out. Not this. It looks like the goddamn OK Corral met Black Hawk Down.”

“There’s more.” Rusty tilted his head toward the upper level. The battle up there already seemed like days ago.

Ethan’s flashlight beam carved through the darkness, sweeping across the balcony before dropping to where two bodies lay twisted on the marble floor below with limbs bent at impossible angles. “Seems some of them chose the scenic route.”

“One of them opted to take the forty-foot drop rather than take his chances with Soda.”

Cooper let out a low whistle. “Can’t fault that. Quick death beats pissed-off military dog fangs.”

Bellamy crouched beside Wang’s corpse, and as Tucker’s nose twitched at the pooling blood, Bellamy pushed up the dead man’s sleeve, revealing intricate tattoos beneath. “Son of a bitch!” He sucked air between his teeth. “Yakuza. Full fucking sleeve. That explains the small army he had on the payroll.” He used his phone to snap photos.

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