Page 133 of Boulder's Weight

I slide the phone to Axel, who immediately starts working to pinpoint the location more precisely. "East warehouse district, building seven," he confirms after a moment. "Match for one of our suspected locations. Fucker’s getting sloppy now that we’re in the thick of it. Stupid for him, great for us."

"Let's go," I say, already moving toward the door.

"Armor up first," Amara orders. "I want bulletproof vests on under your cut, that goes for everyone. I will not have more injured club members today."

I don't argue.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m geared up with the cartel boys—ballistic vests under our cuts, extra magazines, radios with earpieces, and enough firepower to start a small war.

Sam looks pale but determined. Brick came in and gave him a shot for the pain and fresh bandages for his head.

Alejandro must have given us a shipment of medications, pain killers, and whatever else we need.

The man has connections everywhere.

"You sure you're up for this?" I ask as we head for the vehicles.

"I've been waiting for this chance since Benji first put hands on her," Sam replies, checking the pistol Razor gave him. "Nothing's keeping me away."

As we mount up—bikes for me, SUV for Sam and the cartel guys—Amara approaches me one last time.

"We have three targets to extract—Python, Lashes, and Kelsey," she says, her voice low enough that only I can hear. "But if it comes down to priorities..."

"I know who my priority is," I say, not letting her finish. "I claimed her. She's mine to protect."

Amara nods, understanding in her eyes. "Benji Warlow has declared war on this club by taking our people. When this is over, there's no mercy. You understand?"

"Perfectly," I reply, a coldness settling over me. "He's already dead. He just doesn't know it yet."

I waste no time heading over to the industrial district.

It’s a maze of warehouses and storage facilities, most abandoned or operating on the fringes of legality.

Perfect territory for men like Benji and Andrés to set up operations away from prying eyes.

We split up a mile from the target, the others taking positions that will allow them to move in quietly when needed.

I continue alone, following the coordinates to warehouse seven—a large, boxy structure with faded numbering on its corrugated metal walls.

I park my bike in plain sight, wanting Benji to see I've come as instructed, but the rest of the men park somewhere else, away from prying eyes.

The weight of my gun presses against my back, concealed but accessible.

I have two knives on me as well, plus the radio earpiece hidden by my hair.

"I'm at the entrance," I murmur, knowing the team can hear me. "Moving in now."

"We've got eyes on the building," Razor's voice comes through the earpiece. "Three men on the roof, two at the rear exit. Main floor windows are blacked out."

"Got it," I reply softly.

I approach the large sliding door at the front of the warehouse, every sense on high alert.

Before I can decide whether to knock or enter, the door slides open a few feet—an invitation I can't refuse.

Inside, the space is dimly lit, most illumination coming from a single hanging light in the center of the concrete floor.

Beneath it sits Kelsey, bound to a metal chair, her face bruised but her eyes fierce when they find mine.

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