Page 27 of Beautiful Scars: Unshakeable

"One..."

The last number barely leaves my lips before chaos erupts. Flash-bangs detonate at every entrance. The new guard drops his cigarette, fumbling for his weapon. My first shot takes him inthe throat before he can radio for help. Two more guards drop from precision fire before anyone can sound the alarm.

We move like shadows across the area. The exterior guards are down in seconds. They're no match for our team's efficiency born from years of training and working together. The real fight waits inside.

My boots hit concrete as I vault over a low wall. The warehouse door looms ahead, its keypad already dark from our tech team's work. Behind me, Wolf and Rex fall into formation without a word. We've cleared dozens of buildings together, but this one's different. This one's personal.

The door slides open silently. The first guard inside turns, surprise barely starting to register before my bullet finds his chest. Another tries to radio—Chase takes him down. The hallway stretches ahead.

Blood spatters the pristine walls as we advance. Gunfire echoes from above—Levi and Colt's teams engaging the upper floors. Our path leads down.

A nurse appears around the corner, hands raised. Her eyes go wide at the sight of us. "Please," she whispers. "There are girls—"

"Where?" My voice sounds foreign to my own ears.

She points to a supply closet. "Hidden elevator. But he's moving them. Started as soon as he got the call—"

I leave Wolf to handle her, already moving. The elevator doors slide open to reveal a guard. His shock lasts half a second before my knife finds his throat.

The basement level opens into a maze of corridors. More guards emerge—Garrett's personal security judging by the way they fight. They fight like it matters, but we fight like .

Blood runs down my arm from a knife slash, but I barely feel it. Each room cleared brings us closer. Each body on the floor is one less between us and her.

A scream echoes through the halls—female, terrified, but I don't think it was Sunny. We follow the sound to locked doors with small windows. Behind each, faces peer out. Women. Girls. Some barely more than children. Wolf starts working locks while Chase covers our backs.

'Sunny!' My voice cracks on her name, bouncing off concrete walls. The sound mixes with boots thundering above as our men escort survivors to safety.

The corridors blur together. Each locked door another moment of hope that leads to another crushing disappointment.

'Clear!' Levi's voice echoes, rage matching mine. Eight women found so far. No Sunny.

'Sunny!' The next door yields another empty room, white walls mocking us. I kick over a steel medical tray—instruments clatter across the tile.

Levi appears, dark hair matted with sweat. 'Nothing in the east wing.'

Four doors remain.

My boots leave bloody prints on the white tile—evidence of the guards who tried to stop us.

"Two each." My voice comes out rough from shouting her name. "You take left."

Levi nods, already moving. The first door on my right reveals another medical setup — pristine and empty. The equipment gleams under fluorescent lights, telling stories I can't let myself think about. I clear the room methodically, checking every corner, every cabinet. Nothing.

My hand reaches for the second door handle. The metal feels cold against my blood-slicked palm. Behind me, I hear Levi kicking in his first door, his frustrated growl echoing off concrete walls. The sound pushes me forward.

The handle turns. My heart pounds against my ribs as I swing the door wide, rifle ready.

Another empty room.

Levi's boot hits the final door with enough force to tear it from its hinges. The sound of twisting metal echoes through the corridor, but it's his cry that freezes my blood. Animal. Wounded. The kind of sound a man makes when his worst fears become reality.

I'm moving before conscious thought takes over, my boots sliding on the floor. The lights flicker as I round the corner, casting strange shadows across Levi's frozen form in the doorway. He's blocking my view, but the sickly smell of copper and antiseptic fills my nose.

"Move." The word comes out as a growl. When he doesn't respond, I grab his shoulder, shoving him aside.

The room tilts as it comes into a sharp focus.

Deep shadows lay across Sunny's still form. She's sprawled across the bed, naked and exposed, her skin a canvas of purple and black bruises. My training kicks in, and my vision tunnels. Each mark tells a story—fingertip bruises on her throat, defensive wounds on her arms, darker patches across her ribs.

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