Page 91 of Royal Beast
I feel the tension surge between us, thick as a storm, but I refuse to move. “No. We’re not hitting them like that. We don’t have enough info yet, Rory. Not on where she is, not on what they’re really after.”
He takes a step forward, his jaw tight. “You’re playing it too damn soft. We’re wasting time, and you’re wasting my patience.You’ve got a daughter in their hands, Kellan. A little girl. And you’re standing here second-guessing?”
“I’m thinking about her life, Rory!” I snap, my voice sharper than I intend. “If we make a move without knowing where she is, where we can get her back safe?—”
“Then what?” he interrupts, stepping up to me, his fists clenched in frustration. “You’re gonna keep playing nice and hope they just hand her over? What’s next? You don’t have the stomach for this anymore?”
I can feel the anger bubbling inside me. My chest is tight, my blood pounding in my ears. I know what he’s getting at, but I won’t let him push me into making the wrong decision. Not now. Not when Rose’s life is on the line.
“Back off, Rory,” I growl. “This isn’t about me. It’s about getting Rose back in one piece, not tearing apart everything we’ve worked for.”
Rory opens his mouth, ready to fire back, but the door to the pub slams open with a bang, cutting him off. Brody strides in, his face grim, his gaze fixed on me with purpose.
“Kellan,” he says, voice tense. “We know where Rose is.”
The words hit me like a shot to the chest, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My heart skips a beat.
“Where?” My voice is sharp, but I don’t care. I just need to know.
“The old shipyard, the one near the abandoned canning factory. We’ve pinpointed her location.” Brody’s words spill out fast, urgent.
I don’t wait for another second. “Get the car ready,” I tell him, turning to Rory and Lucky. “We move out now.”
It feels like forever but soon, the old harbor works loom in front of us, the rusted steel skeletons and decaying walls casting long shadows over the area. The air smells of salt and oil, theonce-bustling docks now reduced to nothing more than rotting warehouses and broken piers.
“We hit them hard,” I mutter, my voice low and gravelly as I look at my brothers. “No hesitation.”
Rory doesn’t need any more encouragement. He slams his door shut with a sharp thud, already marching toward the massive, rusted gate that leads into the shipyard. Lucky falls into step beside him, always steady, always calm, like he’s already seen the bloodshed we’re about to wade into. Brody and Miles follow closely behind, their eyes scanning the shadows, their hands hovering near their weapons.
“You know the drill,” I snap, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions ripping through me. “Go after anyone who moves. Don’t let anyone slip away.”
“Understood,” Brody replies, his hand gripping the gun holstered on his side.
We move in formation, our boots echoing across the cracked concrete of the yard. The only sound is the soft lapping of water against the jagged rocks below the docks. There’s no sign of the Russians yet. It feels like a trap, but that’s exactly what I want. We’re the ones setting the trap now.
I signal to Rory, and he goes to work on the gate, shoving it open with a loud screech that breaks the silence of the night. The Russians know we’re here now. They’ve heard it. They have to have heard us coming.
As we move deeper into the shipyard, the sound of our footsteps is replaced by the crunch of gravel and debris beneath our boots. It feels like we’re walking into the belly of a beast.
Then, out of nowhere, a burst of gunfire echoes around us, slamming into the steel wall beside me. The force of the bullet makes my body jerk, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Take cover!” Rory yells, ducking behind an old cargo container.
The air is alive with the sound of gunshots now. It’s a mess of adrenaline and fury. I drop behind a stack of crates, every muscle in my body on edge, weapon tight in my hands.
We fire back, the sound of gunshots deafening in the tight space. I can barely hear my brothers over the chaos, but I know they’re right there, fighting beside me.
A Russian soldier rushes toward us from the shadows, his gun raised, but I’m faster. I pull the trigger, the bullet finding its mark in his chest. He crumples to the ground with a guttural gasp, his weapon falling from his hands.
“Keep moving!” I bark, pushing forward.
The sound of fists meeting flesh rings out as Miles takes down one of their men, a vicious punch to the gut, followed by a knee to the face. We’re matching them blow for blow, bullet for bullet now. The Russians might be strong, but we’re stronger. We have more to lose.
Blood stains the concrete, pooling beneath fallen bodies. The sound of gunfire starts to slow, the chaos thinning out. The Russians are retreating, losing ground. Their numbers are dwindling, and the sound of their desperate gunfire becomes more sporadic, like the final gasps of a dying animal.
“Get them on their knees,” I bark to my men.
A figure steps out from the shadows, hands raised, a taunting grin playing on his lips.
