Page 54 of Victorious: Part 3
I adjust my night-vision scope, scanning for movement along the shore, the unmistakable adrenaline of incoming chaos coiling tight in my chest.
In the lead boat, Nycto grips the wheel like it’s an extension of his fury. He’s got that look. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, the look that says someone’s about to die, and it sure as shit won’t be us.
“Two minutes out,” Whiskey’s voice crackles over the comms from the rear boat. “Eyes on perimeter guards. Four towers, two roving patrols.”
I glance ahead at Toxin in front of me. Even with only the moonlight shining down, her silhouette is all tension and precision, checking her gear like the pro she is. She’s got that lethal grace that makes my heart clench and my cock twitch, and not necessarily in that order.
Christ, I love her.
Even more when she’s in kill mode.
“Remember…” Nycto says, voice low and sharp, “… we need those weapons intact. No scorched-earth bullshit unless it’s necessary. Ominous, you ID what we can use. The rest? We lightit up.”
“Copy that, Pres,” Ominous replies coolly.
The facility takes shape as we near. Large storage units are stitched together by steel walkways, towers rising at the corners, searchlights sweeping in lazy arcs.
The Cartel thinks they own this stretch of coast.
They think they’re untouchable.
But they have no idea what’s about to hit them.
“T4, you’re cleared for approach,” a gentle voice calls down the line from LA. The mission’s fully greenlit. Our brothers across the country are moving, too, tearing apart this operation limb by limb.
“T4 is a go,” Nycto replies.
The growl of engines fades as we cut power, drifting the last hundred yards. The ocean pushes us into position. We move like shadows, slipping toward the underbelly of the beast.
Toxin slides over the side of the boat without a sound, vanishing into the water like a phantom. I follow, the Tampa Bay biting through my wetsuit like it wants to freeze me from the inside out. But you can’t freeze a man who already has ice in his veins.
The cold only sharpens my senses.
The mission.
The rage.
The need to win.
We glide beneath the surface, flanking the barge’s port side. I catch glimpses of Brass and Atomic closing in from the south, Nerve and Dash from the north.
We are wolves encircling a kill.
Nycto whispers through comms, “All units in position.”
I check my gear. Everything is ready to raise pure fucking hell.
Nycto’s voice cuts in again, grim and clear, “Dash, Nerve, what’s your count?”
“Six guards posted, tight formation. Main entrances are wired, but we’ve got a clean lane to flank.”
“Copy. Brass, Atomic?” Nycto whispers down the line.
“South flank is ours. Breaching charges are ready to sing,” Atomic states.
A breathless stillness settles over us. My pulse beats like a war drum now through my chest. Even the bay feels like it’s holding its breath.
Nothing like blowing up a weapons facility to get your blood pumping.
