Page 31 of Victorious: Part 3
“East side clear,” Trax growls over the comms, his tone tight.
“Loading dock’s locked down,” Ace follows, breathless but steady.
“Watchtower’s down,” Surge adds. “I got eyes on the yard. Anyone twitches, I’ll drop ’em.”
So far, it’s easy.
Yeah, too fucking easy.
Experience tells me clean starts usually lead to messy finishes.
And this?
This is setting off every alarm in my gut.
We move through the front entrance, sticking to shadows, boots silent against concrete but heavy with tension. The warehouse is a goddamn labyrinth, cold steel beams stretching into the dark, hanging lights buzzing faintly overhead, flickering like they’re bracing for chaos.
“Thermal’s picking up movement,” Vibe murmurs, sweeping his modified goggles. “Three heat signatures ahead. Near that office wing.”
“Are they movin’ like shooters?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Slower. Could be workers.”
“Keep it tight,” I say, glancing at the others. “No civvie blood. We’re not here to be monsters.”
We round a stack of crates and walk straight into a vision of hell. Tables stacked with bricks of white powder, bundles of heroin, fentanyl, there’s enough to take out a city. Mountains of cash sit beside it, bundled like fucking candy.
But it’s the weapons that freeze me in place.
Rocket launchers.
Assault rifles.
Crates stamped with the Cartel bird logo.
“This ain’t a storage facility,” Lift mutters, stunned.
“Torque, you seeing this?” Trax’s voice crackles over the radio.
“Oh, yeah,” I say darkly. “This place is ready for a fuckin’ insurrection. I think that’s Javier’s plan. Get people in the government on his side so he can take it over.”
Sensei looks at me, nodding in agreement. “He completed a coup d’état over his Uncle Rico, and it was just the trial run. With everything he set in motion, all the pieces he’s put in place, he wants the ultimate power in the United States—”
“Movement!” Vibe snaps, pointing upward.
I look up just in time to see the glint of a scope on the catwalk. The shot rings out, deafening in the steel and concrete tomb. Dust explodes near my head as I dive sideways, rolling behind a crate.
“We’re blown! Contact! Soldiers incoming!” Lift shouts.
Bullets erupt like firecrackers, the roar of automatic fire turning the warehouse into a war zone. Flashes light up the dark like strobe lights, sending long shadows dancing across the walls. Gunfire rips through the wood, propelling splinters in all directions. Sparks glitter through the air like fucking fireworks as the bullets slam into metal, pummeling continuously. The air reeks of gunpowder, sweat, and blood as we duck low, using crates and steel beams for cover.
“Ambush! They werefucking ready,” Trax bellows over the comms, his gun barking as he unloads on the catwalk above.
Ace lets out a string of curses, switching positions and laying down heavy fire, his rounds slamming into the upper railings where shadowy figures duck and weave. Vibe is already on the move, flanking left, squeezing off controlled bursts at anything that twitches.
I catch one of the bastards in my scope and drop him witha clean shot straight through the shoulder. He crumples, but another takes his place, firing back with military precision.
Figures dart through the haze. Three of them, fast, using the crates for cover. They move in sync, communicating without words, backs to walls, covering all angles.
