Page 52 of Carter
We moved as shadows, hugging the line of stacked containers. Every step was controlled and precise. My heart beat steady, but the storm inside me burned hotter with every breath.
Harper’s face flashed in my mind—the way she’d whisperedI love you,the strength in her eyes when she saidWe fight together.She wasn’t here physically, but every damn step I took was for her.
The yard lights blinked once, twice—then went dark.
“Go,” Gideon hissed.
River boosted me over the fence first. My boots hit the gravel soundless, rifle raised, scanning the lot. Shadows moved near the warehouse door—guards sweeping the perimeter.
Too slow.
I dropped the first with a clean shot to the chest. The second whirled, muzzle flashing, but River’s round cut him down before the bullet left his barrel. The rest scattered, shouting, but the dark was ours now.
We advanced, fast and lethal, weaving through cover. The warehouse loomed ahead, corrugated steel doors half-rusted, windows cracked. Through the glass, I caught the flicker of movement—men rushing, crates stacked high, the glow of monitors still alive on backup power.
Gideon crouched by the door, wires sparking under his hands. River and I took position, rifles up.
The lock gave with a click.
I drew a breath, steady and sharp, then kicked the door in hard.
“Move!” I barked, surging inside.
Gunfire erupted instantly, a storm of sound and sparks.
And in that chaos, one thought seared through me, fierce and unrelenting:
This ends tonight.
77
Carter
Gunfire lit the warehouse like a storm of sparks, muzzle flashes strobing shadows across the steel walls. Bullets tore into crates, wood splintering, the air thick with dust and the acrid bite of cordite.
I hit the ground behind a stack of pallets, River dropping low beside me, his rifle barking in controlled bursts. Gideon slid into cover on the far side, already jamming something into the servers stacked against the wall, his fingers flying even as rounds whined past his head.
“Two on the catwalk!” River shouted.
I swung up, sighting fast, and dropped them both before they had a chance to line up their shots. Their bodies slammed against the railing and tumbled down, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
Movement at the far end—half a dozen mercs pouring through a side door, shouting in clipped Russian.
“On me,” I growled, pushing forward.
We moved like a blade, cutting through cover, firing as one. My world narrowed to the rhythm of trigger andbreath, the recoil slamming into my shoulder, the enemy dropping one by one.
But through it all, Harper was there—in my head, in my chest. Every time I pulled the trigger, it wasn’t just to end a threat. It was to carve a path back to her.
A round slammed into the steel post inches from my head, showering sparks. I ducked, teeth gritted, and shoved forward harder. This fight wasn’t going to drag out. Not tonight.
We cleared the floor, the bodies sprawled across the concrete, the echoes of gunfire still ringing. For a second, the silence was deafening.
Then River’s voice cut through, sharp. “Upstairs.”
I looked up. A shadow moved in the office above the warehouse floor, glass cracked, the outline of a man watching us. Not Graves—he was already gone. Someone else. Someone stepping into his place.
My grip tightened on the rifle.
