Page 59 of Damian
“Hard,” I said. My voice didn’t waver. “No time for shadows.”
Gage smirked, loading a fresh mag. “My kind of morning.”
We moved fast—two at the gate before they even had a chance to radio, silenced shots dropping them clean. Cyclone was already working the fence override, muttering curses as the lock stuttered.
“Thirty seconds,” he hissed.
Thirty seconds felt like a lifetime with Morgan’s face in my head, with the memory of her voice whisperingcome back to me.
The lock clanged open.
We poured through the gap. Alarms shrieked immediately, lights flaring to life. Shouts erupted inside.
“Contact!” Oliver barked.
Gunfire ripped through the morning, sparks biting off the fencing as we returned fire. I moved forward, fast and low, clearing the entry point, my rifle a steady extension of my will. One man dropped. Another tried to flank. Gage cut him down before he’d taken three steps.
Cyclone was behind us, laptop still open even as he moved. “Server room’s upstairs. That’s where the real intel lives.”
“Then that’s where we go.”
We pushed in, boots pounding against the concrete floor, the acrid bite of gunpowder thick in the air. Every shot, every shout, was noise in my ears—but underneath it was the same silent promise I’d made before I left the safehouse.
I would end this.
I would get back to her.
And God help anyone who stood in my way.
80
Damian
The stairwell reeked of oil and rust. My boots hit the steps fast, controlled, Gage close behind me, Oliver covering the rear. Cyclone huffed in the middle, laptop clutched like it was worth more than his life—because tonight, it was.
Gunfire rattled from above, bullets sparking off the railings. We dropped low, returning fire, the sharp tang of metal filling the air. One body hit the landing hard, rolling down past us. Another darted back into the shadows.
“Two left up top,” Gage barked.
“I’ll take point,” I said.
Oliver growled, “Like hell, you will—”
I didn’t give him a chance to argue. I surged forward, clearing the final steps with a burst of fire. The first man went down; the second raised his weapon too slow. Gage’s shot cracked past my shoulder, dropping him clean.
The corridor beyond was narrow, lined with cheap fluorescent lights that buzzed overhead. Doors on either side, most locked, one hanging open. The hum of servers bled from deeper in, a steady electronic heartbeat.
Cyclone pushed forward, eyes gleaming. “That’s it. That’s where they’re keeping the hub.”
“Move,” I snapped, sweeping ahead of him.
The closer we got, the heavier the resistance. Men poured from side rooms, shouting in clipped orders, their gunfire deafening in the tight space. We pressed forward inch by inch, every step bought in brass casings and sweat.
Oliver dropped another man, then shot me a look. “They’re fighting hard to protect whatever’s in there.”
“Means we’re close.”
My chest burned, not just from the fight, but from the gnawing thought at the back of my mind. Morgan. Ruby. Alone in that safehouse, waiting, while I kicked down doors two counties away.
