Page 180 of Possession

JAMMED

Brax

“Ineed backup and medical,” I boom into the radio.

Bullets are flying.

As far as I know, it’s Logan and one other on the other side of this warehouse. I’m hunched behind a bar. Tim and Cole are twenty feet away. They’re taking turns drawing the fire while I move in.

I talk over the bottles breaking—raining liquor and glass all around me. “I’ve got a burn victim who needs immediate attention. Stand down until I give the all clear, but get units on the way.”

There was no sneaking in. Every door we tried was locked, and the place is a cave—not one window to pry open. The door and frame are metal, so there was no kicking it in.

We came in guns-a-blazing since I had to shoot the lock until it finally gave way. Our entrance might as well have been announced by the King’s Court.

Cole peeks around the corner, arm extended, shooting while Tim reloads. Another bottle falls next to me.

I hunch over and look around the corner.

Rocco is sprawled in the middle of the chaos. He’s writhing in pain.

When we got in, we saw what was causing the howling.

A blow torch.

They were in the process of burning that damn tattoo off his arm.

Logan and the other guy ran, leaving Rocco in the middle of the open space. He’s spread eagle and cuffed, stretched as far as his body will allow so they could torture him.

Logan makes a run for it as the other guy tag-teams us, but Cole is good. He might have a desk job now, but he’s as sharp as ever. I watch his eyes narrow as he takes aim.

The incoming bullets immediately come to a halt.

“Move,” Tim yells. “Pritchett went into the backroom and shut the door. I’ll get Monroe out of here. You get Logan.”

Cole catches up to me, and we both hurry past a groaning Rocco. I barely take my eyes off the room ahead of me to see the flesh melted on his forearm.

Shit.

“I’m on your right,” Cole mutters close to me.

We’re swift and light on our feet. The door Logan entered is swinging. I nudge it with my foot.

A stairwell.

Cole and I move in, covering for each other as we start to climb the stairs taking in our environment through the sights of our guns. We’re on the third and last flight and slow when we get to the only door.

It’s closed.

I turn the handle.

And locked. Dammit.

This door isn’t metal. I motion for Cole to take a step back. With all my force, I put my foot to the door right beside the locked handle.

It busts open at the jamb.

The moment the door swings open, bullets fly.

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