CHAPTER THIRTY
GAGE
“S kittles and I are in position,” Ty confirms into the comm.
Since we’re nearly in ours, all I utter in return is another reminder for Ainsley. “Stay alert, baby.”
“Ten-four, Big Daddy,” she quips, which garners a hushed snicker from Ty and smirks from the two men at my side.
I’d say Tytan put her up to that since he knows I’m fucking out of my mind with her here and that I can’t respond. Also because Liam and I harassed him when we were on a job with him and Rena, calling her Little Moon until he lost his shit.
Every op is unique, which is a challenge I value. Examining scenarios from various angles and curating a strategy specific to whatever we’re up against are skills as refined as my torture tactics befitting a captive’s crimes.
Having Ainsley with us altered our plans. Without her, Wells would have had us drop in via helicopter, close enough so the alarming ruckus alerted the cocksuckers to our arrival and we could tick them off as they came out to investigate.
That would be efficient. A quick elimination of those first on the scene and an enjoyable show of the others scurrying into hiding, like ants.
But sneak attacks have their own advantages.
And pleasures.
While Ty thrives on playing God from his perch in the sky, I live for the rush of recognition that floods an enemy’s face. That can only be caught up close, when the prey is ensnared. So, the one upside to having my girl with me—well, currently settled in a tree with Ty—is that we’ll be eliminating these motherfuckers my way.
We trekked through the overgrown brush, which was about a half mile, and through a wooded area that is just over another half mile, surrounding the cabin. That’s where Ty and Ainsley branched off to secure their position.
Crouching low in the trees, Wells, Liam, and I swiftly assess what we’re up against.
Theo is a paranoid asshole. He’s out in bum-fucking nowhere at a safe house purchased under an alias, and he’s got four guards manning the outside. Still not enough, but smart. Not only did he mess with the wrong organization, but he’s also sitting on a media card worth billions. An entire army couldn’t save him.
Based on the four outside, we’d estimate there to be another eight to twelve guards inside: four on duty and either four more asleep—for a rotating shift between off duty, outside, and inside—or eight asleep for an even switch. That aligns with the SUVs on the property as well.
Per the floor plan, we suspect Theo will be in one of two locations. One possibility is the opulent first-floor master bedroom, intended to be an owner’s palace. It has a sliding glass door to a lanai on the west-facing side. He may be too skittish to rest in there, considering his extensive guard detail. There is a second-floor master as well, not quite as grand. It’s equipped with a balcony, directly above the owner’s suite.
I’d be in that first-floor suite, asleep with my eyes open, ready to execute any motherfucker who dared to trespass. But that’s me. A coward would choose the upper level, which provides time to react and a feasible escape route in an emergency.
The front of the house is east-facing. Ty has those marks in his sight and will take them out, along with any squirters—guys attempting to run—once we give the go-ahead. The back of the house is west-facing, with two more guards and a traditional back door in addition to the sliders. Wells and I will engage those targets and enter the house through the back door while Liam mans the west exits.
Ordinarily, we’d simply storm a house, render the occupants immobile with flash-bangs, and take out the shell-shocked fuckers one by one until the house was cleared. In minutes. But we need Theo alive. While we know the card is likely on his person, due to the intel Levi supplied us with, he may have information regarding the second card.
And KORT won’t consider Ainsley holding up her end of delivering the goods without both cards. It could read as her double-crossing them, like they suggested. So, our goal is to get as much information from Theo as possible regarding Nick’s card. Worst-case scenario: we keep the shit about a second card to ourselves until we find it. But that’s not ideal. Those kinds of secrets paint a guilty picture when they’re uncovered.
All that to say, we’ll be entering like a neighbor here to water plants, feed the cat, and rob him blind. There is an alarm system for the cabin, but since Theo is only equipped for dealing with rival Mafias—who handle everything with elementary, schoolyard-brawl techniques—he employed one that is hooked up through a cellular system. Child’s play. Liam infiltrated it and will disable the alarm seconds before we enter. Our hope is to engage as many assholes as possible without notice.
We’ve all got our Daniel Defense DDM4 rifles, chambered in a .300 Blackout with Trash Panda suppressors. These are quiet as a mouse, allowing us to skulk in the shadows, equipped with the element of surprise.
Close-quarter combat is a nostalgic comfort of mine. It’s a high that’s hard to articulate, far different from the fulfillment I gain from interrogation. That feeds my smug side. I obtain the answers others can’t and like Ty, I get to play God—or Lucifer, depending on perspective—doling out a punishment to fit the transgression. It’s invigorating.
But these types of ambushes make me all warm and fuzzy because it’s all about teamwork. Camaraderie. Trust. Family.
“Eyes on two tangos,” Ty reports. “Flickering light inside from a television. No movement. Ready to engage on command.”
At the tail end of Ty’s account, one of the front-porch guards steps forward. He senses us. That’s one of the most fascinating parts of casing a job. The innate instincts we’re born with that most people subconsciously swallow, even a foot soldier trained for this shit. Well, trained isn’t accurate. But if you live in the wild, you should damn well discern how to sniff out all types of predators. He thinks his hackles are rising due to his mind playing tricks on him.
Fucking fool.
He does a cursory search. The long country road is clear. There are no unusual sounds, nothing more than an animal prowling. But it all feels eerier, his senses heightened. And still—like so many other fools we’ve led to the grave—he shakes his head to his fellow guard and resumes his station.
Just as Wells says, “Go,” into the comm, Ty lodges bullets in both.
“Two tangos down,” he announces as they drop to the ground with a hushed thunk , and Liam, Wells, and I creep around the house.
There aren’t many effective weapons quieter than a rifle with the Trash Panda suppressor, but a special-forces tomahawk—built like a hatchet but with the sole purpose of killing—is one of them. So, Wells and I sneak up on opposite sides of the house. He swings his blade at the neck of the fucker near the south side, severing his spinal cord, and I whack the other’s skull with the piercing spike, right as his eyes register the attack. That’s fucking satisfying.
“No movement on the east or south sides,” Ty reports, so we know we’ve successfully caught them off guard thus far.
Liam disables the alarm system, and Wells picks the lock. It’s a two-second endeavor. He inserts a tension bar into the lock first, followed by a pick gun, which essentially looks like a staple gun but with a long needle that goes into the keyhole. He pumps it several times and wrenches the tension bar to the side, and the door unlocks.
We’re in.
Unlike the ignorant assholes we just neutralized, my senses are heightened. Everything is crisper and clearer in the throes of combat.
Every smell tells a story. Every sound announces a position. Every flicker dictates direction.
Scorch. Stack. Motherfucking salt.
My heart thrums out an energizing cadence, adrenaline urging me forward as the scents of microwave popcorn and beer waft toward me. And the world stills to this battlefield.
Switching to our rifles, we creep through the kitchen, noting a conversation on the other side of the wall, in the adjacent great room. The TV is on too—a baseball game recap—but the voices of those present are still distinguishable. I’d guess we’ve got four dipshits hanging out, doing a bang-up job of guarding their Mafia Don.
I hold four fingers down by my leg to alert Wells to what we can expect, and he moves quickly to the opposite side of the threshold, both of us flipping up our NVGs—no need with the light from the television. We both enter the room, unloading four successive shots before any of them makes a peep.
And a toilet flushes.
Wells waits for the pisser while I flip my goggles back down and venture into the downstairs master to find a big fucker snoring to the high heavens. Not Theo. I neutralize him, clear the rest of the suite, and return to find Wells rolling his eyes. His irritation is a staple of any job we do.
I clear an office and a dining room, which are the last two rooms on this floor. And finally, after thirty-plus seconds of impeccable hygiene, some schmuck opens the bathroom, and Wells drops him as I’m slinking up the stairs. Resisting the urge to seize Theo first, I enter the bedroom at the far end of the hall. There are two occupied twin beds. A quick assessment assures me neither occupant is Theo or his family, so I take them both out.
Wells clears another bedroom while I continue on to the last, aside from the master. One fighting-age male pops up, groggy but armed. And too late.
“One tango down,” Liam announces into the comm, so there was a squirter.
That leaves Theo. His entire house of foot soldiers is eliminated, and he’s sleeping like a baby. So sound that he doesn’t even flinch when I carefully remove the pistol from beneath his pillow. Maybe that’s because he’s at peace, having stashed his family somewhere else. More likely, he’s just a moron. I do have a feather light touch when necessary though.
Torn between holding my rifle to his temple or the spike of my tomahawk to his cock, I opt for the less traditional since Wells has a shot on him.
I prick one of his shriveled balls and whisper in his ear, “Rise and shine, darling.”
In a single gasped breath, he reaches for his weapon to no avail, his eyes wide and alarmed, body stiff as a board. I can see his wheels turning, trying to figure out if there’s any way to save himself and his precious card.
Nope.
It’s around his neck, like Levi told us it would be. So, I rip it off and set him straight. “This isn’t all we came for.”
“Clear the outside,” Wells orders Liam and Ty, “and bring in our girl. We’ve got a present for her.”