Chapter 18 Ice
The low purr of engines fades into the night as we kill the ignition, leaving only the distant hoot of an owl to cut through the silence. The Bayou Enterprise Warehouse is several blocks away, but this is as close as we dare to get. We park in the shadows, our bikes nestled between towering buildings, resting on crumbling asphalt.
I swing my leg over with a silent grace born from years of riding. Vapor’s right beside me, his tall frame unfolding from his bike like a blade sliding from its sheath—sharp, precise, deadly. Diablo follows, his movements a study in controlled power, every motion deliberate. We check our gear without a word, the tension winding through us like coiled springs waiting for release.
My eyes meet Vapor’s. I trust him to lead the team in another successful mission. He wants justice, craves it like a living thing, and I feel exactly the same way. Diablo’s ready too, a silent sentinel whose very presence promises retribution. We’re brothers in this fight, bound by loyalty and the shared scars of past battles.
We silently weave through a maze of alleyways before hiding across from the cartel’s warehouse. Guards patrol the perimeter, their movements lazy and unaware. I’ve memorized their patterns, studied their shifts. Nothing’s changed. They’re still predictable, which makes them vulnerable.
I carry a mental map of what lies ahead. Aware of every breath I take, I wait until the entire team gets into their positions. This isn’t just a mission for us; for some of these guys it’s personal. They’ve lost family members to the cartel, so they want revenge as much as they want justice. I get it. Their brothers and sisters, mother and father could still be alive if the cartel hadn’t gotten hold of them.
“We’re ready,” I whisper to Vapor. “No mistakes.”
“Always,” he murmurs back before pressing his lips into a tight smile. Behind that smile, I know he’s remembering Demi, the sister he couldn’t save. It fuels him, a fire that never dies.
Diablo grunts in agreement, his smoldering eyes betraying no emotion but echoing a promise of violence if needed. He’s put down plenty of cartel men, but more always seem to pop up when we least expect it. Hopefully we don’t run into any surprises tonight.
“Is the other team ready?” Vapor asks.
I fire off a quick text and wait for Bones to respond.
“In position,” Bones replies. “Fang’s slicing into their security now. Tank’s ready to roll on your go.”
“Copy that. Go in two minutes.” I shove the phone into my cut. Sometimes, trusting Fang’s tech wizardry feels like relying on smoke and mirrors, but his skills are solid. He’s never let us down before, so he won’t now. That’s the kind of faith we have in each other.
The silence is haunting, a stillness that belies the chaos we’re about to unleash. A distant dog’s bark punctuates the night, a lonely counterpoint to the city’s thrum beyond. Somewhere, a siren wails, dying away as quickly as it came. My pulse keeps time with these sporadic bursts of life, a reminder that the world spins on, oblivious to the battle we fight in its dark corners.
As we edge closer to go time, anticipation coils in my gut. Vapor and Diablo flank me, shadows within shadows, as we slink behind dumpsters and past cars, closing in on the factory. This is what we do—what we live for.
Their shift change is coming up, right on time. The first line of guards, silhouettes etched against the faint glow of security lights, meets up with the second. They exchange a few words, but we’re too far away to hear anything. The new shift takes their positions, while the others head inside.
My pulse quickens, adrenaline spiking as I signal my brothers with a subtle nod. This is it, the moment where plans crash into reality, where every practiced move must be executed flawlessly.
“Three… two…” I count down in my head, muscles tensing, ready to spring.
One.
We strike with the precision of a clock’s gears at midnight, a silent symphony of violence. I take point, closing in on the nearest guard, my movements honed from years of street-forged brawls and clubhouse scraps. His eyes widen an instant before my hand clamps over his mouth, cutting off his cry for help. My other arm wraps around his neck, a vise of inevitability, and with a swift jerk, he goes limp, a puppet with its strings cut.
Vapor’s a blur, subduing his own prey with a practiced chokehold that leaves the man desperate for air. Diablo uses brute force to slam into his guard, smacking the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out with a muted thud.
“Clear,” Vapor whispers, the word barely a breath on the wind.
“Move out,” I reply, my voice low, commanding even in its hush.
But we’re not done with the guards yet. From the shadows, more figures emerge. There are too many to silently subdue. We lost the element of surprise, so the time for stealth is over.
“Contact!” Diablo growls, the warning erupting as he barrels toward the incoming threat. He pulls his gun from his cut and fires at the first threat. We’ve got silencers on our guns, but the guards don’t. They fire, forcing us to dive behind wooden crates stacked on pallets.
We close ranks, back to back, as the guards swarm us with the fury of cornered serpents. Guns fire until they run out of ammo, then fists fly. I swing at one of the guards, connecting my fist to his face. The visceral thud resonates through my arm. I feel each impact, the jolt of bone against bone, the resistance of muscle giving way to force.
As soon as I put one down, another guy rushes at me with a knife, slashing through the air. I twist away, but not before the blade grazes my leather cut. I’m not injured, but this guy’s about to be.
“Son of a bitch!” I spit, rage fueling my counter as I hammer a fist into his temple. He staggers, and I follow up with a knee to his gut, driving the air from his lungs. He falls to the pavement and I stomp him until he goes still.
Across from me, Vapor dances through the melee, taking down one assailant after another with lethal grace. Diablo, meanwhile, is an avatar of wrath, throwing punches until the enemy goes down for good.
All around us, other club members fight to the death. A cacophony of grunts and cries fills the night, a discordant lullaby for the damned. My heart thrums in my chest, a drummer accompanying me to war. I fight with everything I’ve got. This isn’t just for the club, but for those who can’t fight for themselves. Those kids need us. I don’t care how many bodies I have to pile up to get to them.
“Keep pushing!” I yell.
Blood, sweat, and resolve mix in equal measure as we carve a path through the guards toward the target entry point. And as I throw another punch, my knuckles crack against a jaw that gives way too easily.
The sickening sound is swallowed up by the roar of a man hurtling himself at me. He’s not like the others. He’s alert, eyes sharp tracking our movements with an awareness that sets my nerves on edge. I duck another wild swing, retaliating with a swift uppercut. Blood spurts from his busted lip. He backs up, wiping the blood from his mouth, grinning.
“Knew you’d be a bunch of pussies.”
I raise my fists to protect my face, refusing to take the bait.
“Juan said you’d hit us with everything you got tonight. Where are the rest of you fucks?”
A cold shiver runs down my spine as the realization hits me—this man knows more than he should. He’s prepared for our tactics, knows our patterns. The only way he could know is if there’s a mole in our ranks.
I don’t have time to spar with this asshole, so I lurch forward, attacking him without mercy. He’s on his back, trying to crab-crawl backward, but I catch up to him and pin him to the ground with a boot to his chest. Fear flashes in his eyes for the first time, but it doesn’t stop me from putting him down.
“Something’s off,” I hiss into the mic beneath my collar, hoping Vapor or Diablo picks up on the urgency without tipping our hand. We weren’t going to use these comms unless absolutely necessary, but this certainly qualifies. Bones, Tank, and Fang are on this channel too so they will all hear me. “They knew we were coming.”
“Fuck!” Vapor snaps. “Deal with it later. Get inside. Get the kids.”
“On it.”
“Heard you,” Bones growls through the comms.
I shove the treachery aside, pivoting on the balls of my feet to face another attacker. Can’t afford to lose myself in the web of betrayal while we’re neck-deep in the fight. But as I slaughter another cartel member, anger simmers within me. I’ve bled for this club, and the sting of betrayal burns hotter than a glowing iron.
I try to push away the suspicion, the doubt, but it’s gnawing at my gut. It’s a dangerous distraction, one that could cost us everything. My jaw clenches as I weave through the combatants, throwing punches with a side of silent questions.
Who? Why?
“They’re all down,” one of our guys yells.
“We’re going in. Now!” Vapor kicks in the door.
We flow through the factory’s guts like phantoms, every motion calculated. Vapor moves to my right while Diablo watches our backs. The low hum of machinery mingles with the faint rustle of our leathers. Rows of sewing machines sit empty.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Upstairs. Second floor. A guard shoves a small child out of sight. Anger steels my spine. They’ve got the kids hidden in the dark second floor.
Signaling everyone with a subtle tilt of my head, they all look up. Vapor silently points at the metal staircases on either side of the building. As he takes half our men toward the left side, Diablo and I lead the other half to the right.
Climbing the stairs silently proves to be impossible. They groan and creak with every step. I don’t know how many guards are left, but they know we’re coming. If they’re smart enough to use the kids as hostages, we’re fucked.
The air reeks of fear, and I can almost hear the whisper of innocent children begging for salvation. I won’t let them down.
We reach the second floor and circle around toward the back of the building where a cluster of guards stand in front of a huge metal door, their presence an unmistakable marker of what lies beyond. This is it, the place where the children are likely caged, their youth a currency in the cartel’s vile trade.
“Damn,” I breathe, my gaze snagging on the cartel’s men, more heavily armed than any we’ve encountered so far.
A leaden weight settles in my chest, the gravity of our mission anchoring me to the spot. Neither group moves. Not us. Not them. We’re at a standstill, but we’ve got to act fast. If Juan really knew we were coming, then he could have more men circling us outside. But something still doesn’t add up. If he had details on our plan, why not send more guys to protect the kids? Are they all over at the drug warehouse?
My gaze locks on the door that stands between us and those kids. We’ve come too damn far to falter now. I can feel the weight of every life hanging in the balance, each breath they take becoming a reason to push through my trepidation.
A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, mingling with the grime on my skin. I can almost taste the sour tang of fear in the air, but it’s not mine. It belongs to the guards. We have them outnumbered and they know they’re as good as dead.
A single shot from our side shatters the silence, and all hell breaks loose. We surge forward, a tidal wave of fury and purpose. Vapor’s blade whispers a silent lullaby to the first guard, his body crumpling without a sound. Diablo’s fists are poetry in motion, dropping another with precision so brutal it’s almost beautiful. I dispatch another man with a throat punch designed to crush his windpipe. Lights out, asshole.
The last sentry turns, gun raised, but I’m faster. My fist connects with his jaw, a crack echoing off the walls, a symphony to my ears. He staggers, and I follow through, a kick sending him to join his fallen comrades. The raw need to protect those innocent kids makes ending his life easy.
“Clear,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
“Proceeding to extraction,” Vapor says.
When I open the steel door and peer into the heart of darkness, I’m stunned by what I see. Row upon row of cots filled with wide-eyed children. They never even left the factory. Juan and his men kept them here.
Their frightened whispers push me to act quickly.
“We’re here to save you,” I say before repeating it in Spanish like Isabella taught me. “ Estamos aquí para salvarte .”
An older girl, probably close to being a teenager, stands and stares at me. “You help us?”
“Yes! Sí !” I nod.
She looks from me to Vapor, then to Diablo. Whatever she sees is enough to convince her to take a chance with us.
“Get the trucks ready,” I say into the comms, signaling to the guys we’ve got waiting around the corner that it’s time to whisk the kids to safety. “We’re coming out.”
“Copy,” one of them responds.
We form a protective ring around the children as we lead them out of the warehouse where they’ve been trapped for months, or maybe years. We’ll take them to the safehouse we’ve got waiting on the other side of town. Since we weren’t one hundred percent sure how many kids were inside, we overestimated the number on purpose. Based on what Fang saw with the drone, we were counting on thirty kids. We picked up twenty-eight. We were close to being exactly right, which is sickening. So many kids. Juan Vasquez will pay for this.
A sudden crackle over the comms jolts me. A voice breaks through, urgent and strained. “Ice, it’s Bones. We got—” Static slices through his words. The line goes dead, leaving a haunting silence in its wake.
“Shit!” My grip tightens around the phone until my knuckles whiten. Betrayal burns in my throat like cheap whiskey, a bitter reminder that one of our own sold us out.
“Get the kids in the trucks! We need to get to the other warehouse!” Vapor yells while hurrying everyone downstairs.
Outside, a dozen trucks flow onto the street. We move fast, packing each truck with children before sending it off. In less than a minute, the last kid is safely secured. I slam the door and rap my knuckles against the side of the vehicle, sending it off to one of our strongholds.
Vapor, Diablo, and I don’t waste another second. We sprint toward our bikes, hoping we can make it to the other warehouse before it’s too late.