Catalyst (Chain Reaction #1)

Chapter 1

W ill McMahon had dreamed of being a superhero since he’d been six years old, idealistic and young and thinking that his dad and his older brother were heroes.

Twenty-two years later, he hadn’t been pushed into a vat of toxic waste—not for lack of trying, of course—and hadn’t managed to gain any superpowers other ways, but he was still idealistic, and he still thought they were heroes.

At times like this, when he was in full tactical gear as a Tactical Operations Unit officer, on his way to arrest drug traffickers and making the world just that bit safer, he felt closer to reaching that status himself.

The team’s sniper, Roy, humming “Eye of the Tiger” next to him, took some of the fantasy out of it, though.

Will nudged him in the shoulder. “Could you pick something from this era? My ears are about to bleed.”

“Fuck off, McMahon, you want me to go in swinging my hips to Beyoncé?”

“What’s wrong with Beyoncé?” Diego asked.

Will couldn’t see his expression clearly through his mask and eye gear, but he was willing to bet a small fortune that he was giving them the judgemental look that he’d perfected when they’d gone through the academy together.

Will still maintained the look had been for Roy, not for him.

He’d been an exemplary student and had graduated top of the class.

It had only been one time that he’d maybe deserved it.

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with her, but she ain’t exactly a battle theme song!” Roy said gruffly.

Will snorted. He braced himself with his heavy black boots as the BearCat hit a pothole.

His head hit the top of the vehicle, and he almost bit his tongue.

The armoured vehicle was pretty roomy, but Will was almost six foot six, and it hadn’t been made for his height.

He could already feel the ache between his shoulder blades from hunching for the eight minutes they’d been driving.

He adjusted his black gloves and the SIG MCX rifle resting against his chest. “ETA?” he asked Roy.

He checked all the straps and buckles on his gear, making sure they were tight and wouldn’t budge if they got into a scrap.

They’d already done pre-checks before they’d gotten in, but it didn’t hurt to go over it again.

“Three minutes.”

Will nodded and then leaned down, scowling at the laces on his thick boots. How had they come undone? He’d done them up, he was sure he had.

“You need your mum to help you with your shoes?” their medic, Cain, asked, smirking.

Will flipped him off before double knotting and then tugging on them just to make sure. “Okay,” he said, straightening. “Listen up.”

The four men in the confined space turned to him—Jeremy, who was driving, couldn’t turn and look, but Will knew he was listening—and the humming stopped, giving him blessed silence. Well, as much silence as speeding down busy residential streets at peak hour could give.

“It should be a simple seize and arrest,” he continued.

“We’ve done it a million times during training exercises and tactical operations.

This will be no different. Sources say there should be five dealers inside and an undetermined amount of cocaine, but we’re looking at a street value of more than five hundred thousand dollars.

Get the dealers out on the sidewalk, and then we’ll sweep the house for the drugs. ”

None of it needed to be said. Will had been leading the team for two years, they’d been working together longer than that, and they were a well-oiled machine.

But they didn’t know where the five dealers would be in the building, what kind of heat they were packing, and what the resistance would be.

If Will knew one thing, it was that shit could go FUBAR quicker than he could say “fuck,” and any kind of preparation made the danger that much more manageable.

The lack of detailed information wasn’t ideal, and Will preferred to avoid sending his team in with this kind of limited intel.

But they’d been given limited notice, and if they waited too long, they would lose their window of opportunity.

This kind of seizure was too good to risk it.

“You all know the drill. Don’t fire unless fired upon. If in doubt, find cover. And for fuck’s sake, make sure you identify yourself clearly.”

“Stop looking at me,” Diego muttered. “It was one time. Should we talk about the time you tripped coming out of the Cat?”

“I think you’re mistaking me with someone else,” Will said, grinning.

At least that time hadn’t been because of his laces; he’d missed a step, and the ground had been wet.

It had been during a training exercise, which had been his only saving grace in that instance.

“Just make sure you don’t mumble into your beard. ”

“He’s jealous he can’t grow one,” Roy stage-whispered.

Will nudged him a bit harder this time. It wasn’t that he couldn’t grow a beard; it just took a while, and the in-between stage was a little horrifying.

It was easier all around to shave every few days rather than put himself—or anyone else—through that.

They exploded into action the moment the BearCat rolled to a stop, piling out of it in a rush of heavy footsteps and rustling gear.

Will had less grace than the rest of them, but he was all arms and legs and thought he should be given some leeway because of that.

Nobody was laughing when they wanted him to reach the top shelf.

The narrow suburban street was empty except for a couple walking their Labrador at the corner. Will hadn’t brought a dog and handler for the operation, but it stopped to bark at them anyway. It set off a few more dogs in yards nearby.

Cain led the way up the dark-grey stepping stones to the small porch at the plain white front door. The house looked like all the rest on the street, cookie-cutter illusions of tranquillity and peace, with perfectly mowed lawns and cleaned gutters. A perfect disguise for a drug operation.

Hamish and Jeremy—lovingly nicknamed Peanut Butter and Jelly, mostly because they hated it—circled around the side of the house, heading for the back door in case anyone tried to make a run for it.

They weren’t expecting heavy resistance since it was a small operation, but it was important to prepare for all contingencies.

Will was fast, but chases were always a pain in the ass because it meant avoiding civilians and trying not to get anyone—including himself—injured.

Some of those jumps could be brutal on the joints.

Cain and Diego moved to either side of the door, and Will approached it head-on, Roy behind him.

He shifted his rifle out of his way and tested the stability of the door with his shoulder.

It was flimsy and hollow. A well-placed front kick splintered the area around the lock, and it burst open, slamming against the opposite wall.

Will stepped back swiftly, letting Diego and Cain go ahead first with their rifles lifted and pointing as they swivelled, checking for threats.

Two men were in the living area, lounging on the couch and smoking something that smelled distinctly like weed. It was clear they hadn’t been expecting anyone—a big reason for Will and his team having chosen to move on this now.

“Police, don’t move!” Will barked, aiming his rifle at them.

They jumped to their feet, eyes wide and glazed over. “What the—?”

Will jerked his gun. “Face the wall, now.”

When all they did was glance at each other—fucking hell, how stoned were they?—Cain and Diego moved in, pushing at their shoulders to get them moving.

Will ventured further into the house, with Roy at his back as they searched for the remaining three men on their radar.

Two of the bedrooms, the bathroom, and the laundry were empty, but the smell of drugs, smoke, and bad body odour was strong enough that it was getting through Will’s mask.

He was already dreaming about a shower later.

Preferably one that also included a hot, blond ex-spec ops soldier.

“Was intel wrong?” Roy asked as they cleared the next room, what looked like another bedroom.

It happened sometimes, but they’d been pretty confident about it this time—enough that they’d given TOU about five minutes to get in the BearCat and go.

“One more room,” Will said. He’d memorised the schematics during the first few minutes of travel.

The last room was a split-level. It was the biggest room in the house, big enough to cook up some hardcore drugs.

Unless the three dealers had gone out the back, and Peanut Butter and Jelly had picked them up, this is where he and Roy were going to find them.

Will opened the door quietly, with just enough room to toss two flash-bangs through—one left and one right—before he rushed inside. He was tackled to the ground in the next instant.

He grappled with his attacker, trying to get him off. A hit to his knee twisted it, jarring it. Mother fucker. Will managed to get an elbow into the fray and jammed it into ribs, a satisfying crack sounding in his ear. The guy grunted and curled in on himself instinctually.

Will used the momentum to roll away. He pulled the gun at his ankle out as he rolled and fired the second that he came up on one knee, grazing the man’s arm. It stunned him long enough to allow Will to haul him up, slam him against the wall, and cuff him.

“You all right?”

Will glanced to where Roy had the only other man in the room on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back.

His face was pressed flat against the floor, but it wasn’t hindering his ability to spit obscenities at them.

Will had to hand it to him; some were pretty creative.

But if that kind of language disturbed him, he’d gone into the wrong career.

“Just another day,” Will replied casually. He yanked his own man from the wall by his elbow and shoved him through the open doorway. “Walk.”

“Fuck off.”