Chapter Eleven
Hurricane
Riding off to fight this war to help our LA Defiance brothers was a no-brainer.
But riding off and leaving Kaia and Immy waiting for me in the clubhouse makes my bones ache.
I never thought I would be the type of man to fall so head over heels for a woman the way I have for Kaia. That woman has irrevocably changed me.
For the better.
She tamed the hurricane.
But she’s not the only woman in my life I am grateful for.
There’s her sister Lani, whom I adore more than anything.
And of course, there’s Ingrid. The woman whom I would walk over hot coals for.
The woman who is more of a mother than my mother ever was.
I have been blessed in my life to be surrounded by strong and nurturing women who have loved me beyond my many faults.
And it’s nights like this that I have to hold onto their love to get me through these battles.
Because they’re always big, and they always cost something.
The cold New Orleans night air bites at my skin as I crouch in position, checking my Glock one last time. My brothers are scattered across the shipping yard like pieces on a chessboard, and I’m the fucking king directing the play.
Except I’m not feeling much like a king tonight.
More like a father who wants to get home to his loving family.
The thought of Kaia makes my chest tighten.
Those twins growing inside her, the ones I found out about during our honeymoon in February…
God, that woman looked so beautiful when she told me.
The way her eyes lit up, the way she placed my hand on her still-flat stomach and whispered, “We’re having twins, Hurricane. ”
I’ve been on a high ever since.
I can’t fucking help it.
Making babies with that woman is my favorite goddamn thing in the world, and watching them grow into incredible little humans? Even better.
Immy’s already got me wrapped around her tiny finger. I’m a sucker when it comes to my daughter. Hell, I’m a sucker when it comes to all the women in my life, Kaia, Lani, even Ingrid. They all know exactly how to tame this hurricane.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Everyone in position?” I murmur into the comm, fingers steady as I check the chamber of my Glock one last time.
“Check,” City whispers back.
“Locked and loaded,” Bayou comes in from the southeast.
“All set,” Raid reports from the north.
“Good to go,” Grit signals from the west.
Hoodoo’s voice is calm. Too calm. “Ready.”
“Perimeter secured,” Jarred, our prospect, calls down the line.
I draw a slow breath, feeling the weight of every man listening.
“This isn’t just another run-of-the-mill Cartel,” I say quietly, letting the truth sink in.
“Intel confirms the women they’re movin’ aren’t being sold.
They’re bein’ programmed, drugged, conditioned to enter prison systems voluntarily.
Once inside, they’re fed into a breedin’ program.
They don’t even know what they’re volunteerin’ for until it’s already over. ”
Silence follows.
“They’re manufacturing assassins for the Nest,” City says, jaw tight even through the radio.
“Exactly,” I reply. “And tonight, we end that shit.”
“Movement,” Raid murmurs. “Van on east approach. No lights.”
I lift my scope, tracking a matte-black panel van crawling between the containers like a predator that knows it owns the dark. It stops. A hidden door slides open, and two guards step out.
Between them is a young woman who’s barely conscious. Her eyes are glassy, and her feet drag, as if her body has already given up the fight.
My grip tightens. Rage simmers low and lethal.
“Fuck,” City breathes.
“They’re loading the next batch,” I confirm.
“All units,” I order, my voice ironed flat. “Move in. Silent and fast. Bayou, City, flank east with me. Hoodoo and Grit cover the north. Jarred, Keith, hold the exit.”
We move as one, silent and precise, through the stacks like smoke in the dark. Years in this life have taught us how to disappear in plain sight. I take point, our eyes locked on the disguised hatch near the container. Raid overrides the lock with a flick of his wrist, and it hisses open.
Our eyes widen as we look down inside, seeing a metal staircase plunging into the darkness.
This is it.
This is what we came here for.
“Radio silence,” I signal, lowering my voice to nothing. “Hand signals only.”
I gesture once, sharp and silent, and we move. One by one, we descend the staircase into hell.
The corridor hits me first—bleach, sweat, and fear soaked so deep into the concrete it’ll never come out.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, one flickering erratically, as though it’s something ripped straight out of an asylum.
I’ve seen lockups, pits, places meant to break men.
This is worse. These women don’t even know where they are anymore.
I step to the first door and peer through the narrow window.
Dozens of women sit in sterile rows, hands moving with mechanical precision as they package drugs. No talking. No hesitation. Just empty, repetitive motion. Their eyes are gone. Not dull. Gone. Like someone scooped out everything human and left only the bodies behind.
Ghosts.
That’s all they are now. Ghosts still breathing.
Bayou signals me toward another room.
This one turns my blood to acid.
Needles. Restraints bolted into the floor. Screens mounted along the walls loop the same propaganda on repeat, images and words designed to grind resistance into dust. A Cartel soldier stalks between the women with a cattle prod, barking orders, jolting anyone who hesitates.
My jaw locks so hard it aches. I don’t need to look at my brothers to know they feel it too. I see it in their posture, in the way their hands tighten on their weapons.
This place isn’t just a nightmare.
It’s a factory.
The Cartel didn’t build a safe house to stash captives. They built a machine, a system, something designed to chew through women and spit out weapons for the Nest.
And we are here to smash every fucking gear.
I don’t waste another heartbeat.
I give the signal.
We surge forward as one, boots hammering cracked concrete in synchronized fury. I take point, charging the far door. The metal screams when my boot hits it, rust and dust exploding outward as it caves in with a thunderous clang.
Fluorescent light floods the room.
A guard spins, eyes wide, panic already winning as his hand scrabbles for the pistol at his hip.
But he is too late.
My Glock is up. Two shots punch through his chest. His body jerks, slamming back into the wall, then slides down it slowly, painting the concrete red.
I sweep the room, my weapon high.
No more threats.
Just women.
Battered and cowering, pressed against the walls like they’re trying to melt into them. Arms wrapped around themselves, trembling. Those hollow eyes hit me square in the chest, and something in me fractures.
I lower my weapon carefully, raising my hands so they see I’m not a threat. My voice stays steady, even though it takes effort. “We’re here to help,” I tell them. “You’re safe now. We’re gonna get you outta here.”
A woman near the center whimpers, rocking with her knees pulled tight to her chest. Another stares straight through me like I’m a hallucination. One flinches at a boot shifting behind me and lets out a raw, feral scream, launching herself forward.
Her fists slam into my chest.
I don’t stop her.
I let her hit me. She needs this outlet. Every punch is rage, terror, survival clawing its way out.
After a few seconds, her strength gives out, and she folds, sobs ripping from her throat like they’ve been trapped there for years.
I catch her before she hits the floor, crouching with her, holding her steady.
“It’s okay,” I murmur, anchoring her, keeping my voice low and real. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”
Behind me, Bayou and Raid move carefully, clearing corners, stepping around the women like they’re made of glass. One retches at the sight of the dead guard. Another woman starts praying in rapid-fire Spanish, fingers shaking as they trace an invisible rosary.
These women were trained to survive.
Not to hope.
But tonight, hope kicked in their fucking door.
Grit’s voice crackles through the comms. “Hurricane. They’ve got bird assassins down here. Female operatives and their fast. One just took out Jarred.”
My gut drops.
“Shit,” I snarl.
And we move again. “Can you confirm, Grit. Bird operatives are in the buildin’?” I snap.
“Confirmed. Tactical suits, knives, silent entries. I barely got away from the one who got Jarred.”
Fuck.
Then Hoodoo’s voice cuts in with news that makes my stomach drop. “Pres, we’ve got a bigger issue. They’ve ruptured a water main. This whole level’s flooding. Looks like they’d rather sacrifice these women than let their secret get out.”
Of course they would.
These bastards would rather drown their victims than face justice.
“How long do we have to get these women out?” I demand.
“Twenty, maybe less. And we’ve got over thirty women to extract, while fightin’ the Cartel and fuckin’ bird assassins.”
I make the call instantly. “Get them movin’. Everyone cover the evac. I’ll stay back with the stragglers, make sure they get out.”
City catches my arm, concern in his eyes. “Pres, keep an eye out. There’s still Cartel and birds in here. Watch your six.”
I clasp his shoulder, looking him dead in the eye. “We get these women out. No matter what, we get them home. Understand me, VP?”
I’m trying to tell him something without saying it outright. Trying to prepare him for what I already know in my gut might happen. But there’s no time, and I shove him toward the others.
The water is rising fast, already up to my thighs as I wade back into the chaos. The screams of terrified women echo off the concrete walls. Some are barely conscious, others are fighting each other in their panic to escape.
I can’t leave them.
I won’t.
This is what I signed up for when I took the president’s patch.