Chapter Twenty
Avery’s throat went dry. Oh, God.
If that really was the Brotherhood, if every member was right there behind that bunker, then Megan and Riley were trapped in the middle of a fortress.
She couldn’t see how they were going to get them out alive.
Noah didn’t hesitate. “Cal, Garrett—you take the Brotherhood. If you can, toss a flashbang into that building. Disorient them, buy us a few seconds. Jackson, Avery, Isla—you move on the bunker, get those hostages clear.”
Cal kept watching the monitor. “That might be a problem.”
Noah frowned. “Why?”
Cal zoomed in again. The screen pulsed with new movement, one heat source stepping forward from the group inside. “Because one of them’s carrying something heavy. Long-barreled, shoulder height.” He swore quietly. “Looks like a fucking grenade launcher.”
“Hell,” Jackson muttered, the word sharp and low.
The rain fell harder, whispering through the trees like static.
It just kept getting worse.
Avery’s pulse pounded in her ears. Every breath she took burned. They were surrounded by armed men, the hostages were seconds from execution, and now the Brotherhood had explosives in play.
Rain dripped from the trees, the air thick and cold enough to taste.
Avery’s pulse thrummed in her throat as the team huddled close around the flickering glow of Cal’s monitor one last time.
The heat signatures hadn’t moved much—Megan and Riley were still crouched in the corner of the bunker, the armed figure pacing nearby.
But the cluster behind them—the Brotherhood—was shifting. Organizing.
Noah’s voice was low, controlled, the tone of a man used to giving orders on the edge of disaster. “Garrett, Cal—hold off on the flashbang until Isla reaches the bunker entrance. We need this timed perfectly.”
Cal nodded, his expression set. “Copy that.”
Noah continued, eyes sweeping across the group. “The Brotherhood has to be contained at the exact moment we pull the hostages. If we hit them too early, they’ll kill Riley and Megan before we get close.”
The weight of his words settled hard in Avery’s gut. One mistake, one mistimed move, and Riley and Megan were dead.
Noah turned to Isla next. “You’re going in first. Stick to the route Riley gave. When you reach the slab, if you’ve got a clear shot on the kidnapper—take it. Don’t hesitate.”
Isla’s jaw flexed. She gave a short nod, rain running down her hood. “Understood.”
Avery’s breath caught. The idea of Isla walking up to that bunker alone made her skin crawl. Every instinct screamed that the Brotherhood was watching, waiting for the bait to step into view.
Noah looked to the rest of them. “Jackson, Avery—you’re right behind her. Stay low, stay silent. Once she’s inside, we move. Extraction first, containment second.”
Jackson gave a curt nod, eyes dark, and reached out to steady Avery’s shoulder before they split. “You stay close,” he murmured. “No hero moves.”
She almost smiled, almost, but the air around them was too tight for that. “You first,” she whispered back.
Then they were moving.
Cal and Garrett peeled off to the left, vanishing into the trees, their shapes swallowed by rain and darkness. The sound of wet leaves under boots was the only sign they’d ever been there.
Isla stepped forward along the narrow trail toward the ridge. The faint light from the overcast sky painted her in shifting gray, her figure almost ghostlike as she descended toward the bunker.
Avery followed, her heart thundering in her chest. Jackson moved beside her, every movement controlled, gun steady. Noah brought up the rear, a shadow among shadows.
Through the trees, the faint outline of the concrete slab emerged, a darker patch in the earth, slick with rain. The entrance to the bunker. The place where two terrified hostages waited for rescue.
The air was electric now, every sense on edge. Avery could feel the storm pressing closer, the charged stillness before everything broke loose.
One wrong move and the entire Brotherhood would know they were here.
She gripped her weapon tighter and kept her eyes on Isla’s back.
The operation had begun.
And if they mistimed this by even a second, it wouldn’t be a rescue. It would be a massacre.
The rain hadn’t let up. It slicked every branch and rock, turning the trail into a ribbon of mud that sucked at their boots and whispered with every step. The air smelled like wet cedar and iron, the kind of metallic tang that came before lightning.
Avery moved in a crouch, gun up, breath shallow. Every few feet she scanned the trees, listening for a snap, a breath, anything that didn’t belong. Nothing but the soft hiss of rainfall and the rhythmic creak of their gear.
Jackson was just ahead of her, shoulders broad and steady in the dark, the faint gleam of water tracing down the line of his vest. Noah moved behind them, quiet as a ghost. And Isla, several yards in front, led the way toward the bunker.
The further they went, the heavier the air felt. The trees pressed close, branches weaving together overhead until the moonlight vanished completely. The forest muffled the world, swallowing their movements whole.
When the concrete slab finally came into view, it rose out of the earth like a tombstone.
Avery felt her chest tighten. That was it, the place Riley had described. The place where she was supposed to trade herself for two lives.
Isla slowed, her footsteps careful, methodical. She reached the edge of the clearing and paused. Rain ran off her hood in silver lines as she scanned the area, then raised a gloved hand in signal.
Through the faint crackle of the comms, Avery heard her whisper, “There’s a camera.”
The words were barely audible, but they hit hard.
Avery’s gaze followed the slight tilt of Isla’s head toward a tree near the clearing. There, just above a knot of moss and bark, a small black lens glistened under the rain.
Someone was watching.
“Eyes on,” Isla murmured. Her voice was low, controlled, but Avery could hear the edge under it. “They know we’re here.”
Avery’s stomach knotted. She instinctively glanced around the shadows, her pulse jumping. If there was one camera, there could be more, hidden among the trees, maybe infrared, maybe motion-triggered. She swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to stay even.
Noah’s hand came up, signaling them to hold. They froze where they were, half-shielded by the wet undergrowth.
“Stay put,” he said through the comm, his voice barely more than a breath. “Let Isla finish the sequence.”
Isla adjusted her stance, one steadying breath, then another. She looked like she was alone, just as the instructions demanded.
Avery’s hands tightened around her weapon, every nerve alive. She could hear the slow drip of water from the trees, the faint hum of static in her earpiece, the uneven beat of her heart.
She hoped whoever was behind that camera couldn’t see them and couldn’t see her.
Because if they could, the trap was already sprung.
Isla lifted her hand toward the slab.
One knock. Two. Three.
Then silence.
Rain fell harder, washing over the clearing.
And nothing moved.
Not yet.
But Avery could feel it, the awareness pressing in from the dark. Someone, somewhere, was watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.
The sound of Isla’s three knocks echoed through the clearing, dull against the concrete slab, swallowed almost instantly by the rain.
Then, nothing.
Avery held her breath, her heart thudding so hard she could feel it in her palms. Seconds stretched. The rain fell harder, drumming against her hood, trickling down the back of her neck.
Nothing moved.
Isla stood still, head tilted slightly as if listening for movement from inside the bunker. The clearing remained dead quiet.
Avery’s grip tightened on her gun. “Come on,” she whispered under her breath.
Isla knocked again. Three sharp, deliberate raps that cracked through the downpour.
This time, there was movement. But not from the bunker.
A branch snapped off to the right. Jackson turned first, weapon swinging toward the sound. Avery followed, pulse spiking, Noah just a heartbeat behind her.
A figure stepped out from behind the trees, his hands raised high in the dim light.
“Don’t shoot,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
Darian.
Even through the rain, Avery could see the gauntness in his face, the dirt streaked across his jaw, the wildness in his eyes.
“Jesus,” Jackson muttered, his gun leveled squarely at him.
Darian took a cautious step closer. “Please. I just…there’s something you need to know.”
“Stay right where you are,” Noah snapped, his voice low but sharp. “Hands up. Don’t move.”
Avery kept her sights trained on him, her finger just brushing the trigger. She didn’t believe for a second that he’d come alone.
Every instinct screamed trap.
Darian looked half-crazed, soaked through and shivering, but there was calculation behind his eyes, a flicker of something dangerous.
“Listen to me,” he said, his voice shaking. “You don’t understand what’s happening. The Brotherhood—”
“Save it,” Jackson cut in. “You show up here now, when we’re about to breach the bunker? You expect us to believe you’re just here to talk?”
“I’m not lying,” Darian hissed, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself. “You think I want to die out here? They’re not following orders anymore. It’s chaos in there—”
“Drop it,” Noah barked. “Hands where I can see them.”
Darian froze, his breath coming fast. The rain had soaked through his jacket, plastering it to his frame. His eyes darted toward the bunker, then back to them.
Avery’s pulse didn’t slow. If he’d come out of the trees, it meant he knew where they were hiding, and that meant someone else could, too.
She scanned the shadows, sweeping her gaze through the dripping undergrowth. Her gut twisted.
Darian could be a distraction.
He was a distraction.
Every second they spent on him was one more second for someone else to reposition, to aim, to fire.
Rain whispered through the trees, the sound deceptively soft against the pulse pounding in Avery’s ears.