Chapter 13
13
T he mood in our vehicles is electric as we approach the target – that particular tension that always precedes violence.
I ride with Cassian, Jace, and Lena, while the Rockfords follow in the second SUV. Cassian drives, his profile sharp in the dim light, hands steady on the wheel. The weight of my weapons is reassuring, familiar territory on a night that has been anything but.
We park three blocks from the warehouse, killing the lights before we roll to a stop. The night wraps around us, the distant industrial area quiet except for the occasional rumble of trains. Lena slips out first, rifle case in hand, moving like a shadow toward her vantage point. The rest of us gather behind the vehicles, a final check of equipment and comms.
“Channel secure,” Ezra’s hushed confirmation sounds in our earpieces. “Jamming signal ready on my mark.”
“Lena, status?” I ask into my comm.
“Moving into position. Two guards at the east entrance, one patrolling the fence line. Standard patrol pattern, just like intelligence suggested.”
Jace and Rico exchange a look, in sync with each other after so many years of working side-by-side. Caleb checks his weapon with practiced efficiency, while Raphael scans the darkness, alert for any movement. Cassian stays close to my side, his presence a constant reminder of where his priorities lie.
“In and out in twenty minutes,” I remind everyone, checking the clock on my phone. “Any longer, and their off-site security will respond.”
We move out, separating into our designated teams. Cassian, Caleb, and I circle toward the back of the warehouse while Rico, Jace, Raphael, and Ezra approach from the east side. The cool night air slips past the thin, black material covering my face, carrying the scent of metal and oil from the nearby train yards.
“I’m in position,” Lena reports through the comm. “External guards are in my sights. Ready on your mark.”
“Execute,” I command, and the plan springs into motion.
Through my scope, I watch as one guard drops, then another, Lena’s bullets finding their mark as always. Then Ezra confirms that the jamming signal is active, cutting the warehouse’s communication with external security, and we move in, approaching the fence line where Jace makes quick work of the lock.
But something feels wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as we approach the building. Too easy. The guards dropped too quickly, the perimeter too lightly defended for what’s supposed to be inside.
“Cassian,” I breathe.
He nods, sensing the same thing. “I see it. Not enough security for what they’re protecting.”
Caleb’s expression tightens. “Could mean they’ve moved the Omegas already.”
Realization settles, cold in my stomach. “Or they’re expecting us.”
Someone from the transport vehicle we intercepted must have sent out an alert.
Before I can signal a halt, Rico announces. “East entrance clear. Moving in?—”
His words cut off with a curse, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.
“Ambush!” Jace shouts over the comm, the sound of return fire cracking through the air.
Everything accelerates. We abandon stealth, racing toward the rear entrance where Cassian kicks in the door with brutal efficiency. The interior of the warehouse opens up before us, concrete floors, metal rafters, stacks of crates creating a maze of potential cover. And people, moving in the shadows, weapons raised.
The first shot cracks past my ear close enough for the air displacement to ruffle my hair. I drop and roll, coming up behind a crate as bullets pepper the space where I had just stood. Cassian and Caleb find cover, returning fire in controlled bursts.
“Rico, Jace, status!” I demand into my comm, ducking as splinters fly from the crate above my head.
“Pinned down by the east entrance,” Rico says, his words clipped. “At least six hostiles. Heavy weapons.”
“We’re moving to flank them,” Raphael adds, steady despite the chaos. “Ezra’s hit, but it’s superficial.”
The warehouse erupts into a full firefight, muzzle flashes illuminating the space in strobe-like bursts. I catch glimpses of our opponents, professional, well-equipped, moving with tactical precision. This isn’t the typical security detail for a trafficking operation. These are mercenaries.
I signal to Cassian, and we move in tandem, leap-frogging from cover to cover as we push deeper into the warehouse. Caleb provides covering fire, his shots methodical and precise. Through my earpiece, Lena calmly reports as she engages targets through the high windows, providing what support she can from her position.
We reach a junction of crates, and I signal for Cassian to take the left path while I cover the right. He hesitates, reluctant to leave my side.
“Go,” I hiss, and he finally complies, disappearing into the maze of containers.
I advance with caution, weapon raised, every sense hyper-alert. The concrete floor vibrates with running footsteps, and the air tastes of gunpowder and dust. A figure appears at the end of the aisle, and I drop him with two center-mass shots before he can raise his weapon.
“Movement on your three, Avery,” Lena warns in my ear, and I pivot just in time to see another hostile emerging from between stacks of pallets.
Time slows. I bring my weapon to bear, but he’s already firing. The burn of a bullet grazes my arm, tearing through the sleeve of my turtleneck. I return fire, and he goes down hard.
“I’m hit,” I report, though the wound is minor, a scratch that bleeds but doesn’t impede movement. “Continuing to advance.”
“Fall back,” Cassian commands, tight with concern.
“Negative. Keep moving. We need to find the holding area.” I push forward, following the blueprint we memorized.
The central section of the warehouse opens up, crates giving way to an open floor where forklifts and pallets are arranged. Across this exposed area is the reinforced door that should lead to where the Omegas are kept.
Gunfire continues to echo through the building, but it’s less intense now, pockets of resistance rather than coordinated defense. I spot Raphael and Jace advancing from the eastern side, moving in sync despite their earlier hostility. Professional, even in crisis.
I break from cover, sprinting across the open space toward the reinforced door. Halfway there, movement to my left catches my eye, a gunman rising from behind a forklift, weapon trained on me.
“Avery!” Two voices shout at the same time, Cassian from somewhere to my right and Raphael from the left.
Both Alphas emerge from cover, spotting the threat at the same moment.
But instead of either of them taking the shot, they collide, their attention split between the gunman and each other. Cassian snarls at Raphael, his focus broken for a crucial second. Raphael pushes forward, trying to get a clean line of fire, but his movement puts him in Cassian’s way.
The gunman steadies his aim. I dive for the ground, twisting as I fall to bring my weapon up, but I won’t be fast enough. My finger tightens on the trigger as I stare down the barrel of his gun.
A shot cracks through the air, and the gunman jerks backward, a neat hole appearing in the center of his forehead.
“Target down,” Lena announces. “You’re clear.”
I push myself up from the ground, my heart thundering, every muscle charged with adrenaline. Raphael and Cassian both race toward me, their earlier mistake reflected in the tight fear on their faces.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spit, anger boiling through me. “You both almost got me killed!”
Cassian reaches me first, his hands moving over my arms, checking for injuries, and his focus settles on the bloody tear in my sleeve. “You’re hit.”
“I’m fine.” I knock his hands away, furious with both of them. “No thanks to either of you.”
Raphael’s face looks ashen beneath its natural tan. “Avery?—”
“Later,” I cut him off. “We finish the mission first.”
The rest of the team converges on our position as we approach the reinforced door. Jace plants breaching charges while we get into position. The controlled explosion blows the doors inward in a cloud of dust and debris.
We surge inside, weapons ready, only to find… nothing. Empty cots line the walls of the room, restraints hanging loose. Medical equipment stands abandoned. Discarded food containers and rumpled bedding bear all the hallmarks of recent occupation, but the Omegas are gone.
“Fuck!” Caleb lowers his weapon as he takes in the empty room. “They moved them.”
Rico kicks one of the cots, sending it skidding across the floor. “We’re too late.”
“No, they knew we were coming.” Raphael’s expression is grim as he examines a clipboard left behind.
The words settle over us like a physical weight. We were expected. Prepared for. Perhaps even led here while the real operation continued elsewhere.
“Clear the rest of the building,” I order, refusing to give in to the disappointment threatening to crush my chest. “Search for any clue that might tell us where they’ve taken them.”
The team disperses, checking every corner of the warehouse. I stand in the empty holding room, my arm throbbing where the bullet grazed it. The mission has failed. Jade isn’t here, and neither are any other Omegas who might have been saved.
Scratches on the wall catch my attention, revealed by the cot Rico kicked, and I walk closer, crouching to study them. As I do, a loose screw spins away from the toe of my boot.
“What did you find?” Caleb kneels beside me.
I trace my fingers over the ragged numbers dug into the cement.
Cassian crouches on my other side. “Could be coordinates.”
“It’s not.” Caleb scrubs a hand down his face. “It’s the code Jade uses to let me know a message is real. He was here, but we’re too late.”
I rise. “Then let’s ask the people who are still here where Jade went.”
We join Rico in the main warehouse, where he lines up the mercenaries who managed to survive. They lie face down on the floor, their hands and feet bound with zip ties. He catches my eye and drags his thumb across his throat in question.
I shake my head. We need information more than corpses right now.
I run my tongue over my teeth, tasting copper. “Lena, how are we doing on the upper level?”
Her response cuts through the static. “Clear. Found manifests but nothing recent. Jace is checking the shipping containers outside.”
“No one’s admitting to seeing Jade.” Raphael approaches. “We’ve asked everyone on the east side.”
The adrenaline that served me so well during the fight now turns sour, leaving me jittery and impatient. I approach one of the guards, the youngest of who’s left. “We’re searching for someone. Omega, early twenties, blond hair with dark roots. Would have been brought in recently.”
He keeps his forehead pressed to the concrete floor, refusing to acknowledge me.
I lean in close, my lips at his ear. “Don’t want to talk to me?”
A bead of sweat slides down his temple, and his jaw tightens with the strain of clenched teeth. Every man here is aware of the truth. Take a job like this, and it’s lights out if things go wrong. They’re all prepared to die.
Which just means I need a reason greater than this man’s life to crack him open and spill all his secrets.
I inhale, catching the scent of his fear. “That’s a nice tan line you have on your ring finger. Got someone special at home, waiting to confirm you made it through another job?”
His lashes flutter as his eyes dart toward me.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to have attachments in this line of work?” I coo. “Don’t tell me you have children .”
He flinches, and the trap snaps shut.
“Should we bring your family here? Show them how you put bread on the table?” I grip his sweaty hair and turn his head to the side, pulling down my mask at the same time so he can see my face.
Shock registers on his face. “You’re an Omega.”
I smile, knowing it won’t reach my eyes. “I was born in a place like this. When I was six, the owners put a gun in my hands for the first time. They were bored, and they told me to choose which of my friends would live or die. Who do you think your child will choose? You or your partner? Either way, that kind of trauma… It changes a person. Twists them?—”
“I’ve seen him,” he spits out.
“Go on.”
“He was here.” Once he starts speaking, he stumbles over the words to get them out fast enough. “They took him with the special shipment a few days ago.”
Caleb pushes forward. “What special shipment?”
“The ones that go to the rich clients. Private sales.” Sweat drips down his temples. “He fought them. Wouldn’t shut up, even when they hit him.”
Pride blooms in my chest despite everything. That sounds like Jade.
“Where did they take him?” Raphael demands.
The man shakes his head. “We don’t get told destinations. Just load ’em into vans.”
I reach out to flick his ear. “Why are these shipments special?”
He flinches, a little squeak escaping his lips. “The ones who pay extra get their merchandise delivered personally. Custom handling.”
“Custom handling,” Caleb repeats. “Like he’s a fucking package.”
“Do these special shipments have special destinations?” Raphael asks.
He shakes his head. “They take their time with the transfers. I overheard once that they clean the merchandise up first. Make them presentable.”
I flick his ear again. “Where?”
“I don’t know.” He licks his cracked lips. “But they called it the Finishing House.”
I stare down at the man. “Anything else?”
He shakes his head. “Just don’t hurt my family.”
“They’re safe.” I give Rico the signal.
With an impassive expression, he draws his knife from his belt and approaches the first prisoner in line.
“Hey, I think we found someone in management,” Lena announces. “Upstairs office.”
I pull my mask back into place and stand. “Let’s see if he can tell us more.”
Caleb cracks his knuckles. “I’ll make him talk.”
“Not if I get to him first.” I move toward the stairs and climb up, heading for the office as men begin to scream and beg behind us.