Chapter 66
Bane
Tag and I took position on top of the roof of a two-story building a block away from the warehouse.
When the enemy approached, I hit their cars with the EMP grenades, the electromagnetic radiation frying the electronics of their vehicles, rendering them tin cans in the street.
Which I then proceeded to blow up using Len’s rocket launcher.
Our comms and the other electronics that Len and her team were using weren’t affected by the EMP grenades, likely protected by technology that Zane Andrews and Kotan Luo had designed themselves.
The problem, though, is that Len only gave me two shots of ammo for the rocket launcher.
The blasts took out six cars, but there are more than the expected fifteen criminals who are trying to get to Randolph and Slade.
Our allies, the Santoros and the Saints, are en route here to help us, but this mob is intent on forcing Randolph to pay up for the bounty, not letting him renege on the contract.
Since he hasn’t followed the terms of the contract or cancelled it with the Broker, these criminals are technically within their rights.
Well, fuck them.
I remain low, looking through the scope of my gun and kill one of those criminals who is intent on getting my woman with a headshot. I smile darkly as his head explodes.
“Bane,” Tag warns beside me, looking through his own scope.
“What? I’m ridding the world of scum.” I look for another target. One pops up, aiming for Nexin, who is crouched low, using one of the burning vehicles as cover, and I take the shot. “I just saved your buddy’s ass. You’re welcome.”
Down on the frontlines, Nexin and Rolf wear balaclavas to prevent enemies from seeing their faces.
But he turns in our direction, and I can picture his smile, then he advances to where Rolf is.
Len and Ryn are positioned closer to the warehouse.
If Ryn was down below in the chaos, I suspected Tag would be just as willing to blow these fuckers’ heads off.
The police unit that the commissioner assigned is down in the war zone. One has been shot, and I’m certain he’s dead. There will be more police coming. Six cars exploding and a gunfight in the street will do that, even if it’s in a deserted section on the outskirts of the city.
We don’t have much time.
“Waterboard her,” Randolph’s voice comes over my comms from Slade’s device. I listen as he threatens what will happen if she doesn’t.
I’m muted right now to Slade, and I command their oversight controllers and Len, “It’s enough. Get Glass and his team to move and get Slade out of there.”
“Glass says not yet,” Len reports.
“Who the fuck is in charge of this op? Make Glass move in.”
It sounds like Len is running. “I’m on my way to do just that.”
“She could drown.” Slade’s voice is filled with emotion as she refuses Randolph’s order to waterboard Pix. But my stomach falls out at her next words. “And her dying too quickly doesn’t allow you to train me.”
There’s nothing in Slade’s tone.
“There she is. Look at you, my beautiful pet.” Randolph’s sick voice fills my ears as I imagine him witnessing Slade’s full emotional shut-off.
“No,” I rasp. “Fuck. Put me back through to Slade,” I order. “Fucking do it!”
The stone explodes in front of me, and shards cut my face before I can cover it. My roar had drawn the attention of one of the bastards down below.
Tag covers us as I order, “Put me the fuck back on Slade’s comms.”
“You’re live, Bane,” Kotan says, his voice tense.
Thank fuck.
“Slade. Listen to me. Stay here with me. Don’t spiral.” But she’s not responding. The only sounds I hear are Pix choking and coughing as she starts to drown and Slade’s heavy breathing. “Slade!”
“Tell Glass to move in,” Tag orders.
“I’m trying,” Len huffs, then is abruptly cut off.
“Fuck this. I’m going in.”
Tag’s hand clamps down on my forearm. “You can’t just barrel in there and shoot Randolph in the head. The FBI will take you down.”
It’s not me I’m concerned about.
If this thing is being broadcasted to the authorities for them to take down the guilty within their jurisdiction, and Slade looks to be a willing part of torturing Pix, that’s going to be a problem.
However, it’s not my primary concern right now.
My priority is for Slade to remain whole and mentally intact.
Tag sees my resolve and that I’ll do whatever the hell I want.
“Goddamn renegade bandit.” His lips twitch.
I grin. “Just like the Wild West.”
He jerks his chin. “Go. I’ll cover you until you get to the corner. After that, you’re on your own.”
“That’s all I need.”
I leave the short-range sniper rifle and grab the HK416 automatic weapon, along with more mags of ammo.
My Sig Sauer P365 is inside my leather cut, along with two other guns and my knives.
Keeping low, I move to the edge of the rooftop.
Tag meets my eyes, nods once, then opens fire below to give me cover.
I jump to the neighboring lower roof, then drop down to the street.
Once my boots hit asphalt, I’m sprinting as hard as humanly possible.
I listen to the hell that is playing over the comms as Randolph encourages Slade, and Pix struggles to breathe, all while firing my gun at any fuckers who have the make the stupid decision of trying to stop me.
And who said men can’t multitask?
I round the corner and see the warehouse down the street, and I scan the open field behind it. There are dark figures approaching the back of the warehouse.
“Hostiles coming from the north,” I report through clenched teeth as I sprint faster. The FBI was supposed to be holding the perimeter at the back.
An explosion goes off, sending a percussive wave from the blast rushing over me, even at the distance I am away. At first, I think it’s a weaponized drone that Kotan or Zane was operating, but a new male voice comes over the comms.
“Hello, Team Alpha. Bravo Team reporting for duty and saving your asses,” comes the cocky message. “You’re welcome.”
“Jones,” Len grits. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Saving your beautiful ass, obviously. It’s good to hear your voice, hellcat.”
Jones. Okay, if Adamus Jones is joining Len and her team—an unhinged bastard who likes to make things go boom—I know the back perimeter is protected. So, I focus on getting to my woman.
But pain erupts in my left bicep, then I’m hit from the side. I stumble but remain upright, pivoting to face the threat.
A huge man with a bald head and gold-capped teeth smiles. “The VP himself.” His eyes gleam with malicious intent. “I’ll enjoy fucking your woman… I might just keep you alive and let you watch—”
I throat-punch him with the butt of my gun. My arm explodes with more pain and feels weak, but I have a goal bigger than pain or life itself.
Slade. My world. My every-fucking-thing.
The guy doesn’t go down with the hit but staggers back.
Letting go of my automatic gun to let it hang from the strap over my torso, I pull out my knife.
The same knife I used on Slade while she watched in the mirror, and I explained to her that it was a tool.
The same one I vowed to wield to keep her safe.
Oh, the things I’d like to do to this bastard, and any other who thinks they can take Slade from me, if I had more time.
Grinning like a madman, I attack. Viciously.
He’s expecting me to attack, but not to the extent where I pour every ounce of hate into it to protect my girl.
I’m Havoc’s Defender, her defender, and I’m lethal.
He staggers under the force of my onslaught, but I don’t stab his torso, neck, or face. Instead, like Randolph told Slade what some of the most painful and debilitating cuts are, I go for the tendons. I quickly have him on his knees, his arms hanging uselessly at his sides.
I don’t waste any more time with him; I need to get to Slade. As he looks up at me with hate-filled eyes, refusing to beg for his life, I bury my knife straight into one of his eyes and twist until he slumps to the ground, dead at my feet.
My left arm is throbbing, my clothes are splattered in blood, but I’m sprinting to get my woman.
And if I have to go through the director of the FBI, then I’ll cut him down with a smile on my face.