45. Butch
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
BUTCH
W asting no time, our crew advances forward. The low rustle of their feet moving is the only sound carrying through the comms. There’s a few tense minutes as our team in the suite listens.
Candy quivers like a leaf in a fall breeze beside me. It’s normal for anyone watching a war about to go down to be scared. I recall my early days as a SEAL. My palms would sweat profusely, gripping my gun like it was my only salvation. Years of experience have curbed me of those traits, or so I thought. With Candy in the crossfires, old nerves return. I grip my Glock in my hand, letting the weight of the cool metal ease my growing nerves.
The room grows still as the seconds tick by, time seeming to slow.
There’s a surprised gasp, followed by a bit of scuffle rolling over the comms, before an audible pop . Anyone who has fought in battle knows the telltale sign of a gun with a silencer.
A gurgle of someone clearly choking on their blood is heard before another soft pop . Several more pops follow in succession.
Eagle whispers down the line. “Targets down. Helipad cleared. Over.”
Candy releases a nervous whimper, her fist flying to cover her mouth. She bites down on the knuckle of one of her clenched fingers to silence any more from escaping. The rest of us remain still, our ears straining to hear more.
“Good,” Atlas says, sounding pleased. “Get to work dismantling the control center, Eagle.”
“On it, Prez. Over.”
A man curses, his holler for help cut off with a muted cry before an audible snap .
“Logging road secured. Over,” Flay rumbles low through the comms.
Feet are heard running along with even breathing. The distinctive sound of fists connecting with flesh is picked up through the comms. A few soft pops followed by silence.
“Front exit secured. Over,” Brass says, panting down the line.
“Cover us. With me, Gauge,” Atlas commands.
“Roger, brother.”
“Moving in toward the back entrance,” Chase informs as he and Punk are heard running in the background.
“Watching your six from the helipad,” Stage informs Chase and Punk.
No sooner have the words left Stage’s mouth when gunfire erupts from the level below us, echoing around the dome-shaped arena. Our team is already moving in to apprehend all they come into contact with. Those who resist or draw weapons on our team will be terminated.
Piero sips a whiskey, unbothered by the chaos breaking out on the main level as his men surround him like a human shield.
Chaos breaks out on the auction floor as panic ensues among the bidders. Duffy runs off the stage, screaming like a terrified little kid. Shouting is heard all around from the various private booths. Footsteps thunder through the corridor outside our suite.
When gunfire sounds on the auction floor itself, I throw myself on top of Candy.
“Get down!” I holler at her over the growing commotion, shoving her to the ground until she’s lying prone on the carpet. My body shields her like a tortoise shell. “Don’t move until I say it’s safe.”
She nods woodenly.
“Men are trying to reach the holding pen,” Tank shouts.
“Take them out!” Gauge hollers over the comms.
With a last kiss to the back of Candy’s head, I rise, aiming my gun at the privacy window. One bullet to the glass has it shattered.
Piero scoffs around his drink. “You’d think they’d invest in bullet-proof windows, preparing for every worst-case scenario. Amateurs.”
Tank and Ziggy rush forward to the broken window, guns drawn. Together, we take out anyone trying to get to the women in the holding area. Guards rush to cover those who try to reach the captives, firing back at us. We quickly duck down behind the low wall as bullets rain into the room. One of Piero’s guards—Enzo—takes a bullet to the right of his chest. He staggers but remains upright. The bullet is stopped by his bullet-proof vest but will surely leave a painful welt. It will take more than a bullet to bring down the mountain-sized bodyguard.
Enzo grits his teeth, biting back his pain. “Fucker better be dead by the end of this, or he’ll wish he was when I get my hands on him.”
Piero hums, amused. “As long as I get to watch you work.”
With all the havoc, I hadn’t noticed Candy creeping along the carpet, moving closer to where we squat beneath the broken window until she’s practically on top of me.
What is she doing?!
“Get back, Candy,” I warn, worry surging up my spine.
“You need eyes,” she shouts at me over the rapid gunfire from her prone position on the floor. “There’s too many people for you to keep track of them all. You take out the threats, and I’ll make note of the faces.”
“No!” I shout, trying to shove her head down when she pops it up over the windowsill.
She slaps away my hand, her brows knitting together angrily. “I can help. ”
Of course she can help. I have no doubt. But I will not risk her getting shot.
“Butch! Three o’clock below.”
A bullet whizzes past my right ear.
Fucking hell!
Autopilot has me swinging my gun to my right, popping off a shot and capping the gunman square in the chest. He goes down hard on his back. Like us, these guards are wearing body armor. Not fucking around, I waste no time taking another shot. The bullet enters under his chin, exiting the back of his head. No coming back from that.
With my magazine empty, I curse, my attention preoccupied. As I unload and reload, my woman is peeking over the ledge.
“Two gunmen on the stage dead ahead,” Candy shouts over the gunfire.
Tank takes the shots in quick succession, his marks hitting home. He risks giving me a quick smirk. “This is fun.”
Ziggy barks a laugh. “Fucking Marines. Figures you’d like this part.”
“Usually don’t,” Tank admits, reloading with speed. “Had enough of this shit in the desert. A little different when you don’t have red tape to deal with.”
“Welcome to mercenary life,” Punk jokes through the comms. “Where all the bureaucratic bullshit doesn’t apply.”
“I like it.” With a menacing grin, Tank fires off another kill shot.
“If you’re looking for more work—” Piero says before Atlas cuts him off.
“Stop trying to pilfer my men, hermano !”
Piero throws his head back, laughing like a madman amid war.
A middle-aged man—possibly a bidder, judging by his expensive suit—makes his way to the holding area under the cover of his guards. He reaches into the pen, grabbing Stacy. She thrashes, hitting and clawing at the man like a cornered alley cat. I raise my gun, popping off one shot. It hits him in the back of the head, spraying Stacy in his blood. She staggers back into the protective hold of her friends as the middle-aged man’s body slumps over the railing of the pen, unmoving.
More men rush the arena floor, some trying to run for the exits while others make their way to the holding area, too greedy to leave their winnings behind.
It’s as I’m taking out as many men as I can that Candy grips my bicep. I brave a glance at her. Candy points to the auction floor, her face a mask of horror.
“It’s him! Butch, it’s Cú Sidhe .”
My eyes fly down the length of her arm to where she points near the pen. Sure as shit, O’Conall is in my sights, surrounded by guards. He wastes no time opening the gate of the holding area and rushing in. Before I can get my gun up to take a shot at him, he’s grabbing Jolie, yanking her tight to his body. Fucker has created a human shield. He knows we won’t shoot. Firing at him from this far away would be risky. Jolie could get hit instead.
“Fuck!” I holler into the comms. “O’Conall has Jolie. I can’t take a shot and not hit her.”
“We’re working our way toward the main staircase,” Gauge shouts through the comms, gunfire heard in the background. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Give me five to get to the control center to cut the power. That will help,” Chase drawls through the comms.
“There’s no time,” Candy argues, fear lacing her voice. “She needs help now.”
“Slow him down,” Punk yells through our ear pieces.
Ziggy fires off a shot, hitting one of O’Conall’s guards in the leg. Tank fires another two, taking one guard from behind as he covers the rat bastard’s back.
O’Conall turns to see two of his guards are down. His cold eyes rise to meet mine amongst the chaos. A trace of cruel smile tips his lips. He dashes through the throngs of people, pulling Jolie along for the ride. I aim for O’Conall, but the crowd of patrons swallows him out of my line of sight .
Candy is beside herself, fretful tears spilling down her rosy cheeks. “He’s getting away!”
“Stay put,” Atlas orders. “We’re coming.”
“Not good enough,” Candy clips, jumping to her feet. Her face is set in a mask of determination.
Sensing she’s about to do something reckless, I’m fast on my feet. Catching her by the arm before she reaches the door, I swing her around to face me. “Where are you going?!”
“Butch, he has her. She’s an innocent. He’ll destroy her if he gets away,” Candy all but sobs, her voice raw with insistence. “We have to help her.”
“Not ‘ we ,’” I rectify, my voice harsh with authority. “You need to stay put.”
She shakes her head at me, her lips a thin line of disappointment. “You know I’m no good at taking orders, biker boy. I won’t stand by and watch him take her. I won’t be complicit. Never again.”
“It’s not complicit to wait for backup. It’s being smart.” I shake her, not roughly, but enough to wake her from heroic delusion. “This is war!”
But my woman doesn’t understand the rules of combat. She hasn’t learned all the safety precautions our crew has in place to keep us safe while in action. There was only time to train her on basic self-defense before this mission, not everything else. Candy isn’t aware her concern for the hostage can put herself in a vulnerable position against our enemy.
Looking at Candy’s defiant face, I can see my words aren’t registering. She’s associating herself in the victim’s position, understanding what’s in store for Jolie if O’Conall escapes.
Shots fire into the suite from the broken window, making everyone duck. Candy uses the distraction to open the suite door and scurry out. I chase after her, only to have a guard rush into my side, plowing me into the wall. There’s a sickening crack when my shoulder connects with the drywall.
Pain radiating through me, I howl a curse before I manage to press the barrel of my Glock into the gut of the guard attacking me. I pull the trigger, and the fucker drops like dead weight, grabbing at his insides spilling out. He’ll bleed out before anyone comes to his aid.
Moving in the direction Candy went, I make it a few steps before my vision clouds. The throb in my shoulder is fucking with my concentration. Forcing myself to focus, I see Candy sprinting down the hall to the back stairway.
“Candy!” I holler, running after her, doing my best to ignore the ache in my dislocated shoulder. She slips down the stairs before I can reach her.
Fear and adrenaline flood my veins. If O’Conall gets to her before I do…
No, I can’t afford to dwell on the what ifs , not with my woman in danger.
Using my anger to fuel me, I grip the banister of the staircase with my bad arm, yanking back with all my might. I grit my teeth as I set my shoulder back in place with an audible snap.
With Candy out of my sight, I use the tracking app on my phone and ping her location before I race down the stairs after her.