35. Brando
35
brANDO
T he night is eerily quiet, the kind of silence that feels alive, buzzing with the promise of violence. I sit behind the wheel of the armored vehicle, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. The rhythmic ticking of the dashboard clock is the only sound, each second dragging with unbearable weight. Kanyan sits in the passenger seat, leaning forward, his leg bouncing like he’s about to spring from his seat and charge the compound himself. The both of us have never been good at waiting, and I’d bet that’s why Scar put us strategically at this location instead of in the tunnel. For discipline’s sake.
My comms unit crackles, and I tap it immediately, my voice terse. “Report.”
Static fills the line for a moment before a panicked voice breaks through. “There’s been an explosion in the crypt.”
My heart skips a beat, the words slamming into me like a physical blow. I glance at Kanyan, whose restless leg suddenly stops, his entire body going still as stone. “Say that again,” I demand, though the dread in my gut tells me I heard right the first time.
“The crypt—sealed off. The tunnel’s collapsed. We—we can’t reach them.”
My chest tightens, and the weight of the air inside the vehicle feels suffocating. I grip the steering wheel so hard it creaks in my hand. “Do you have eyes on the team? Do you see them?” My voice is calm, but it’s the kind of calm that feels like it’s about to unleash a storm.
“Negative,” the guard stammers. “Nothing. No movement. They—they could still be?—”
“Dead,” Kanyan growls, his voice a rumble of fury and despair. He slams his fist into the dashboard with a crack that makes me flinch. “ You’re saying they’re fucking buried? ”
The guard doesn’t answer immediately. He can’t. My mind is racing, calculating the possibilities, weighing the risks. But the image of my brothers and the others trapped—or worse—gnaws at my resolve like acid.
Kanyan doesn’t wait for a response. He’s already ripping off his seatbelt, his face twisted with rage. “We need to go in now. Fuck the plan. If they’re down there?—”
“Sit your ass down,” I snap, my voice a whipcrack in the confined space.
Kanyan freezes, his glare searing. “ They’re our brothers , Brando. They could be dying down there while we sit here doing nothing.”
“And if we go charging in now, we’re all dead.” My voice is steel, but there’s a tremor beneath it—a crack in my armor. I have to believe that they’re alive. I have to. No other scenario works in my mind. “We stick to the plan. We wait. We’re five minutes out.”
“They don’t have time for us to wait!” Kanyan’s roar fills the cabin, and for a moment, I think he might actually throw a punch. “You think I give a shit about the plan? About timing? They need us, Brando.”
This is what Kanyan De Scarzi losing control looks like. I’ve seen him as a monster. I’ve seen him as a beast. A killing machine. I’ve seen him every which way under the sun. But I’ve never seen him human. He’s extraordinary when emotion overtakes him, and I know this is as foreign a concept to him as it is to me seeing him this way.
My jaw clenches, my nails digging into the steering wheel. I want to agree with Kanyan, want to slam my foot on the gas and tear through the compound gates, but the cold logic in my mind keeps me anchored. “If we go in early, they’ll see us coming. We’ll lose the element of surprise, and then no one gets out alive. Is that what you want?”
“The narrative has changed, Brando,” he argues with me.
Kanyan’s breathing is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he stares me down, the rage in his eyes battling with the anguish just beneath it. Finally, he slumps back into his seat, running a trembling hand through his hair. “This is bullshit,” he mutters, but the fight drains out of his voice. “If they’re dead because of this…”
“They’re not dead,” I cut him off, though the words feel hollow even to me. I glance at the clock again, my stomach twisting as the seconds tick closer to the agreed time. Five minutes , I tell myself. Just five more minutes.
The radio crackles again, but this time it’s only static. The silence that follows is deafening. My eyes flick to the rearview mirror, then to the faint lights of the compound in the distance. I imagine the tunnel—dark, suffocating, crumbling around my friends and family. The image is unbearable, but I force it down, locking it away behind the iron wall of my will.
Beside me, Kanyan is muttering under his breath, his fists clenching and unclenching. I know he’s not praying—Kanyan doesn’t pray—but there’s desperation in the movement, a man trying to hold himself together while everything threatens to fall apart.
Finally, I speak, my voice low and rough. “We stick to the plan. We hit them hard, just like we said. And if they’re alive—if there’s even a chance—they’ll know we’re coming for them.”
Kanyan doesn’t respond, but his silence speaks volumes. We both know the truth: if the team isn’t already dead, they’re running out of time. And when the clock hits zero, I will drive straight into hell to find out.
The night presses down like a weight, thick with tension and the distant hum of adrenaline coursing through my veins. The dashboard clock ticks away the final moments before we storm the gates, but my mind keeps drifting back to the crypt. To the explosion. To the silence on the other end of the line. My brothers could already be gone. Buried. Or worse—trapped and waiting for a rescue that may never come.
What the fuck am I going to tell Allegra?
But I can’t think about that now. Not if we’re going to survive the next tense minutes.
Kanyan’s face is carved from stone, but there’s a storm behind his eyes—a maelstrom of fury, grief, and the kind of rage that turns men into monsters. It’s exactly what I need from him right now.
“I need you focused, Kanyan. Right now, I don’t need Kanyan De Scarzi.” I let the words hang in the air, heavy and deliberate. “In this moment, I need my enforcer.”
For a second, his eyes flick away, a crack in his armor as the words sink in. He shakes his head, but when he looks back, I see it. That fire. That ferocity. He nods once, curtly, his voice low and dangerous. “Let’s blow this bitch.”
He climbs out of my car and behind the wheel of his own vehicle, and I watch him in the rearview mirror. The tension in his jaw, the set of his shoulders—it’s like watching a predator coil before the strike. Good. I need him feral. I need him ready to tear through the gates of hell if that’s what it takes to bring our family home. Because that’s what they all are. Every one of the people who went into that tunnel is family, and we won’t stop until we get them back.
Jayson slides into the passenger seat beside me, his movements too casual for the weight of the moment. “Everything okay?” he asks, like we’re about to take a Sunday drive instead of wage a war.
“Where are your comms?” I snap, my patience already razor-thin.
Jayson fumbles, pulling the earbuds from his pocket and fitting them in place.
“Don’t take them out again,” I warn him, my voice low but sharp. “Stay close. Don’t fuck up. I mean it, Jayson.”
He nods, fastening his harness, and I glance at the clock. Less than a minute now. My hand hovers over the gear shift, my pulse pounding in time with the countdown.
I give Kanyan a thumbs-up through the window. His engine growls in response, a beast straining at the leash.
The gates loom ahead, tall and imposing, but they might as well be made of paper.
“On my mark,” I say into the comms, my voice steady even as my chest feels like it’s about to explode.
Five. My engine roars to life, growling like a beast.
Four. My grip tightens on the wheel as I surge forward.
Three. The headlights catch the gleam of the wrought iron gates, illuminating the guards beyond.
Two. I see the shift in their posture, the flicker of confusion as they realize we’re not stopping.
One. Kanyan’s vehicle roars forward, the plow at the front slicing through the night like a battering ram.
“Go!”
The impact is deafening, the gates crumpling under the weight of the plow as Kanyan’s vehicle tears through. I’m right behind him, my foot slamming down on the gas as we breach the compound.
Bullets rain down almost immediately, pinging off the reinforced steel of the vehicle. The guards are quick to recover, but not quick enough. Kanyan’s team spills out of their vehicle, rifles blazing, cutting through the first wave of resistance with brutal efficiency.
Jayson and I are out of the car in seconds, my rifle already up and firing. The air is thick with smoke and the staccato crack of gunfire. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I move, a singular force, my only focus on the guards in my line of sight.
Kanyan is a blur of motion, a hurricane of destruction as he carves a path through the chaos. His roar cuts through the cacophony, primal and raw.
“Cover the left flank!” I bark into the comms, my eyes scanning for weak points in their defenses.
A guard lunges at me, and I pivot, my rifle butt connecting with his jaw in a sickening crack. He goes down, and I don’t stop to check if he’s out for good. I finish him off with a bullet in his temple, for good measure.
“Brando, more incoming!” Jayson shouts, his voice sharp with urgency.
I turn in time to see reinforcements pouring out of the main building, a swarm of bodies armed to the teeth.
“Hold the line!” I shout, reloading as fast as my hands can move.
The fight feels endless, a brutal dance of survival where every second could be our last. But we push forward, relentless, driven by the knowledge that failure isn’t an option.
As we gain ground, I catch sight of Kanyan through the haze of smoke and blood. His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I see the same thing reflected in his gaze that’s burning in my chest.
This isn’t over until we bring every last one of our family members home.