Chapter Thirty-One
The man stepped forward, gun raised.
“All with your pants down and out of ammo,” he sneered.
Law put a bullet between the fucker’s eyes.
“Saved one for you.”
The shot dropped him where he stood.
Behind them, everything snapped loose—Mac, Noah, and Sage moved as one as the other two assassins went down just as fast.
Sage glanced at the bodies at their feet.
“Now what?”
Law didn’t answer.
Another shot cracked from below, closer than before, the sound driving up through the stairwell and biting off the metal railing near Mac with a sharp ring that lingered in the confined space.
The vibration traveled up through the soles of his boots.
The group tightened instinctively, bodies dropping just enough to break the line.
Above them, boots shifted—weight adjusting, repositioning—not rushing, not pressing, just there.
The sound carried clean through the concrete.
Law shifted first, cutting across the landing toward the nearest floor exit. He didn’t slow to check—his stride stayed even, trusting the others to stay with him.
They did.
Mac fell in on his flank, Noah tight behind, Sage already adjusting at his side before Law had fully taken a step.
The door gave under Law’s hand, and they moved through fast, spilling out into a dim hallway washed in red emergency light.
A man stepped out of a doorway halfway down the hall, weapon coming up.
He didn’t finish the motion.
Law’s shot took him center mass and dropped him back through the threshold, the door slamming off the frame as his body hit it.
The sound echoed once and died.
“I’m out,” Law said, tucking his gun away and sliding his blade from its sheath.
“I’ll take point,” Noah said, stepping up.
“Let’s move,” Law said with a nod, already advancing.
With Noah in the lead, they followed.
Doors along the corridor hung open, some rooms empty, others not. A woman stood frozen just inside one, eyes wide, hands clutched to her chest.
“Inside,” Sage said, not breaking stride, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the noise.
She moved.
A second later, another figure bolted from a room farther down—the wrong direction, straight into the hall.
Noah caught him by the shirt and shoved him back through the doorway without stopping.
“Stay inside,” he muttered.
Gunfire echoed from somewhere deeper in the building, muffled through walls, carried through vents—different teams, different floors, all of it overlapping without ever breaking into chaos.
Another man came at them from the far end fast, weapon already up.
Mac stepped into it and ended it just as quickly, the body folding mid-stride.
The next stairwell came into view at the end of the corridor, door hanging open an inch too far.
A faint draft slipped through the gap.
Movement hit from the side just before they reached it.
Black.
Micah on him.
They came in hard, fast, already in motion—no surprise, no hesitation—as they folded into the line like they’d never been separate.
Micah’s eyes flicked once over the group—counting, checking.
“All clear this side,” Black said, already turning toward the stairs.
“Let’s head lower,” Law said.
He hit the stairwell door and pushed through, taking the next flight down without breaking stride as the rest of them followed, the movement tightening, compressing, but never slowing.
Down was still the only direction that mattered.
They hit the next landing and didn’t slow, pushing out into another corridor, wider this time, darker, the emergency lights weaker here.
The next stairwell door stood closed.
Black’s hand hit it and pushed through.
Movement met them on the landing.
Guns came up on both sides.
Held.
No one fired.
“Easy,” a voice said.
Winter.
He stepped forward out of the dark, weapon still up but not aimed.
“Almost fucking shot you,” Black muttered.
“All that matters is you didn’t,” Winter smirked.
Syx stood just behind Winter, eyes sharp, tracking the group. Memphis posted a step higher, covering the upper flight.
“Took you long enough,” Memphis said.
“Traffic,” Sage shot back.
Winter’s gaze moved across them—quick count, quick read. “You guys good?”
“Good enough,” Law said. “They’re trying to box us in. It’s not working.”
“Yeah,” Winter’s smile was wicked. He eyed Law’s knife. “Out of ammo?”
“Mmm,” Law said and took the extra clip Winter held out. He shoved it into the chamber and cocked it.
“Below’s not clear,” Syx said. “They’re moving between levels. Not holding position.”
“Yeah,” Sage said, already nodding. “We saw it.”
“So, what now?” Memphis asked.
“We don’t stop,” Law said.
“What about Frost and Seth?” Sage asked, turning to Mac.
“They’re the least of our worries,” Noah said with a slight snort. “Those two have probably cleaved through half of Voss’s men already.”
“This guy’s mistake was thinking he could contain us,” Syx muttered, falling in behind Memphis.
“Stupid,” Sage agreed.
Law took the first step down.
The rest followed, the rhythm picking back up like it had never broken.
They didn’t slow coming off the landing.
Law took the turn without checking, cutting down the corridor like the direction had already been decided, the rest of them falling in behind him without a word, the weight of the group settling in behind the movement instead of dragging it.
“Feels like we’re finally getting somewhere,” Memphis muttered.
“About time,” Rip said from somewhere behind them, voice flat, steady.
Law didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. The space had changed—not quieter, not safer, just wrong in a way that settled under the skin, the kind of stillness that came after movement stopped and didn’t start again.
Boston dropped out of the dark ahead of them, coming off the side corridor like he’d been perched there the whole time, blade already in hand.
“You’re late,” he said, flashing a quick grin that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Keep moving,” Law said.
Boston fell in without argument.
“Left side’s clear,” Rip added. “Nothing but bodies and bad decisions.”
“Sounds like our kind of night,” Sage muttered.
“You betcha,” Boston said, an edge of excitement.
Law’s gaze tracked the hall ahead—doors closed now, no movement bleeding through the seams, no sound beyond the echo of their own steps stretching out ahead of them and coming back thin.
“Something’s off,” Mac said.
“Yeah,” Sage said quietly. “It is.”
Movement hit at the far end—fast enough to catch the eye before it fully resolved.
Frost.
Seth on him.
They cut straight toward them, no hesitation, no break in stride.
“We found his hidey-hole,” Frost said.
That was it. No buildup, no wasted words. Syx snorted, choking back a laugh.
Seth jerked his chin down the hall with a slight smile. “End of the run. Last room on the left.”
“Figures,” Sage muttered.
“How many?” Law asked.
“Enough to make it interesting,” Frost said, grin sharp. “Not enough to matter.”
“Good,” Black said flatly.
Law didn’t slow, didn’t shift, just let the direction settle into place and moved with it.
“Take it,” he said.
The team adjusted without needing the rest spelled out—angles shifting, spacing tightening, bodies sliding into position as they closed the distance without stacking or calling it.
Rip peeled left, Boston right, Memphis held high, Syx went low like he’d already been there. Winter, Black, Micah, and the rest held their flank.
The door took the first hit beneath Frost’s boot and held just long enough to matter—then gave with a cracking splinter.