Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Atlas strode ahead of Viper. He panned his rifle from left to right, ready to shoot. The loading area held over a dozen pallets of items wrapped in plastic and waiting to ship. Interest pulled at him, but investigation wasn’t part of his job.
He moved to a door at the far side of the room, then pressed his back to the wall. Viper did the same next to him. He reached for the handle, then swung open the door and rushed into the concrete stairwell.
“What’s your position?” Rogue asked.
“Loading dock’s secure. Moving up on the west.” He climbed the stairs, his footsteps light to pad his ascent.
“Lobby’s clear,” Reaper reported. “Three hostiles removed. Coming up the east stairwell.”
They passed the first floor, then the second.
Adrenaline covered Atlas’s skin in a cold sheen as he reached the top of the building. “Hold,” he breathed to Viper, the command unnecessary but automatic.
On the top landing, he glued his spine to the wall. Viper stood in the same position on the top step. Wrapping his fingers around the doorknob, he pulled open the door an inch. The metal hinges groaned and he froze, his heart pounding.
When no gunfire exploded, he peered through the crack.
The door opened into a short hallway containing men’s and women’s washrooms across from each other.
Beyond the hall was a wide-open area with desks stationed around the center of the room.
Another short hallway, the mirror image of where he stood, was on the other side of the space.
Inching into the hall he stayed close to the wall, his rifle high and his finger locked on the trigger.
Warning stung his spine. Rex was here somewhere. Had to be.
Viper moved at his side. Atlas flicked his gaze to his friend and instantly read his uncertainty.
“It’s a fucking setup.”
Viper’s words shook him with the force of an earthquake. If Harry was compromised, they were fucked.
No, it couldn’t be. Rex was in a weakened state. A lot of his men had gone down over the last couple of days. If he suspected Phantom Ops was close, he’d be on the move. Atlas held up his fist at a ninety-degree angle, signaling Viper to wait.
Movement across the floor caught his eye. The east stairwell door was opening. Rogue, decked out in tactical gear, moved into the hall, the rest of the team at his back.
Atlas took three big steps forward and halted at the end of the hallway, scanning the rest of the space. To his right was a huge window that spilled yellow light from a streetlamp into the room and sent eerie rectangular shafts over the floor.
To his left, at the far end of the room, was a closed door with a large window covered in blinds. Angst made the old injury on his thigh ache. Instinct told him something was off. No voices, no movement . . . but a light shone through the blinds. No shadows, no sound.
Viper’s earlier words filled his head.
It’s a setup.
“Hot spot.” Rogue’s warning came through his earpiece, telling him his boss recognized exactly what he did.
But they couldn’t turn and leave. Couldn’t back out. Not until they’d secured Rex or confirmed he’d fled.
Setup or not, goddammit.
Sweat rolled down the back of his neck, and droplets of unease moistened his brow as well. “On your go,” he whispered to Rogue.
His finger grew heavy on the trigger, ready to blow apart hostiles. He watched Rogue say something to Havoc and Reaper. The two men moved out of the hall and circled the perimeter to ensure no one hid beneath a desk.
“Clear,” Reaper said.
Rogue gestured toward the office, signaling for them to move out. Atlas peeled his back from the wall. Cold air washed over his spine without the compression. Tucking his chin low and raising his weapon to his shoulder, he swept into the open area, heading toward the boardroom.
Viper fell into step beside him. Reaper, Havoc, and Rogue closed in at their six. They spread out in a semicircle, keeping a good ten feet from the door.
“On your go,” Atlas repeated, waiting for Rogue’s cue.
“Go.”
Atlas took three strides forward, lifted his foot, and booted in the door. The flimsy wood jumped open. He strode into the boardroom and his team flanked him.
The room was still. A bright fluorescent light warmed the already stuffy space. The pungent, tinny scent of blood hung like a cloud around his face. His gaze landed on the only form in the room.
Glassy eyes stared down at an angle. A tightly wrapped rag had been placed between the man’s teeth. Rope held his body upright against the black rolling chair.
“Jesus, that’s Harry,” Rogue blurted.
Atlas lowered his weapon. Regret funneled inside him. They should’ve moved earlier. If they’d gotten here sooner, they could’ve caught Rex before he did this. “Fuck.”
There was a deep slash across Harry’s throat, and puddles of blood covered the table and his body.
“When did you speak with him last?” Atlas asked Rogue.
His friend swiped sweat off his cheek. “Dunno. An hour ago?”
“Havoc and Reaper, let’s go,” Viper ordered. “We’re sweeping the building again.”
Rogue gave a sharp nod.
Reaper grumbled with annoyance but followed the guys from the room.
Atlas rubbed the back of his neck, his rifle pointed at the carpet. “How long were they onto Harry? Christ.”
Rogue let his weapon hang across his chest, hooking his thumb in his bulletproof vest. “That slippery bastard.” His lip curled. “I want that motherfucker.”
Atlas grunted. He wanted Rex dead, but he kept that bit to himself. Rogue jerked his head toward the door and they strode out, taking the east staircase.
“Viper, report area status,” Rogue said into the mic as they descended the stairs.
“No enemy contact. We’re out front.”
They reached the main floor and opened the door leading to the lobby. Sure enough, not a soul in sight. Which should have relieved him. Instead, he saw fucking red.
“Now what?” He hated that question almost as much as he hated walking out of the building empty-handed.
Worst of all, he knew he couldn’t go back to the motel as planned.
Rogue’s mouth tensed.
Atlas unsnapped the deadbolt on the large glass door, and they stepped into the heat of the night. Critters croaked and squeaked.
Probably laughing at them.
They hung a right, heading in the direction of where they’d parked. Havoc, Viper, and Reaper stood in a circle waiting by the curb. When they approached, they all moved west.
A large white pickup truck cruised down the street.
Atlas tightened his grip on his weapon. “Twelve o’clock.”
The vehicle stopped dead in the road.
Warning blared in his head. He lifted his weapon, as did the others.
“Get out of the vehicle!” Rogue bellowed, taking an aggressive step forward.
Unease pounded against Atlas’s temples. He shifted, ready to fire. The vehicle sat idle. No movement from the inside, but the truck remained just out of reach from the nearest lamppost’s glow.
“Taking out their tires,” Rogue announced. He opened fire, hitting the front wheels. The blast of rubber exploding echoed in the night.
“Move in,” Rogue commanded.
Something wasn’t right. Atlas stayed rooted to the spot. “Hold back!”
The men stopped a few paces behind Atlas.
Rogue bristled next to him. “What?”
“Don’t know.” He kept his finger on the trigger.
“We need to check it out.”
Atlas exhaled through his nose. “Not all of us.”
“I’ll go,” Rogue said. “Cover me.”
Apprehension rattled Atlas’s bones. He kept his gun locked on the target but swept his gaze around. The streets were empty, sidewalks clear. Nothing but the ominous orange glow of the streetlights.
His gaze stopped on the street they’d crossed earlier, which ran perpendicular to the warehouse. A sedan with its headlights off sat at the side of the road. At first glance, it appeared empty, but a flash of movement in the driver’s seat sent an alarm blaring through his skull.
“Get back!” He ran forward, grabbing Rogue’s vest.
Kaboom!
He threw Rogue to the ground and landed on the pavement next to him as the truck exploded. Debris rained down on them. Atlas’s ears rang and pungent smoke rushed into his nose and mouth. He covered his face, but heat scorched his head.
After several beats, he looked up. Rogue did as well. Blood trickled from his friend’s temple. Reaper and Havoc raced toward the sedan, firing at the occupant.
Viper bent and offered his hand to Rogue. “Jesus,” Viper shouted, over the crackling of smoldering metal. “You all right?”
Rogue grasped Viper’s arm and was pulled to his feet. “I’m good. You?”
“We took cover in time,” Viper said, reaching down to help Atlas.
Atlas stood, his heart thundering.
“I don’t know how you spotted that, man.” Worry creased Viper’s face.
Atlas grunted. If they hadn’t gotten down when they had, they all could have been killed.
One thing was for sure—they’d underestimated Rex.
Tears welled up in Molly’s eyes and choked the breath from her lungs. “W-What?” she rasped, staring at Wraith as if he held all the answers.
“Sit down.” He pressed his hand on her shoulder, but she jerked away.
She’d started pacing like a caged animal the minute Wraith answered his phone. Fear had been apparent in his voice while he spoke to Viper.
“Tell me he’s okay.” Why she was demanding this of him she couldn’t say. If Atlas was hurt—or worse—Wraith wouldn’t lie.
“He’s okay. Now please. Sit’own, for Christ’s sake.”
Her lip trembled but she dropped onto the couch. “You said there was an explosion.”
He rubbed his hand over his short blond hair. “Aye. No one was hurt, though.”
She sniffed, wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. The chamomile tea sat like sand in her stomach. “Is he coming back now?”
Wraith gave one hard shake of his head. “No. They’re determined to get Rex tonight.”
She rounded her eyes. “And if that doesn’t happen?”
“I suspect they won’t rest until they do.” He knelt in front of her, and his large frame looked so silly crouched down she would have smiled if she weren’t sick with worry and what-ifs.
“Great,” she grumbled.