Chapter 22
Anita
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O peration: I think we know. K. I. L. L.
We wait ten minutes under the hill’s slopes before transcending to the storage sheds. We all line up, hunched down like soldiers ready to siege a kingdom. The rest of the team head to the back, hidden in the shadows, undetected, and stealth-like.
Vapors from our breath disappear into the brisk air, our stance steady and ready to destroy everyone in there. Get the kids first.
Jax must’ve shut the cameras down because the lights that originally spilled from the two windows at each end went black. Our guns are equipped with suppressors to dull our shots. We don’t want the children screaming or afraid—we also don’t want our shots tipping off Victor of our presence. The less he knows, the better.
“Let’s move.” Although I’m beside Ronan, his words speak louder into my earpiece, so anyone who isn’t near him can also hear his commands.
We only have a few minutes to kill as many men as we can and get to the kids before Victor does. But Jax should have Victor contained in the other building so he doesn’t pull anything or run off. I hope he can handle that task.
Our feet quickly move one in front of the other, stealthy, camouflaged into our surroundings. The air is sharp, breezing around us, and the grass is soft under our boots. Thankfully, as Jax said, there are no men posted on the perimeter—which is stupid—but works out well for us.
Pedro aims the grapple gun and launches it to the center of the building. In one go it hooks on the edge of the metal roof; he yanks it to ensure its stability. “Good to go,” he confirms.
Ronan steps forward, swinging his AK onto his back, then grabs the end rope. Without further instruction, he proceeds to climb the wall with no effort at all. He glides up, one foot over the other, with his body leaning out and his weight holding on to the thick black rope.
“Alright,” I mumble, then do the same. I grab the loose end, placing my boots on the building and pulling my weight up to scale the building. I watch my feet and Ronan as well, moving stealthily with no strain.
He makes it to the top, and sits on the edge, then swoops his long leg over; I’m right behind him, and he clasps my hand, pulling me with me. Next is Chris; then Boone—the rest follow suit.
We continue forward, the dingy back door entrance already in our sights. Ronan quickly unlocks the door with his intricate pins and switches. Each of us raises our weapons, standing in formation behind Ronan like a caterpillar. I rest my hand on his shoulder, and Chris’s is light on mine.
Ronan twists the knob, and it swings open, letting in the night light. He cocks his head in, then strolls in slowly. Chris taps my shoulder, then I tap Ronan’s signaling it's safe for us to keep going. We tread toward a closed staircase that leads down to another door with a rectangular window with a sign that says ‘Level Two.’
Ronan peers through the window and nods. “Slow and steady. Kill with silence if you can,” he mumbles in the earpiece.
“Got it.” Wicked’s voice comes through.
“No promises,” Red says.
He turns the knob, and very slowly we slide in. It's lowlight vision, as we suspected. I notice there are wooden barrels lining the walls.
The inside is laid like a shed mixed with a factory. Similar to the destroyed building in Dreary Hill. A secluded area is tucked to the side of the metal balcony which holds additional wooden barrels. Ahead and down below is a maze of additional metal shelving that reach the ceiling, filled with storage boxes. There are two sets of staircases leading down on either side of the room.
Large pipes and white insulation layer the ceiling, and there are brown boxes stacked on top of one another in rows of six. We move to it kneeling to hide behind them.
“There are ten men down below, holding AKs, but more are in the front,” Bedford says in my ear. “Team Red is walking down as I speak.”
Sweat rolls down my back, peeking through the tiny gap where I can get a view of the lower level where three men walk right past.
Grunts and rattles echo, and they quickly snap behind them and rush to the sound. “So much for no noise.”
“Inevitable,” Ronan says, he looks at us and motions his hands out with three fingers then signals two for me, him, and Chris. Shuffling happens behind me, and Boone leaves to the other end on the right. I raise my weapon, following Ronan to the left, the metal creaking slightly.
“Five men heading around the corner. Your direction,” Bedford inclines.
Ronan keeps behind the wall. I tap his shoulder and lower my center of gravity, rushing to the other side behind a lower stack of boxes. Louder bangs ring out, followed by gunshots. My stomach rolls into a ball; I place my finger on the trigger.
I glance back at Levon who makes sure no one comes behind. I look at Ronan and he returns my gaze. “It's on,” he says.
“Dammit!” one man shouts, and the footsteps speed up faster toward us.
Three.
He puts his hand on the handle.
Two.
I breathe through my nostrils.
One.
We raise our weapons and fire at the men rushing toward us. An array of shouts cut through the building, and it’s not so subtle anymore.
Bullets pierce the boxes shielding me, and I shift over to not get hit.
“Come the fuck out!” a loud, boisterous voice shouts, but the bullets pause.
They're reloading.
Ronan moves out and fires off three more rounds. I roll out, kneeling as two men run from around the corner, and I shoot one in the thigh and the other in his shoulder.
They scream in pain, tumbling down onto the boxes. Ronan shoots them in the head right after they fall. Quick on our feet, we step over the dead men to rush to the corner they came from.
Cries and screams resound, and my chest squeezes in anticipation. “Location!” Ronan shouts, his AK at shoulder level, twisting and motioning as we rush down a walkway lined with metal shelves that store more boxes and crates.
“Past the storage, second door on the left. One man is at the door, but there are men coming from the storage maze.”
Thinking fast, I whip to Ronan. “I’ll take this side.” I point to the left of our direction and turn to go. Ronan’s fierce grip cups my elbow, jerking me back to his chest. I glower up at him, and his features turn dangerous. “You’re staying with me.”
My brows furrow. “No, the quicker we kill them, the faster this is over, and we get the kids.”
“We do this together.” He narrows.
I blink, as more bullets ring. His breath is harsh and mine is too, it’s hot in here, the gunshots are ricocheting everywhere, shouts are bouncing off the walls, and it's no time to debate.
I study his face, his brows furrowed deep and wary in his eyes. My heart plummets as I look at him. “I thought you trusted me.”
The visible lines ease away, but his hard stare never falters. “That’s not why I want you beside me.” Ronan’s grip softens on my arm. “If something happened to you, and I’m not there.” His gaze warms from the cold glare, clenching his jaw to hold back whatever emotion that’s gathering in him.
Just when I thought my heart could tumble, it lifts and burst into beautiful colors. “I’ll be okay,” I whisper, softening my stare. “Trust me.”
Sweat forms on his forehead as his eyes bolt over my face as if he's calculating every move that can happen. Then his lips pinch. “Fuck,” he breathes harshly through his nostrils. “Meet me at the end.” His jaws clench and his hold on my arm doesn't leave until he steps back, like it's taking everything in him to step away from me.
I don't stay any longer. I jog off to the side, diving past the towering shelves. Clattering and loud footsteps fill the space. “Logan said there's been a breach. Those assholes are here,” a male's voice says in frustration.
The other growls in return, “Jax said they were dead.”
I bring my gun to my shoulder and tilt my head to aim. The taps grow closer, and I peer to the side past the cracks in the uneven box placements, the two men are heading in my direction. I swallow, steadying my position, strolling slowly.
They round the corner, and I fire. A bullet strikes one man in the neck, but the second guy ducks, running back in the direction he came now, spraying his bullets at all the boxes. I bend down, running fast, before making it to the end. I fix my position, resting against the corner shelf.
“Come out, asshole,” he coos viciously. Then he shoots again, and I gasp, lowering once more, so the bullets don't collide. I drop to the floor, pretending he’s hit me, my boot slightly poking out. He starts chuckling, happy with his work, as if he made the hit and killed me.
“These dick heads are in the front, and I got one.” I can hear the grin on his lips, pleased with himself.
I count the steps he makes toward me; then, once he’s rounds the corner, I shoot him in his head. “I got one, too.” He collapses, falling against the shelf, and a black plastic bin tumbles smashing down on his head, snapping his neck.
I wince from the grotesque view, picking myself up from the cold floor. “Bedford, anymore?”
There's a slight static before I can hear him. “Only near Ronan, but—” He stops, and my heart takes flight. “Whelp, that was it. There’s none that I can see on my end.”
I nod, releasing a breath before jogging around the confusing path, still on alert in case some idiot is hiding inside a bin. By the time I make it to the end, Ronan is coming out with blood splattered on his face. Then a second later, Levon appears. Ronan’s tight expression relaxes slightly, and his shoulders sink once his wild eyes land on me. I grin at him, silently letting him know I will always be okay.
We focus back on the opening. “Boone meet us at the location. The men are down. All hands on deck.”
With the men down now, things may go smoother, but I’m not so sure because I’m positive Victor heard all the commotion. Jax better make sure Victor sends nothing or tries to kill himself.
“How about the one who was posted outside the hostage's door?” I asked Bedford.
“He’s no longer there. My guess is: He ran off, or you already killed him.”
“I’ll take the latter,” Ronan says.
Past the storage shelves, there's a large opening that narrows down a short hall. Two doors on each side of the walls, a dark blue chair sits outside, indicating a man was initially here.
Their screams are raw, and their helpless cries make my heart ache. Never have I heard such agony and genuine fear.
Ronan’s heavy steps pick up, hurrying to the room, and we quickly follow behind. Boone and the three that were with him, Mal and Red’s team, rush behind. But one man is missing.
“Zachary was shot,” Red said approaching. “He was able to make it out to the bus to wrap up.”
“We’ll get him cleaned soon,” Ronan responds before opening the door, and my stomach drops.
Oh, hell.
The kids are trapped in a circle like a hoard. With a bomb strapped to each of them. Empty water bottles are thrown around, old trays are near them with crusted bread and something that looks like slop.
My stomach flips with nausea, twisting uncomfortably. The kids' eyes widen, their bodies writhing under the ropes and knots. Some are older teens, a few are younger, no older than ten.
“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, help us, please,” one older boy says, moving in his chair, his face with stained blood at the rim of his forehead. As Ronan walks around to examine the bombs, I carefully stroll over to the younger girl who’s shivering.
“Please don’t hurt us!” one younger girl cries out. My heart clenches, like a wall narrowing in and squashing it.
“It’s alright. We are the good ones,” I whisper, lowering my gun to the floor gently to show her we are friendly. I give the most genuine smile I can muster, one that hopefully reassures her. I’m not sure how I could do that when they’ve been strapped to this for nearly two days.
She trembles some more, but she doesn’t speak; she only nods her head looking at everyone else frantically.
“Are you here to save us?” a teen boy whispers out in a quiver.
“Yes, we are,” I say, checking the bomb.
I wish I could say I know the ins and outs of deactivating a bomb, but I don’t. My heart beats frantically as I scan the wires that loop and overlap each other—the timer on each bomb counts down.
It's twenty minutes from detonating. If Boone can't do this under that time, then this will all be for nothing.