Chapter Seven #3
“Are you hurt?” I ask quickly, checking each of them. “Any of you injured?”
“N-no,” one of the women stammers. “They told us to keep working. Said if we tried to l-leave, they’d k-kill us.”
“Well, you’re leavin’ now. Stay low, stay together, follow me outta here,” I tell them, and they rush along with me. But as I turn toward the door, more Cartel reinforcements flood into the warehouse.
A lot more.
Shit.
Just in case this goes south, I’d better call this in.
“Weather’s turning,” I call into my radio. “Repeat, weather’s turning for C1. We’ve got heavy reinforcements incoming.”
“Copy that, C1,” a female voice crackles through the static. “All stations, be advised C1 is compromised.”
Gunfire tears through the warehouse, the roar of bullets echoing like a goddamn thunderstorm trapped inside a steel drum. Smoke coils through the air, stinging my eyes and choking my lungs. Every breath I take feels like fire, and every second longer we’re here tightens the noose.
“Torque,” Trax’s voice crackles through my earpiece, static lacing the urgency. “I’ve got eyes on… fuck! At least twenty more are coming in from the rear. We’re getting boxed in, brother. We gotta go! We gotta go!”
I duck behind a toppled steel cabinet, taking a worker with me before another barrage of bullets slams into the wall beside me. “Negative,” I grit out. “We don’t leave without the civilians.”
A pause, then Sensei’s stern tone comes down the comms. “Brother—”
“That’s not who we are,” I growl. “We finish what we came here to do.”
I spin and sprint low, weaving through crates with the six workers and shattered pallets until I find them. Four more warehouse workers huddled in a corner, eyes wide, hands shaking.
“You wanna live?” I bark, crouching in front of them. One of them nods with trembling lips. “Then you do exactly what I say. We’re movin’ as one. You stay on me like a second skin. You break off, you die. Clear?”
They nod, eyes locked to mine like I’m the only thread keeping them from unraveling.
My radio crackles. “We’re at the loading dock,” Surge shouts. “Pyro’s set to blow this place sky high. We gotta move. Now!”
“Then cover us,” I bark, waving the civilians to follow. “We’re comin’ in hot.”
The moment we move, the world explodes into chaos again. Bullets ping off the metal scaffolding above us while I charge through the smoke, the civilians clinging to my shadow. A female slips, and my hand is on her arm instantly, yanking her up, dragging her forward.
“A soldier on your left,” someone yells. Trax appears out of the haze like a fucking Avenger, gun blazing. He lays down cover fire in a wild, relentless frenzy, keeping the Cartel heads ducked while we push forward.
A shadow lunges out from the side, gun raised.
I don’t think.
I react.
Slamming into the Cartel soldier, both of us going down hard. One of the female workers screams as his gun clatters, his hand rushing to his belt for a blade. But I headbutt him before he can reach it, feel the sick crunch of his nose under my skull, then he slumps, out cold.
I turn to the screaming woman, panting for breath, and smirk at her. She instantly turns to mush as she cuddles into my side while I key my radio. “Ten yards,” I shout breathlessly into the comms, dragging a hand over my bloody face and surge the group toward the exit.
In a flash of movement, Vibe appears beside us, blood trailing from a gash over his eyebrow, but still moving, still fighting. He grabs one of the older men by the arm and hauls him forward. Honestly, I’m thankful for the assist right now.
Civilians can’t handle the chaos and carnage. It’s all screaming and crying, or the men trying to be macho when they’re just in the way and will get themselves killed.
We reach the loading dock as a second explosion rips through the far side of the building. The shockwave hits like a freight train, blasting us off our feet again, throwing civilians and bikers alike into walls and crates.
My head spins, my ears ring, and the disorientation makes my stomach churn and knocks what little breath I had from my lungs.
“Move!” Surge bellows through the chaos, pulling one of the workers to his feet as smoke floods the corridor.
I slowly push up, coughing, my body aching like a motherfucker.
That’s when I grab a worker by the collar, shoving him forward.
Vibe grabs another two, and together, we haul them through the smoke.
Then the rest rush through frantically, their feet dragging, giving me the impression that they’re almost out of energy.
But I need them to keep pushing. “C’mon, you gotta move quicker…
” I pause, sucking in a breath. “Just a little farther,” I scream, trying to spur them on.
Outside, headlights cut through the mist. The roar of van engines and the sharp shout of orders from our brothers beyond the smoke tells me we’ve almost made it.
“Torque—”
“Civilians first,” I cut off Trax as we break cover, sprinting across the final stretch of open ground with automatic weapons fire erupting behind us. I feel bullets tugging at my cut, the whistle of near misses.
One of the female workers goes down with a scream, clutching her leg. Without thinking, I scoop her up in a fireman’s carry and keep running even though my shoulder is screaming for relief. My breaths are getting harder and harder to suck in.
I’m almost there.
Keep fucking going, Torque, you gotta get home to Foxy.
I really am too fucking old to still be doing this shit.
Either that or I really need to work on my fitness.
“Go, go, GO!” Surge shouts are getting louder in volume as we reach the loading dock.
My brothers lay down cover fire as the civilians pile into our extraction vehicles. The wounded worker goes into the back of Ace’s truck, and the others scatter between our vans.
“That’s everyone?” I shout.
“Not everyone,” Trax corrects grimly. He’s supporting Sensei, who’s bleeding from a leg wound. “Sensei took one.”
“I’m fine,” Sensei insists, but his face is pale as he limps.
“Bullshit. Get him medical attention.”
“What about you?” Lift asks. He glances down at my chest, and I follow his line of sight.
That’s when I realize I’m bleeding too.
A lot.
My leather cut is soaked with blood, the warmth spreading down my side like a river.
I knew I took a shot to my shoulder, but I didn’t realize I took one to the chest too.
I stumble slightly on the spot, and the pain slams through my body.
Luckily, Trax catches my weight when my knees go out from under me.
“Hey, steady. Your adrenaline’s wearing off. This looks bad. We need to get you checked out,” Trax states, his brotherly instincts kicking in.
Shaking my head, I fight for breath. “I didn’t even feel it.”
Trax snorts out a laugh. “Because you’re too busy playing super hero. C’mon, let’s get you to the hospital. I think you’ve clipped your lung. And if you die on my watch, Foxy will kill me,” Trax says, but there’s pride in his voice, not criticism.
He helps me up into the van, and even though I hate to admit it, I think my crazy brother is right. I need to go to the hospital, but not before this is finished. “Pyro… light it up,” I manage to say through panting breaths.
He grins, hits a switch, and the warehouse behind us erupts in flames as Pyro’s charges detonate in sequence. The explosion lights up the night sky, sending a pillar of fire and smoke toward the stars.
I watch from the back of Surge’s truck as Chicago’s Industrial District burns.
Days of planning, millions of dollars in drugs and weapons, a crucial link in Javier’s supply chain—all up in smoke.
Fighting for breath, I key into my radio, my voice weaker than I’d like. “Package… delivered.”
“Copy that, C1,” the female voice responds. “Status report?”
Trax takes the comms from me as the vans begin to drive away from the scene. “Multiple wounded, but all Chicago brothers are breathing. Civilian casualties are minimal. Target destroyed.”
“Roger. Great work. Get home and bandaged up. Over and out.”
And as we speed away from the burning warehouse toward the hospital, I close my eyes while Trax grips my arm.
My job is done.
Now it’s time for me to rest.
And maybe I need to seriously think about hanging up my boots.