Chapter 13 Wrecker
WRECKER
I didn’t let go of her when we turned down the hallway.
Didn’t loosen my grip. Didn’t step ahead or behind. I kept my hand firm at the small of her back, guiding her like the floor might tilt if I wasn’t there to hold it steady.
She was upright now. Breathing. But her weight leaned into me more than she probably realized, and I adjusted without comment, bracing my shoulder so she didn’t have to ask.
Cap’s words echoed in my head.
Take care of her.
Always.
The hallway lights hummed softly, backup generator still settling into its rhythm.
The clubhouse had shifted into lockdown mode behind us.
Boots moving, low voices, radios murmuring.
Familiar sounds. Controlled. But under it all, I could feel the crackle of tension.
The kind that meant everyone was waiting for the next shoe to drop.
Amanda’s fingers were still twisted in the front of my shirt.
Not gripping. Holding.
I slowed my pace just enough to match her breathing. She was doing that thing where she tried to pretend she was fine, shoulders back, chin level, but her steps were a fraction too careful.
“You with me?” I asked quietly.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
Her voice was steady. Too steady.
I pushed open the door to the small side room near the bunks, the one we used when someone needed quiet without being isolated. I kicked it shut behind us and turned, blocking the space automatically.
She sank onto the edge of the bench along the wall, hands dropping into her lap like they didn’t know what to do without something to cling to.
I stayed standing for a second, watching her. Memorizing the signs.
Her color was still off. Breathing shallow but controlled. Eyes tracking the room like she needed to know every exit.
Not frozen.
But not okay.
I crouched in front of her, resting my forearms on my thighs so I didn’t tower. “You did good back there.”
She huffed softly. “I didn’t feel like I did.”
“That’s not the measure.” I kept my voice low, even. “You fought your way through it. That matters.”
Her jaw tightened. She stared at the floor between my boots. “I heard the lights go out and my body just… left me. I hate that.”
I didn’t correct her. Didn’t sugarcoat it.
“I know,” I said. “And I also know you fought your way out of it.”
She glanced up at me then, searching. “How?”
“You breathed. You listened. You stayed.” I held her gaze. “Freezing doesn’t look like that.”
Something in her shoulders eased. Just a fraction.
Good.
I straightened, rolling my neck once, trying to work out the tension that had lodged there the second Cap showed me that phone. I could still see the image burned behind my eyes. The elevator. The hair.
Her hair.
“They wanted you scared,” I said. “That’s all tonight was.”
She let out a breath. “They fucking succeeded.”
“For a minute,” I corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”
Silence stretched between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. Outside the room, a radio crackled softly. Footsteps passed, then faded.
I was just about to tell her to lie back, get some water in her, when the hair on the back of my neck lifted.
Not intuition.
Training.
A sound, faint but wrong. Not inside the clubhouse. Outside. Too close to the perimeter fence.
I went still.
A second later, Ranger’s voice came through the radio clipped at my shoulder. “Wreck.”
I pressed the button. “Yeah.”
“Hold position.”
That was all he said.
I met Amanda’s eyes. She’d gone alert too. Not panicked. Aware.
“Stay here,” I told her. “Doc’s right down the hall.”
Her fingers curled again. “What’s happening?”
“Probably nothing,” I said, already reaching for my weapon. “But I’m not assuming that tonight.”
Another voice cut in—Ghost this time. Calm. Focused.
“One set of footsteps. South side. Moving fast.”
Brutus’s voice followed, low and eager. “Runner.”
I shifted closer to Amanda, resting my hands on her knees for just a second. Grounding. Solid.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “You hear me?”
She nodded, eyes locked on mine. “Be careful.”
I leaned in and pressed my forehead to hers. Brief. Steady.
“Always,” I said.
Then I stood and stepped back into the hallway, closing the door behind me as the clubhouse surged into motion.
This night wasn’t finished with us yet.
And neither was I.
I moved fast, boots silent on concrete, head already calculating distances between doorways, cover, and exits. Ghost’s voice stayed steady in my ear, calling positions and movement like we were back overseas.
“Still one. Quarter speed. Either limping or careful.”
I rounded the corner to the side door, where Cap was waiting with Brutus. The shotgun in Brutus’s hands was already loaded—no hesitation. Cap looked me over once, then jerked his chin toward the back lot.
“They tripped nothing,” he muttered. “No motion sensors. No breach alerts. Ghost says they came close enough to see.”
“They wanted us to know they were watching,” I said flatly.
Ranger came up behind us, gun drawn. “They’re testing our response time.”
“Let’s give them a result they won’t forget,” Brutus growled.
Cap held up a hand. “Not yet. Eyes only unless they cross the line.”
I stepped out first, gun low but ready, and started sweeping the perimeter with my gaze. Cold air hit my face, sharp and biting, but it wasn’t enough to clear the fury building in my gut.
They sent a drone.
They sent a message.
And now they were playing tag at the fence like this was a fucking game.
Ghost’s voice buzzed again. “Northwest quadrant. Approaching the tree line.”
Ranger shifted direction immediately, his long stride silent in the gravel. Brutus flanked him. I veered left, sticking closer to the clubhouse wall to cover the blind spot behind the garage.
Then—
“There!” Ghost snapped. “Movement. One runner. Black hoodie. Looks male.”
A flash of motion cut through the dark just ahead. It was too fast for a civilian, too clumsy for a pro. They weren’t trying to sneak in.
They were baiting us.
I hit the corner of the lot just as Ranger broke from cover and gave chase. Brutus peeled off to cut them off from the other side.
I followed, boots hammering the ground, adrenaline pushing me faster.
The runner reached the tree line, turned sharp—
—and slammed right into Ghost.
No warning. No sound. Just Ghost appearing out of the dark like a fucking shadow with arms.
The guy went down hard.
I skidded to a stop as Ranger got there a second later and hauled the guy up by the front of his hoodie.
“Talk,” Ranger snapped.
“Fuck you—” the guy spat, writhing in his grip.
Wrong answer.
Brutus stepped up and slammed a fist into the guy’s gut. Not hard enough to kill, but just enough to steal the air from his lungs. He dropped like a rock, wheezing and cursing.
“Try again,” I said calmly, crouching in front of him.
He looked up at me, eyes wild. Young. Maybe twenty. Dirt on his face, shaky hands. Not a soldier.
A pawn.
I leaned in just enough. “Who sent you?”
“I—I just drop shit off, man,” he panted. “I don’t ask questions. I get a pin, I show up, I toss it, I leave.”
Brutus scowled. “A drone and a fucking decoy?”
“Backpack,” Ghost muttered. “He’s got one.”
We stripped it fast. Nothing but an empty thermos and a pack of Red Vines.
Which somehow pissed me off even more.
“This was a fucking joke to them,” I said, standing. “They used him to keep us busy.”
“Or to check how fast we respond,” Ranger added. “And how many of us would show up.”
Cap’s voice came through the comms. “Secure the kid. Bag the gear. Ghost—scrub the drone footage. I want frame-by-frame.”
I looked back toward the clubhouse.
Amanda.
She was inside, probably sitting on that bench where I left her, staring at the wall and trying to convince herself her hands weren’t still shaking.
She wouldn’t say it.
But I knew.
She felt marked.
And now, I was done playing defense.
“They don’t get another night like this,” I said.
No one argued.
We just turned back toward the clubhouse.
Because this war had already started.
And I wasn’t letting them get another inch.