Chapter Fifty-Three
Gy
Adrenaline pumps through my veins.
Excitement races up my spine.
The scent of an oncoming battle wafts through the air. Caught by the leaves, shifting in the breeze.
Camouflaged under the cover of the trees, my brothers and I hide. Ready. Watching. Waiting.
The campsite below was concealed, hidden deep within the woods, but we fucking found it. And this piece-of-shit club, who thought they could bring drugs to our town, terrorize our businesses, and touch my omega, will cease to exist soon. Very soon.
Just need the signal—then extermination.
They sold their lives for money and the promise of a town to torment, but the Hellbent Hounds are not to be fucked with. It’s time we guide them to the underworld.
The comms piece in my ear buzzes with an incoming message. “Tactical ground to tactical trees. We are in position and ready.” Cerberus’ voice comes through loud and clear. Our goal is speed and efficiency. Make all these fuckwads disappear.
Up in the canopy, I stare through the scope of my sniper rifle, with Lassie a few trees over. Between the two of us, we’ll cover our ground team from the skies. Cerberus, Cujo, Garmr, Orthos, and Whelp—who will soon be Hooch if he does well tonight—are spread around the campsite.
There’s a maze of tents below us, large luxury ones, stolen from our sporting goods store, but we’re ready to get our hands dirty.
And canvas doesn’t stand up to bullets. Shifting quietly, I watch for signs of movement.
Nothing. They must be eating or something; Garmr and Pup have been watching them on the drones all day.
Not to mention, their bikes are lined up at the edge of the woods.
My fingers itch on the trigger. Ready to get this show on the road. Patience.
“Distraction charged and ready,” another voice relays—Orthos this time. He and Garmr are getting things prepped to blow sky high. It’s going to be a big, loud explosion, forcing all the Black Plague to come running.
We’ll pick them off one by one, then dispose of them before the sun rises. A perfect plan.
Simple. Easy.
“Hold.” Cerberus’ command echoes through, and we all listen, waiting with bated breath for him to give the signal.
“Release the Hounds.”
5.
4.
3.
2.
1.
BOOM.
An ear-shattering explosion crackles through the air, and a motorcycle goes up in flames. Bright sparks ignite the night, then it flies apart at the seams. There’s a shout. Then several more as the remaining members of the Black Plague sprint out of their poor excuse for a home.
“My bike. My fuckin bike.” One flaps his hands around wildly, just asking to catch a bullet.
“Target acquired.” Lassie’s voice is clear. Following his line of sight, I zero in on the Black Plague’s skull.
“Target acquired,” I repeat, then wait. I could kill him so easily. A bead of sweat trails down the side of my face while I wait for Cerberus to give the go-ahead.
“Engage. Destroy at will.”
My adrenaline spikes, and I take a deep breath. On the exhale, I pull the trigger. The bullet barely hisses as it tears through the night sky. My mark falls to the ground.
I can’t hear Lassie’s gun over the pounding in my ears, but another Black Plague drops, clutching his leg.
“Don’t kill them all. Especially Beatdown,” Cerberus reminds us.
Two down. Three to go.
Seeing their brothers’ demise, the other members scatter, rushing into the woods, where the Hounds lie in wait.
Grunts and thumps fill the night. I use my scope to try to track them.
A Black Plague nearly crashes into Cerberus.
But he’s no match against the battle-hardened beta.
He’s disarmed and tied up before I even have a chance to shout a warning.
Three down, two to go.
Now, where did they run?
“Cujo, to your right.” Lassie’s voice comes through my earpiece. “I don’t have a bead.”
Glancing toward Cujo’s assigned area, I watch as a big fucker advances on him.
The man brandishes a small pistol, and Cujo’s face lights up in a gleeful smile as he uses a booted foot to kick the other man directly in the nose.
His gun goes flying, but Cujo isn’t done.
My packmate lands on the Black Plague, using fist and knife to end his life.
“Threat neutralized,” Cujo pants. There’s only one left.
“Four down, two gone. Two waiting. One MIA.” After updating everyone, I sling my rifle over my back and start descending from my tree. Lassie is more than capable of being our eyes in the sky, and I want answers.
“No threats on the west side.” Garmr’s voice comes in.
“No threats north,” Orthos agrees.
“South is clear,” Grim shares.
“East is deceased,” Cujo jokes.
“Four total at central,” Cerberus reports. “None tagged here as Beatdown. We’ll need to question the survivors to be sure.”
There were supposed to be five. That’s what the prisoner in our basement said: five left, eight in total. Either we’ve been lied to…
Or one is missing.
Where is the Black Plague President?