Chapter 77 Carter
Carter
Gunfire lit the warehouse like a storm of sparks, muzzle flashes strobing shadows across the steel walls. Bullets tore into crates, wood splintering, the air thick with dust and the acrid bite of cordite.
I hit the ground behind a stack of pallets, River dropping low beside me, his rifle barking in controlled bursts. Gideon slid into cover on the far side, already jamming something into the servers stacked against the wall, his fingers flying even as rounds whined past his head.
“Two on the catwalk!” River shouted.
I swung up, sighting fast, and dropped them both before they had a chance to line up their shots. Their bodies slammed against the railing and tumbled down, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.
Movement at the far end—half a dozen mercs pouring through a side door, shouting in clipped Russian.
“On me,” I growled, pushing forward.
We moved like a blade, cutting through cover, firing as one. My world narrowed to the rhythm of trigger and breath, the recoil slamming into my shoulder, the enemy dropping one by one.
But through it all, Harper was there—in my head, in my chest. Every time I pulled the trigger, it wasn’t just to end a threat. It was to carve a path back to her.
A round slammed into the steel post inches from my head, showering sparks. I ducked, teeth gritted, and shoved forward harder. This fight wasn’t going to drag out. Not tonight.
We cleared the floor, the bodies sprawled across the concrete, the echoes of gunfire still ringing. For a second, the silence was deafening.
Then River’s voice cut through, sharp. “Upstairs.”
I looked up. A shadow moved in the office above the warehouse floor, glass cracked, the outline of a man watching us. Not Graves—he was already gone. Someone else. Someone stepping into his place.
My grip tightened on the rifle.
“Let’s finish this,” I said, voice low, lethal.
River nodded, and together we moved for the stairs.