Chapter 5
? Arden ?
The warehouse sat against the edge of an industrial shipyard of cargo containers.
Rafe cut the engine and headlights a block away and coasted the last stretch, the night thick with the sulfuric smell of water somewhere nearby.
The air felt damp and heavy in my lungs, clinging to the back of my throat.
I checked my gun, shoving extra clips Rafe stole when he’d grabbed his rifle weeks ago into the interior pockets of my jacket, fingers steady despite the tightness in my chest, and then lifted my eyes to the building, counting the heavily armed security.
I forced myself to slow the count, to take in any blind spots.
The place was fortified, no question about it.
Guards in black tactical gear surrounded the premises, all an equal distance apart.
They held automatics, their faces covered.
They’ll know we’re coming after him, I said.
Rafe agreed grimly, and neither of us moved or said anything for a few solid breaths.
We knew that could be it for us, but we also knew we couldn’t leave Kane there.
He was alone in that place, surrounded by people that only meant to sell him or kill him.
I pictured him restrained and reduced to inventory, something sharp and vicious twisting through my chest. After everything we’d gone through, I refused to let that be his fate.
If it was the only choice, then I'd give him mercy. I would put a bullet between Kane Creed’s brows before I allowed him to be sold again.
Rafe adjusted his rifle in his grasp and signed, Ready?
I nodded.
Rafe and I snuck around the side of one of the large cargo containers, peering around the corner.
The metal was cold beneath my palm, the container towering above us.
I would’ve given anything for a silencer in that moment or a damn distraction.
The second we let a bullet go, that would be it.
They would know we were there. There would be no retreat, no slipping back into the dark unnoticed.
My chest heaved in trepidation, and Rafe’s hand caught mine.
He squeezed it gently before he let go and lifted his gun, aiming at the closest guard—but a sound caught in the night.
I grabbed Rafe by the shoulder, causing him to lower his gun with a frown, turning a confused look toward me.
I tapped my good ear and pointed in the other direction, the two of us quietly and quickly moving to the opposite end of the container, keeping our bodies tight to the metal.
The sound grew louder, like…metal against gravel.
Whatever it was had the guards’ attention, walkie talkies going off around the outside of the warehouse.
Their focus fractured, heads turning, weapons shifting.
It was difficult to know where the sound was coming from, the scraping of metal ricocheting between containers, bending direction and distance until the entire yard felt unstable.
Then, my heart leaping into my throat and my eyes growing wide, I saw her.
Florence. Darting between shadows at her back—the Ravens.
They moved like extensions of her will, slipping through the yard with practiced ease, shapes detaching from darkness only to disappear again.
Rafe tensed at my side as Florence hummed softly, the culprit of the loud noise clear as she strode in her combat gear, dragging an axe along the asphalt as she went.
I shifted back, flicking my safety off and Rafe doing the same, both of us covering her as she lifted her axe, abruptly stopping only a few yards from the guards.
They all had their sights on her, red dots spotting over her frame.
Her eyes looked wild beneath the moonlight, her blond hair a shaggy mess of strands hanging down on either side of her face.
She looked completely unphased by their aim, smirking even as she inhaled deeply, her grip adjusting on her axe, a gold bracelet glimmering across her wrist. The axe’s lethal metal caught the light as she shifted, feet planted wide and solid.
There was something feral in the set of her jaw, unhinged and gleeful.
She looked like I did before I set someone on fire. Halden could do that to a woman. Did do that to women. I grinned, identifying with her anger and pain immediately, knowing whatever came next, we had no reason to worry about her. Florence came for blood; we all did.
“Kill her,” came the order on the talkies, the word slicing clean through the standoff, but before anyone could hit the trigger, all hell rained down from above.
The first shots tore through, popping through the night, the guards’ formation collapsing in an instant as training gave way to panic.
Guards shouted in agony as Mickey and Matthias’s familiar, bulky frames rained down gunfire, both brothers crouched on the roof of the warehouse.
They moved with cohesion, marching from one end of the roof to the other, weapons braced like extensions of their bodies, covering angles and exits in practiced sweeps.
The guards scattered, some diving for cover that didn’t exist, others turning their guns skyward far too late.
The rooftop became a killing ground, shell casings cascading down as Mickey and Matthias held their position, turning the advantage in seconds and proving exactly why the Ravens were never meant to be fucked with.
Florence charged then, screaming as she brought her axe back and let it fly.
It cut a murderous arc through the air, spinning end over end, the hit landing in the visor of a guard and the impact snapping his head back as the man toppled over.
Blood flooded out from his helmet in a dark spill that soaked the gravel.
She sprinted and yanked her axe free in the same moment, ripping it loose with a wet, violent jerk, already moving on to the next target.
Monty, Heath, and Grace followed behind her with a second round of gunfire, covering her advance, bullets tearing through the space she’d just vacated, the Ravens surging forward and giving us the exact opening we needed.
In that split second, there was no fear there, only resolve.
Monty nodded once toward me, offering a stern look of acknowledgment, and Rafe and I sprinted past the chaos.
Rafe kicked open the front door and shots rang out from inside.
I let go of my own, the two of us killing our way through, strides matched.
The interior exploded into motion, bodies jerking and guards scrambling to regroup.
I registered the warehouse in pieces as I fired.
The concrete floor was gouged with long grooves that led straight to metal drains set flush with the ground.
Steel tables were bolted down along the wall, cuffs fixed at the corners.
A large dumpster was filled with clothes and shoes.
It was a processing center, new assets—human beings—sent there to be stripped and distributed.
I shouted through my teeth with my next shots, rage burning through me.
I had to pivot between pillars and crates, reloading my clip, and Rafe covered me with ease, his breathing even.
His chest brushed me as he moved, left to right and right to left, peeking around the pillar and landing shot after shot.
Then Matthias and Mickey joined us on the other end, coming in from a back entrance, the four of us corralling the guards into the center, forcing them inward where there was nowhere left to retreat.
Rafe executed them consecutively, not sparing them a glance before he swept to the left with Matthias, and I went to the right with Mickey, our movements merciless.
Blood covered me, soaking into my clothes and skin, but none of it was mine, any of ours, and it would stay that way.
I was determined to get every single one of them out without a fucking mark.
“Thank you,” I said in Mickey’s direction as we took out another pair of guards. I opened the door to what looked like a cellar, bracing myself.
“Once a Raven, always a Raven,” he said simply. “Stubborn as a damn mule or not.”
I chuckled darkly, and we took the stairs fast, hitting each step hard to not risk our ankles being exposed for too long.
The stairwell felt wrong the deeper we went, the air growing colder and thicker, heavy with a medical smell that clung to the back of my throat and stung.
Shots rang out, and I tripped on the last step, crying out as I fell forward.
The concrete tore at my palms and knees, pain flaring before adrenaline swallowed it whole.
Mickey covered me, thankfully, directing his attention to the guards wrapped around a…
cage. The sight of it had my stomach dropping as my mind struggled to reconcile the shape of it in the open space, metal bars sunk deep into the floor.
I lifted to my feet, fumbling for my gun, before I had to duck toward one of the large cement pillars again, bullets sparking off the surface.
Mickey did the same, darting behind the opposite pillar, the two of us splitting the room.
I refilled my clip, took a breath, and then unloaded, stepping out quick and training my focus only on that cage.
I knew he was in it. No one else would need such a precaution, locked away like an animal, and I was right.