Chapter Eighteen
Hell.
The words tore through Gage’s head as Corrine’s last sentence sank in. A team on the way. He felt it like a punch, sharp and cold, cutting through the chaos around them.
He pressed a hand to his comm. “Noah, you heard that?” His voice was steady, but his pulse was hammering. “Corrine just said she’s got a team headed for Crossfire Ops.”
There was a beat of static before Noah came back, his tone clipped. “Copy. I’m relaying it to headquarters now.” He barked out orders in the background. “Bravo’s site’s clear. They’re moving back to base. All on-site operatives are gearing up for defense.”
The sounds around Gage were a blur. Cal and Garrett still trading fire, the thud of boots against concrete, the hiss of gas venting from somewhere unseen. Rena shifted beside him, eyes fierce behind her mask, waiting for his cue.
Noah’s voice came back through the comm, harder now. “Team One, you end this now. We need to secure the scene and get medical help to Chase. Isla’s got an ambulance standing by.”
Gage’s jaw clenched. End this. Easy to say. But Corrine wasn’t retreating. She was stalling, buying time for the reinforcements she’d just bragged about.
He checked his weapon, eyes locking on the spot where Corrine and her guards had taken cover. “Roger that,” he said, low and firm. Then, to Rena, “We take her alive if we can. But we end it.”
Because if Corrine was telling the truth, the next fight was already racing toward Crossfire Ops, and this one had to be over before that one began.
Corrine’s voice sliced the smoke like a blade, soaked in contempt. “You’ll watch it burn, Noah,” she called out, loud enough to carry across the hangar. “Your precious Crossfire Ops will be gone. That’ll be the real justice.”
The words landed harder than a punch in Gage’s chest. He could imagine the compound, rattling under another assault. He swallowed the surge of fury and pushed it down into action. Fury was useful for one thing. Focus.
Cal’s voice cut through, clipped and hard. “We’re moving. Garrett, watch the north wall. Gage, you and Rena take the east aisle. Suppress and push. Sheriff, we’ll get you out when this is clear.”
Gage answered with a one-word acknowledgment and shifted forward on his heels. Every rhythm was ritual now. Breath, sight, squeeze. They advanced, using the crates and shadows as cover, closing the distance toward Corrine’s position.
She barked another order behind her mask, and four sets of feet scrambled into position like a response to a conductor’s baton. The sound of her voice, confident, unrepentant, was a promise that this wasn’t some shitstorm vendetta. This was organized.
Calculated. Dangerous.
Gunfire cracked across the hangar. Short, sharp bursts echoing off steel and concrete. Gage’s pulse jumped. Then Cal’s voice came through the comm, tight with control but underscored by the raw edge of adrenaline.
“Four men down.”
Gage exhaled, relief and tension mixing in one harsh breath. That was something. One less wave between them and Corrine.
Garrett’s scanner hummed faintly over the comm. “Reading four heat signatures left, three hostiles and Corrine. That’s it.”
Perfect. Gage let his voice carry, loud and cutting through the chaos. “Corrine, your army’s nearly dead. You’re out of men and out of time.”
Silence answered him for a heartbeat, long enough to hope that the remaining thugs might stand down. He wanted them to surrender. Hell, he needed them to. They had to get the sheriff out, had to get that ambulance in here before the blood loss got worse.
But the silence broke with the metallic click of safeties being released. The three remaining men moved to flank Corrine, crouched low behind crates, their rifles trained toward Gage’s position.
“So much for smart choices,” he muttered under his breath.
Rena met his gaze, her eyes steady under her mask. She didn’t need to say it. They were out of time. The thugs weren’t going to surrender.
Corrine wasn’t going to stop.
Gage adjusted his grip, pulse steadying into that razor-thin edge of readiness. “All right,” he whispered into the comm. “We finish this. Fast.”
Because the only way to save the sheriff and keep Crossfire Ops standing was to take Corrine down.
Through the comm, Cal’s voice cut in. “Garrett and I are approaching from the north side. Noah, keep your bird steady. If anyone tries coming in through that hangar door, light them up.”
“Copy that,” Noah replied. The helicopter’s rotors thrummed faintly through the structure, the sound like an approaching storm.
Gage shifted his stance, weapon steady, eyes tracking movement in the haze of gas and smoke. The air was thick with the tang of cordite and the acrid sting of tear gas residue. Corrine’s remaining men were still dug in, protecting her like a human wall.
Cal’s hand signal flashed from the shadows.
Move.
Gage went first, crouched low, keeping Rena tight on his flank. Every step scraped against gravel and scattered shell casings. His heart hammered a steady beat in his throat, every muscle strung tight. Across the open stretch of floor, Corrine’s voice rang out again, sharp and vicious.
“You really think you can stop this?” she shouted. “Even if you kill me, there are others.”
“Guess we’ll start with you,” Gage muttered and swung out from behind cover.
He fired, controlled bursts aimed at the crates shielding her men. They answered instantly, bullets shredding the air. The sound was deafening inside the steel hangar, each ricochet echoing like thunder.
Rena dropped beside him, returning fire, her movements precise, efficient. A muzzle flash exploded near Cal’s position, Garrett’s counter-shot took the shooter down hard.
“Two left,” Garrett called through the comm.
“Stay low,” Gage yelled, spotting a flicker of motion near the rear wall. He pivoted, fired, and one of Corrine’s guards went down.
But the last one didn’t retreat. He surged forward, laying down suppressing fire that forced Gage and Rena back behind a stack of crates. The rounds punched through metal, raining splinters and dust over them.
“Damn it,” Gage hissed, wiping blood where a shard had nicked his cheek. “She’s not running. She’s trying to pin us.”
“Not for long,” Cal shot back. “We push on my mark—three, two, one—move!”
They broke from cover together, a seamless, practiced rhythm. Gage felt the shift, the danger spiking, the chaos sharpening to a single point. Corrine ducked behind her last guard, gun ready.
This was it. The last stand.
Cursing, Corrine was already backing up, and she yanked her remaining man by the vest, dragging him in front of her like a human shield.
The thug froze, caught between obedience and self-preservation. His voice came rough and panicked. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“You said you’d die for the cause,” she snapped. “Time to prove it.”
The man twisted, his own rifle jerking up. Gage saw it coming a split second before it happened. The thug tried to shoot her—self-defense or betrayal, it didn’t matter—but Corrine was faster. One brutal pull of the trigger, and he crumpled.
And that left her exposed.
She stumbled back, breathing hard, surrounded by the dead and dying men she’d used like armor. Her gun came up again, shaking but steady enough to be lethal.
“It’s over,” Gage shouted. “Drop it.”
Corrine’s lips curled in something between a sneer and a smile. “Not over for me.”
Her finger tightened on the trigger.
Gage didn’t hesitate. One shot split the air.
Corrine jerked back, the weapon slipping from her grip as she hit the concrete. Smoke drifted between them, the final echo of the gunfire fading into the cold silence that followed.
Gage exhaled, the adrenaline roaring in his ears. It was over. Or at least, this part was.