CHAPTER 23 #2
Knox and Leif are already there, taking cover behind a large overturned table, their weapons trained on the doorways.
“Status?” Logan asks as we slide into cover beside them.
“We’re breathing, but we’re running low,” Knox grunts, his dark skin looking gray and dull from all the ashes.
“Why are you trembling?” Tae moves to check on him, and that’s when I notice Knox is clutching a blood-soaked cloth against his thigh.
“Bullet wound. I already removed the—argh!” Knox groans in pain as Tae pours silver nitrate solution directly into the open wound.
The effect is instant, horrific, and painful as hell… The moment the clear liquid hits the wound, the chemical reaction occurs, burning the blood vessels to seal them, and the raw, red tissue bubbles as it turns black.
“Jesus fuck, Tae!” Knox grunts. “We’ve talked about this. At least let me know first.”
“What for? It hurts the same whether you know beforehand or not.”
Logan looks at me and mumbles, “Maybe we do need those psychological tests.”
I nod in agreement as Tae takes out a pre-loaded syringe from his kit and stabs the needle straight into Knox’s shoulder.
“Dose of Toradol and a localized blocker. It’ll dull the pain and keep you on your feet for another twenty minutes. Don’t push it.”
Leif tosses a couple of magazines across the room to Bjorn and me. “Take ’em. Last of the 5.56. Make the shots count.”
“Ah, thanks! I was on my last one.” I catch mine mid-air and holster the magazines in two of my vest’s holders.
While the rest finish getting ready, I turn to Oliver and pull him slightly away from the team.
“Is there any chance in hell I can convince you to stay out here?”
Oliver’s gorgeous hazel eyes lock on mine before he shakes his head.
“No, Damián. If you’re going, I am going.”
I press my forehead against his and sigh. “Yeah… I thought so.”
I pull back, sliding my hands down to his chest, and yank tightly on the straps of my Kevlar vest, double-checking that everything is secure, perfectly fitted, and covering his vital organs.
Satisfied, I pat the plates.
“No matter what happens, you always stay behind me,” I say, and he nods.
“Ready?” Logan asks.
“Ready,” I say, and the rest of the Harknetts flank around us before we walk in.
We move down the hidden staircase to a large, cavernous bunker. The room is blindingly white, and not from the paint, but from the hundreds of bricks of cocaine stacked on wooden pallets, surrounded by crates of stolen weapons.
And of course, we aren’t alone.
“Get down, now!” Knox screams as dozens of Rafael’s men open fire from behind the crates.
The bullets rip through the plastic wrapping the bricks and pallets, and millions of dollars of cocaine explode into the air, creating a thick, white fog that fills the room.
In an instant, completely used to these types of situations, we Harknetts yank up our neck gaiters to cover our noses and mouths.
“Cover up, Leif,” Knox says.
“Oh, my Gods! It was one time when I forgot my neck tube.”
Bjorn laughs. “Your eyes looked like a cute little tarsier for almost two hours.”
Tae grabs Oliver by the shoulder and places a medical mask over his face, securing it tight.
“Keep it on and don’t inhale the dust!” Tae yells over the gunfire.
I check that Oliver is safe and then follow the team through the white haze. I shoot at everything that moves, and between the clouds of swirling cocaine dust, I manage to see a man surrounded by guards.
“I have eyes on Rafael!” I call out over the comms. “Nine o’clock, four guards around him.”
“I see him,” Bjorn says, flanking me.
We sprint through the crossfire as I grow desperate to end this nightmare for Oliver.
CLACK! CLACK!
We duck as bullets hit the crates around us. As soon as they stop to reload, Bjorn and I pop out and hit all three of them.
Then we push forward as a duo, clearing a path.
Two cartel men burst out from behind a stack of crates directly in front of us, rifles raised.
I drop to one knee, firing two shots into the man on the left, then pivot to bring down the second man before he can pull the trigger.
To my right, three more shooters open fire on Bjorn.
Instead of ducking like me, Bjorn uses one of the wooden crates as a launching pad.
He springs into the air, leaping over the entire thing while shooting at the men. He lands and uses the momentum to drive the anti-slip hilt of his billhook directly into a man who was about to shoot Logan.
“Arrgghh!”
I turn to the scream just in time to see one of Rafael’s men drive a blade deep into Bjorn’s side. Bjorn gasps, his light blue eyes wide with shock, and collapses onto the floor.
“Bjorn!” Tae screams and goes absolutely crazy, abandoning his own cover and firing his pistol as he runs through the crossfire, throwing himself over Bjorn’s bleeding body.
The sight of Bjorn falling distracts me longer than it should have, because when I regain my composure and turn around, I find myself face-to-face with an iron bar.
CRACK!
A man hits me with the iron bar right across the jaw.
Pain explodes behind my eyes, and the room starts spinning, the edges fading into a black tunnel.
Fuck…
I stumble back, and my weapon slips from my hands. The guard steps up, grinning as he raises his rifle right at my chest.
I try to move, but my head is still throbbing, and my eyes are blurry. I’m too slow. I can’t move.
Damn it… I flinch, preparing for the impact.
BANG!
The guard screams, dropping his rifle as a bullet tears through his hand.
I blink through the darkness, thankful that my vision is coming back, and look in the direction the bullet came from.
It’s Oliver.
He’s next to me, holding a smoking gun, his hands shaking, his chest heaving under my oversized vest.
Gracias a Dios, he is alright.
“I knew it!” Rafael laughs, stepping into view. “I knew you were a fucking faggot who didn’t have the balls to kill a man.”
Without warning, Rafael raises his own gun and shoots his wounded guard, the one Oliver just shot in the hand, right in the head.
The man drops dead.
Oliver flinches, glaring at his brother. “And yet, I’ll always be wiser and stronger than you in every sense that matters.”
“Who the fuck cares when I’m the one who’ll kill you?” Rafael lifts his gun, pointing the barrel directly at Oliver’s chest. “Die, bitch.”
No!
Still dizzy and in pain, I lunge forward, my fingers locking around Rafael’s wrist as he starts to pull the trigger.
I yank his arm toward me, forcing the barrel away from Oliver and pointing it directly at my own torso.
BANG!
The bullet tears through my side, where the shitty vest doesn’t protect me, and I collapse.
I cough, and my mouth fills with blood.
My vision begins to tunnel to a pinpoint, but through the haze, I see Rafael’s head snap back before he drops dead.
Logan appears in the background, gun raised, as Oliver falls to his knees, throwing his arms around me and pulling me toward him.
He’s sobbing, the mask slipping from his face as he rocks me against his chest, back and forth.
“Dami! No, no, no, please!” he begs.
He presses his hands against my bleeding side, trying to stop the flow, but the blood slips through his fingers.