JAX
The traps were set.
In record time, Callum found the secret entrance to the tunnels, tucked behind a seemingly innocuous garden shed on the east side of the mansion.
Ryle and Nate were in the basement, rigging up the trip wires and dye packs.
Zola was in the control room, where Ryle would be joining her as backup.
I was looping wires across the staircase, each landing becoming a death trap for the unsuspecting.
It would be quick and messy and loud.
It was also a bloody Hail Mary.
Bringing down what was likely a well-established operation would take more than a few handy parlor tricks.
We didn’t have our best equipment—our lethal explosives were stored safely back at the Compound, where Nate couldn’t get his greedy hands on them—and our intel was flimsy at best. The plan had so many flaws and potential for disaster that it left a gnawing pit in my stomach.
But I was ready—more than ready.
I was fucking amped with nerves and anticipation, more awake than I’d felt in months.
My pulse was a steady thump beneath my skin.
My mask was pushed up over my forehead, keeping my hair out of my eyes while I fingered the intricate pieces of my equipment.
I’d hooked a crowbar into my belt loop, the metal thunking comfortingly against my outer thigh.
When all else failed, smashing skulls proved to be pretty damn effective.
Not as effective as, say, bullets, but I wasn’t opposed to getting my hands dirty.
Well, dirtier.
“Basement set.” Ryle’s voice chirped in my ear.
“Scooby?” I checked in.
There was a pause. “Affirmative, Alpha.” His voice was strained. “Five minutes.”
Five minutes until they reached the shore. My pulse kicked. I returned to our makeshift war room, taking inventory of everything left behind. There was a forgotten pack shoved beneath one of the chairs. A glance at the inner pocket revealed its owner.
Ryle.
Sloppy.
With a sigh, I hefted the pack onto the table, pausing at the metallic thump it made.
It was heavier than I expected. Biting off my glove, I unzipped his pack, finding the typical hazardous mess that followed Ryle everywhere he went.
Beneath his clothes, snacks, and whatever else he’d deemed a priority (including a half-empty box of condoms) was something square and metallic at the bottom.
“Idiot,” I muttered, reaching in to pull it out.
My hand stopped cold.
What the hell?
I lifted the device and examined it. It was the drone's battery pack, the one we’d supposedly forgotten.
Why the hell hadn’t Ryle said anything?
“Sunshine!” I barked into my earpiece.
Ryle’s voice returned chipper: “Yeah?”
I opened my mouth when something else caught my eye. There was another device at the bottom, a burner phone. The brand was different from the one we typically used. The screen lit up, and a single message appeared.
A familiar area code.
My blood turned to ice.
“Two minutes,” Nate said urgently.
Zola’s voice followed sharply: “We’ve finished with the fuse box. Going dark in three…two…one.”
The lights went out in a single blink, plunging me into darkness. For a second, it was suffocating, my chest impossibly tight.
I tapped the screen again, squinting at the brightness, hoping I was wrong.
My fist clenched around it so hard that my knuckles cracked.
This was no longer a Hail Mary.
We were fucking doomed.