Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Zac
Ijog down the cracked road, dodging the weeds and vegetation that have forced their way through tarmac, my boots crunching over gravel.
Bridget waits outside the rusted gate of the warehouse, arms crossed and hood up. She turns towards me, a crease between her brows. Her almond-shaped eyes narrow at the sight of me.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say.
She just nods, turning and slipping inside. “Let’s go. They’ll leave without us if we don’t hurry.”
I don’t answer, just follow.
We step inside the abandoned warehouse. Moonlight streams through the broken windows, and rusted metal juts from the floor and walls, a deliberately placed maze of danger. I clamber over it like I always do, grazing my hands in places.
Bridget ducks to her haunches in the left corner of the room before rapping her fist four times on the metal in a practiced tune.
It swings inward, and she ducks through the gap, with me on her heels.
Straightening, I nod at the girl standing on the other side.
Six others are gathered in the dimly lit room; two loading handguns, one examining a hunting knife, another couple chatting quietly.
Bridget and I head for the cupboard at the end of the room. She pulls two knives free, sliding them into a holder at her hip while I snag a gun from the cupboard, slotting it into my waistband. I count out a few rounds of the limited ammo.
“Zac.”
I turn at the sound of my name. Riley perches on an overturned crate, rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. Tattoos crawl up from his black hoodie, and his short blond hair is messy as always. He grins.
“Riley,” I greet.
“It’s been a while.”
“Yeah,” I mutter.
“Alright!” Red calls out, voice echoing off the walls. Her fingers are curled around a gun, hood covering her red hair. “Let’s move!”
We head out the back of the warehouse, slipping through the gap in the barbed wire that’s been pulled aside for us. The metal scratches my jacket as I duck through.
We move down alleyways and roads, sticking close to the shadows, our footsteps as light as possible. At every corner, someone checks that the coast is clear. A quick glance, a nod, and then we cross.
Bridget takes point beside Red.
Riley falls into step beside me. “So, this was Anna’s find?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah,’ I say. “She heard they’re using it to stash ammo before distributing it.”
Riley lets out a low whistle, quieter than I thought possible. Even in the dark, I can see his grin.
“Fucking hell. I’ll marry her if it’s true.”
I don’t answer him. My eyes lock onto the house as we round the corner—three storeys, windows dark, two Enforcers standing at the front step, one smoking, the other shifting his weight like he’s bored.
Bored.
They always look fucking bored.
Red lifts a hand, signalling for us to stop. “Alright. We can see two. Probably more inside.” She leans closer, eyes scanning over the group. “Plan ideas?”
“We kill ‘em,” Riley murmurs. He’s grinning like a lad on a night out.
She scowls. “Thanks for that. Anyone else?”
“Travis and I could skirt the property line, see what we find out the back—”
I should wait; I know that.
Wait for the signal, for the plan. But the second that dark green uniform catches the streetlight, my chest tightens. Emilia flashes behind my eyes—pale and bloody, the bruise on her hip, the way her feisty demeanor has crumbled. The metallic tang of rage fills my mouth.
They did that. They hurt her.
Because of me.
Red keeps talking, something about spreading out, having each other’s back, but I’m not seeing her. I’m seeing a whole different kind of fucking red.
And my hand’s already moving.
The gun’s out of my waistband. I lift it without thinking, my steps small and sure as I approach them.
My finger squeezes the trigger.
The shot cracks through the night like thunder. The bored Enforcer drops, blood blooming over the navy insignia on his chest. The second one fumbles for his weapon, shouting something I can’t make out.
I shoot.
He falls.
Behind me, Bridget curses. “Zac!”
“Damn, Zac.” Riley’s voice is full of dark amusement. “No fucking chill… I love it.”
My hand trembles just enough to remind me to lower the weapon, lungs burning, heart slamming against my ribs.
Red curses under her breath, then signals for us to move. “To hell with the damn plan. Go, go! Now!”
The group starts to run, and I’m only half a second behind, gun gripped tight.
With every step, the anger inside me hardens from a burning, uncontrolled fire to cold, calculated determination.
Ammo, supplies, the bastards who might have hurt her… Whatever’s in there, I’ll take it all.