Chapter 96
Havoc
The convoy moves fast.
Too fast for comfort.
Not fast enough for what I want.
Gravel turns to dirt.
Dirt turns to open road.
Headlights cut through the dark like blades.
No one talks.
Not the team.
Not the CIA.
Not me.
Because now we know what we’re chasing.
And what it can do.
“They didn’t hit us blind,” Briggs finally says over comms.
“No,” I reply. “They were waiting.”
“Means they knew we’d find the maps.”
“Or they were tracking the CIA,” I say.
A beat.
Then—
“Yeah,” Briggs mutters. “I like that even less.”
Same.
I glance in the rearview mirror.
Black SUVs.
Tight formation.
Too tight.
Too coordinated.
“They’re riding close,” I say.
“They don’t trust us,” Briggs replies.
“Good,” I say. “Makes two of us.”
We crest a ridge.
After about three hours.
And that’s when I see it.
Lights.
Tank had all of these maps and he was right about all of it.
Not town lights.
Not houses.
Too isolated.
Too controlled.
“Contact,” I say.
Everyone sharpens instantly.
“Grid?” Briggs asks.
I narrow my eyes.
Focus locking in.
“Old logging site,” I say. “About a mile out.”
That tracks.
Remote.
Abandoned.
Perfect for something off-books.
“They’re not hiding,” Briggs says.
“No,” I reply.
“They’re staging.”
And that?
That’s worse.
Because that means—
They’re moving something.
Or someone.
Right now.
“We go quiet from here,” I order.
Engines cut.
Vehicles roll down hill the last stretch.
Silent.
Controlled.
Predators closing in.
I step out first.
Night air hits hard.
Cold.
Sharp.
Alive.
“Split into two teams,” I say. “Flank left and right.”
Briggs nods.
“Got it.”
The CIA agent steps up beside me.
“We take center,” he says.
I glance at him.
Then toward the site.
Then back.
“No,” I say.
His jaw tightens.
“We need direct line of sight—”
“You’ll get it,” I cut in. “When I say.”
Tension spikes.
Again.
Always again.
But this time?
He doesn’t push.
Good.
Because I’m not in the mood.
We move.
Low.
Fast.
Silent.
Through the trees.
Through the dark.
Closer.
Closer.
Until—
I see them.
Three trucks.
Engines running.
Men moving between them.
Armed.
Organized.
Disciplined.
And then—
My stomach drops.
Cages.
In the back of one truck.
Metal.
Locked.
Occupied.
Rage hits.
Hard.
Immediate.
“Targets confirmed,” I whisper.
Briggs’s voice comes back tight.
“I see them.”
Aspen’s face flashes in my mind.
Dylan.
Her grandfather.
That could’ve been them.
That almost was them.
Not happening.
Not again.
“They’re loading,” one of the guys whispers.
Yeah.
They are.
Which means—
We’re out of time.
I glance at the CIA agent.
He’s watching.
Calculating.
Same as me.
“Orders?” he asks.
I don’t hesitate.
“Take them down.”
Everything explodes at once.
Gunfire tears through the night.
Controlled.
Precise.
Rangers hit left flank.
CIA hits right.
Wolf and I take center.
First target drops.
Second turns—
Too slow.
Gone.
Chaos erupts.
Shouts.
Movement.
Return fire.
But they’re not ready.
Not for this.
Not for us.
I move fast.
Close distance.
Take one down near the trucks.
Another tries to run—
Briggs gets him.
“Truck secured!” someone yells.
“Second vehicle clear!”
“Third—moving!”
I pivot—
Catch the last man trying to climb into the driver’s seat.
Two shots.
Done.
Silence falls.
Fast.
Heavy.
Final.
I move to the truck.
Rip the door open.
Look inside.
And everything in me tightens.
Women.
Children.
Terrified.
Silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
Alive.
Thank God.
“You’re safe,” I say.
My voice comes out rough.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
But real.
They don’t move at first.
Don’t believe it.
Wouldn’t either.
“It’s okay,” I add, quieter now.
Briggs steps up beside me.
“Let’s get them out.”
Yeah.
Let’s.
Behind me, the CIA agent approaches.
Slower now.
More cautious.
He looks into the truck.
Then at me.
“You were right,” he says.
I don’t answer.
Because this?
This isn’t about being right.
This is about ending it.
And we’re not done yet.
Not even close.
I glance at the ground.
Boot prints.
Fresh.
Leading away from the site.
My jaw tightens.
“They’re still out there,” I say.
Briggs nods.
“Command element?”
“Yeah.”
The real ones.
The ones running this.
The ones who killed Tank.
I straighten.
Turn toward the tree line.
Dark.
Endless.
Waiting.
“They’re not running,” I say quietly.
“They’re repositioning.”
Because people like this?
They don’t retreat.
They reset.
I check my weapon.
Lock it in.
And then—
“We move,” I order.
Because now?
Now we’re not just stopping shipments.
We’re hunting leadership.
And I don’t stop until I find them.
Not after what I’ve seen.
Not after what they’ve done.
And definitely not after what they tried to take.
Because this war?
It ends with them.
Or it ends with me.
And I don’t plan on losing.