Chapter 35 Wolf
Wolf
The moment Trigger’s voice came over the channel, everything snapped into place.
“She’s safe. Sweep and clear.”
No hesitation. No questions.
We moved.
Havoc hit the east corridor first—breach charge tight, controlled. The blast echoed like thunder through the facility's concrete belly. Dust filled the air, alarms screaming as emergency lights kicked in.
Bad men ran.
They always did.
Two tried to push past me in the stairwell. One reached for his weapon.
He never finished the motion.
I dropped him with a single shot, pivoted, and put the second man down before he could scream. Controlled. Efficient. Final.
This wasn’t chaos.
This was correction.
Riley and Ace came in from the sub-level, cutting off retreat routes the cartel hadn’t even known existed. One man threw his gun down and dropped to his knees.
Too late.
They cuffed him anyway. He’d talk—or someone would make him.
A gunfight erupted near the central control room. Three hostiles barricaded inside, firing blind through the door.
Havoc didn’t bother shouting.
The door came off its hinges.
Silence followed.
I stepped over shell casings and blood, the smell of cordite thick in the air. These men had believed distance and concrete made them untouchable.
They were wrong.
“North wing secure,” Ace reported.
“South stairwell clear,” Saint added.
I reached the holding room—the chair still bolted to the floor, plastic restraints snapped, blood smeared where Rylie had fought her way free.
Good.
She hadn’t gone quietly.
One cartel lieutenant tried to run through the service tunnels.
Trigger took him down personally.
No theatrics. No anger.
Just a single, precise shot that ended it.
By the time the last gun was secured and the final man restrained, the building had gone eerily quiet again.
Only this time, the silence belonged to us.
I keyed my mic. “Trigger. Facility secure.”
There was a pause.
Then his voice came back—lower now. Steadier.
“Copy.”
I turned and headed toward the upper exit, knowing exactly where he’d be.
Rylie sat wrapped in his jacket, hands bandaged, her head resting against his chest. His arm was locked around her like he was afraid the world might try again if he let go.
She looked up when I approached.
Not broken.
Not shaken.
Alive.
“You did good,” I told her.
She gave a small, fierce smile. “So did you.”
Trigger didn’t say anything. He just nodded once, eyes never leaving her face.
As medics moved in and the sun crept over the tree line outside, one thing was clear—
This wasn’t over.
Because men like Thomas didn’t stop when they lost.
They retaliated.
And now?
They’d made it personal.