Elias
The truck idled beneath the cover of the pines, the engine vibrating so low it became part of my heartbeat. No one spoke. No one needed to. Three hours.
Three fucking hours since Max had barked. Three hours since I'd walked into her kitchen and found the dough drying on the counter. Three hours since I'd picked Gerald's shattered pieces off the concrete. Three hours since I'd realised I was already too late.
I sat with both hands wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel my knuckles had gone bone white beneath the cuts and dried blood. I couldn't stop thinking. Couldn't stop replaying her voice.
I just never thought you'd sound like one.
The words kept carving through me. I should've told her. God… I should've told her. Not tomorrow. Not after the investigation. Not when things were safer.
That night. On my porch. I should've walked after her.
I should've grabbed her hand. I should've told her she'd somehow crawled beneath my ribs and made herself at home.
That I'd started measuring days by whether I saw her smile.
That hearing her laugh from across the clearing somehow made this mountain feel less empty.
Instead… I'd pushed her away.
Now someone else had their hands on her. The thought alone made my stomach twist so violently I thought I was going to throw up.
A knock landed against my window. Derek. I looked up. He'd already geared up. Vest. Helmet. Rifle. He studied me for a second.
"You alright?"
"No."
It came out before I could stop it. His expression softened for half a heartbeat.
"We're getting her back."
I swallowed.
"You don't know that."
"I do."
"How?"
"Cause if she's still breathing..."
He glanced toward the warehouse hidden beyond the trees.
"...you're going through every wall between here and there."
Mason climbed onto the running board.
"Location confirmed."
Every head turned.
"Abandoned timber storage facility. Blackridge boundary."
He unfolded the satellite print over the bonnet.
"There."
A finger tapped the building.
"Private access road."
Another tap.
"Loading dock."
Another.
"Secondary warehouse."
He looked at every man gathered around him.
"I've brought in fifteen from my private unit."
His eyes hardened.
"I don't trust the county."
Nobody argued. Nobody even blinked. He folded the map.
"This stays between us."
Then he looked at me.
"We bring her home."
Nobody spoke as the crates opened. Kevlar plates slid into carriers with dull, heavy thuds.
Velcro ripped through the silence. Magazines clicked home.
Slides were racked. Suppressors threaded into place.
Gloves pulled tight. Helmet straps adjusted.
Someone crossed themselves. Someone checked family photos tucked inside their vest. Someone quietly chambered a round.
The smell of CLP gun oil mixed with damp earth and diesel until the whole clearing smelled like war.
I tightened my vest until it bit into my ribs. Checked my Glock. I checked it again. Rifle. Safety. Magazine. Chamber.
Mason slowly lowered the binoculars.
"They're organised. Thirty-five visible."
Another pause.
"Rotating patrol every ten minutes."
He kept watching.
"Loading dock. East tree line...Creek."
His jaw tightened.
"I still can't see Walker."
Silence.
"Collins."
I felt something inside me snap.
"He's in there."
I already knew. I didn't need binoculars to know. If Seraphina was alive… Collins would be fucking near her.
Mason folded the binoculars.
"Three teams."
He pointed.
"Derek. North."
Then at me.
"Elias. Centre."
Finally, himself.
"I'll take south."
He looked every one of us in the eye.
"No heroes."
His gaze stopped on me. Especially me.
"We get her. We leave. I already contacted my friends; they are on the way to get the girls out of here. No unnecessary casualties."
He extended an arm above his head and made a circle in the air. Then we moved like someone had cut invisible strings.
Branches catching on vests. Boots sinking into wet moss. Every snapped twig sounded deafening. Every heartbeat is louder. Every second wondering if she's still alive.
I operated the side-door breach without waiting for the countdown.
My shoulder drove into the warped timber with every ounce of force I had, the old hinges ripping clean out of the concrete wall as the door exploded inward beneath the impact.
I stepped through the opening with my rifle already shouldered, the muzzle sweeping automatically across the room exactly the way years of tactical training had drilled into my muscle memory.
My breathing slowed. My heartbeat disappeared.
Every sound around me dulled beneath the ringing in my ears as the yellow glare from the single hanging bulb flooded my vision, and the entire warehouse collapsed into one frozen frame.
Collins.
His back was to me.
His broad frame blocked half the light, but I could still see her.
Seraphina was strapped to a heavy wooden chair, her head forced backwards at an unnatural angle while Collins' massive hand crushed around her throat.
Her face had already turned an ugly shade of purple beneath the bruises.
One eye was swollen completely shut, the other was bloodshot and desperately searching for air that simply wasn't reaching her lungs.
Blood matted her hair against the side of her face, dried streaks running down a sweater.
Her lips were blue. Her chest barely moved.
She wasn't fighting anymore. She was losing.
Something inside me snapped. There wasn't a tactical calculation. There wasn't a risk assessment. There wasn't a single coherent thought. My finger tightened around the trigger before my brain had even finished processing what my eyes were seeing.
BANG.
The rifle kicked violently against my shoulder as the shot tore through the warehouse, the crack ricocheting off the concrete walls so violently it felt like the entire building shook.
Collins let out a sharp, guttural scream as the round ripped through him, his grip disappearing from her throat as his body twisted sideways, stumbling backwards across the stained concrete.
For one fraction of a second everything seemed perfectly still... and then absolute hell erupted.
Automatic gunfire exploded from somewhere deeper inside the warehouse.
Muzzle flashes burst from behind stacks of pallets and rusted machinery, turning the darkness into rapid, blinding bursts of orange and white.
Concrete shattered around us, spraying dust and stone into the air.
Bullets punched through sheet metal with deafening cracks, ricocheting somewhere high above the rafters.
Someone screamed. Someone shouted orders.
Mason's rifle answered from somewhere to my left while Derek's team breached another entrance, the echo of overlapping gunfire turning the entire warehouse into one roaring wall of violence.
I didn't return fire.
I didn't even see the other shooters.
All I saw... was her.
My boots hammered across the concrete, each stride carrying me closer until there was nothing left between us but a few feet of bloodstained floor.
I hit her hard.
The impact drove the chair sideways, the old timber unable to withstand the combined force of my weight and momentum. It shattered beneath us with a deafening crack, legs snapping apart as we crashed into the concrete.
I barely felt it. Instinct took over before thought ever had the chance.
My body folded over hers, every inch of me wrapping around her like armour. My left arm locked behind her shoulders, forcing her head safely beneath my chin. My right arm pulled her tight against my chest while I twisted my own back toward the gunfire.
If another round came through that warehouse… It was coming through me first.
More shots erupted.
Glass burst somewhere near the boiler room. Bullets slammed into the corrugated steel wall behind us, showering us with fragments of concrete, rust and splintered timber.
I never moved.
I buried my face against her hair instead, breathing her in with an almost painful desperation. Beneath the blood, diesel, damp concrete and burnt gunpowder... she still smelled like rose and vanilla.
Home.
My arms tightened around her trembling body until I could feel the frantic rhythm of her heartbeat against my ribs.
"I've got you," I whispered, though I barely recognised my own voice. It came out cracked... broken... desperate.
"I've got you, baby. You're okay. I've got you."
She wasn't okay. The second the chair gave way beneath us she started fighting with everything she had left.
Her wrists were still tied together behind her back, the coarse rope biting deep into bruised flesh, but with the chair destroyed she finally had enough movement to struggle.
She twisted violently beneath me, trying to wrench herself free, her bound hands trapped awkwardly behind her back as she shoved against my chest with her shoulder with every ounce of strength she still possessed.
At first, I thought she was panicking. Then I realised. Her hands.
"Shit..."
Keeping my body over hers, I reached down to the sheath strapped against my vest and ripped my combat knife free. Without lifting my weight from her, I slid the blade beneath the tight coils of hemp around her wrists.
"Hold still," I muttered.
The knife sliced clean through the rope. The instant the last strand snapped, her arms flew free. I expected her to cling to me. Instead, she shoved against my chest even harder, desperately trying to push me away.
"Elias!" she screamed, her voice shredded almost beyond recognition.
"No! Get off me! Get off me!"
I only pulled her closer.
"No," I growled, my forehead pressed against hers while another burst of gunfire echoed across the warehouse.
"Stop moving. Stay down. It's almost over."
"No!" She pushed harder, panic flooding every movement.
"Elias!"
"I'm not leaving you."
"You don't understand!"
"I do."