Thirty-Two
The road north narrowed until it barely deserved the name.
Ice drove with both hands locked on the wheel, guiding the truck through drifting snow and broken switchbacks that climbed steadily toward the ridge line Devon had marked on the map. The headlights stayed dark; only the dim glow of the dash lit the interior of the cab.
Outside, the mountains closed in, ancient and watchful. Tall pines and jagged rock pressed tight, swallowing sound and distance until the world shrank to the narrow, shifting beam of the storm—a tunnel of white, hiding everything but the next breath.
Justin watched the terrain slide past through the windshield, every twist of the mountain road winding his nerves tighter. The landscape wasn’t just scenery—it was a predator, waiting for someone to blink first.
Every curve was an ambush. Every shadow threatened a muzzle flash. The road was a gauntlet—each turn hiding the possibility of sudden violence.
Behind them, Gucci’s vehicle followed at a careful distance.
Inside the truck, silence pressed in for nearly twenty minutes, thick with everything unsaid—fear, anticipation, the ghosts of what waited ahead.
Ice finally broke it. “So.”
Justin didn’t look at him. “So.”
Ice nodded toward the mountains. “You think Pierce knows we’re coming?”
“Yes.”
“Is that good?”
Justin considered it. “Yes.”
Ice raised an eyebrow. “That’s not the answer I expected.”
“It’s the correct one.” If Pierce knew they were coming, he’d already chosen a side—and Pierce never drew lines in the snow without a reason. To be counted as an ally by a man like that was both an invitation and a warning.
The truck rounded another bend.
Anya shifted slightly in the back seat. She had been silent since they left the wrecked convoy behind.
Justin could feel her stare burning in the mirror—watching, calculating, weighing every move the way she’d studied the tunnel, the way she’d watched him bleed on the ridge. Trust, here, was a razor’s edge.
Ice slowed suddenly. “Hold.”
Justin’s hand moved to the rifle automatically. “What.”
Ice pointed ahead.
Through the storm, a faint shape sat across the road. Vehicle. Parked sideways. Engine off.
Justin opened the door before the truck had fully stopped. Cold air punched him in the chest, sharp and electric, snapping him to full alert.
Gucci’s headlights cut briefly across the scene before she killed them too.
Justin stepped into the snow.
The parked vehicle resolved slowly in the drifting white. Black SUV. One of Sokolov’s.
Ice joined him. “Well?”
Justin moved closer.
The driver’s door hung open.
Inside the cab, a man slumped over the wheel. Dead. One bullet—clean, clinical, the kind of kill that left no room for questions. Pierce’s signature.
Ice peered in. “That’s becoming a pattern.”
Justin nodded. “Yes.”
Anya approached from behind them. She studied the scene without speaking.
Justin moved around the SUV slowly.
The rear doors stood open. No cargo. No equipment. Just an empty transport shell. Which meant this vehicle had not been part of the convoy. It had been part of the perimeter.
Ice crouched beside the body. “You think Pierce did this?”
Justin didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he examined the snow. Boot prints circled the vehicle. One set. One man. Moving fast. Efficient. No hesitation.
“Yes,” Justin said finally.
Anya’s voice came quiet behind him. “How long ago?”
Justin checked the blood. Still dark. Still warm beneath the falling snow. “Thirty minutes.”
Ice stood. “That puts him way ahead of us.”
Justin looked toward the ridgeline above the road. Yes. Exactly where Pierce would go. Up. Not through. Up.
“Perimeter scout,” Justin said.
Ice nodded. “So Pierce is cutting the outer security.”
“Yes.”
Gucci approached from the second vehicle. “That means we’re close.”
Justin looked toward the mountains ahead.
Somewhere beyond the next ridge. Beyond the storm. Beyond the perimeter. Sokolov waited.
The realization settled heavily in his chest. “We are.”
Anya stepped past them and walked to the edge of the road. Her gaze lifted toward the ridge above.
Justin followed the direction of her eyes. There. Barely visible through the snow. A faint dark smear across the rock face.
Ice squinted. “What am I looking at?”
Justin felt the answer immediately. “Rope.”
Anya nodded. “Climbing line.”
Ice’s eyebrows climbed. “You’re kidding.”
Justin shook his head. “No.”
Pierce had not simply moved through the perimeter.
He had gone over it. Straight up the mountain. Because the road would be watched. The slopes would be mined. But the vertical face above the security corridor? That required imagination.
Ice whistled. “That man is insane.”
Justin studied the line again. Not insanity. Precision.
Pierce had chosen the one approach Sokolov’s hunters would dismiss as impossible. Which meant Pierce was already inside the outer defensive ring.
Ice scratched his jaw. “So what’s the plan?”
Justin turned toward the ridge. “We follow.”
Gucci frowned. “Up there?”
“Yes.”
Ice laughed softly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Justin glanced back at Anya. “You good with climbing?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I was trained in worse places.”
Ice grinned. “Fantastic.”
They moved quickly.
Charlie Team secured the abandoned SUV and stripped anything useful from the interior before dragging the body into the trees. No need to advertise Pierce’s work. Or their presence.
Ten minutes later, they stood at the base of the rock wall. The climbing line swayed slightly in the wind.
Ice tugged on it experimentally. “Solid.”
Justin adjusted the sling of his rifle. “I’ll go first.”
Ice shook his head. “Not with that shoulder.”
Justin opened his mouth.
Ice cut him off. “I’ve got the best grip strength on the team and both shoulders still work.” He clipped his harness into the rope. “Try not to get jealous.”
Justin stepped aside.
Ice climbed. Fast. Confident. Within seconds, he vanished into the swirling snow above.
Frosty followed next.
Then Justin. The climb burned. Every pull wrenched his wound, pain flaring like fire beneath the bandage, each movement a test of will beneath the storm’s cold judgment. He ignored it.
Behind him, the rope shifted—light, controlled. Anya.
He didn’t need to look to know exactly where she was on the line. How far. How steady.
She climbed like she did everything else. Efficient. Precise. No wasted movement. No hesitation.
The rope tightened once as he pulled himself up another ledge. A half-second later, it steadied. Matching him. Adjusting for him.
Justin exhaled slowly, more aware of that than he should have been. Of her. Of the fact that if his grip failed, if the muscle in his back gave out for even a second…she’d catch the line.
Not because it was protocol. Because it was her.
The thought settled somewhere deeper than it should have.
He shifted his weight, ignoring the flare of pain, and reached higher. The rope held steady beneath him. Of course it did.
The storm helped. Snow clung to the rock face, dulling the surface enough to give his boots traction.
When he reached the top, Ice grabbed his arm and hauled him over the edge.
The ridge above looked different from the road.
Higher. Colder. And marked by signs of recent violence. Justin saw them immediately.
Two bodies lay half-buried in the snow near a cluster of rocks. Hunters. Both dead.
Ice crouched beside one. “Well.”
Justin looked at the wounds. Knife work—fast, brutal, so close you could feel the killer’s breath. No gunfire. No noise. Just death, delivered like a signature in the snow.
Anya climbed up beside them. Her gaze moved across the ridge. Following the trail.
Justin saw the moment she realized the same thing he had. Pierce hadn’t slowed. He had accelerated. Because the next line of defense would be ahead. Not behind.
Ice stood and brushed snow from his gloves. “So where’s the party?”
Justin looked toward the far end of the ridge. Through the storm, the faint outline of something artificial cut across the mountain slope. A fence. High. Reinforced. Lit by dim security lamps struggling through the snow.
Sokolov’s compound.
Ice let out a slow breath. “Well.”
Justin felt the weight of the moment settle in his chest. They had crossed the outer perimeter.
Pierce had crossed it first. Which meant the real fight was about to begin.
Justin turned toward the team. “We move quiet from here.”
Ice nodded. “Finally.”
Anya’s voice came low beside him. “He’s already inside.”
Justin followed her gaze toward the distant fence line. “Yes.”
Which meant one of two things had already happened. Pierce had slipped through unseen. Or the hunters inside the compound had already started dying.
Justin adjusted his rifle and began moving along the ridge toward the lights below.
Because whichever answer waited ahead, they were about to walk straight into it.