Chapter Thirty-One
T he team of six men, a combination of Genesis and Erebus, converged on the residence that stood in the older part of Los Angeles.
It hadn’t taken Crow long to get the information out of one man. He had had to kill three of them before the fourth one talked, but nobody could deny his method worked.
Snick, snick.
Crow took out the two guards at the door and moved into the house with Rip at his side. Wrath secured the entrance while Rogue followed them into the belly of the home.
Winter and Rip had taken the back of the house and would enter from there.
A dead body lay in the small entryway and fear punched into Crow.
The body was obviously a guard, but he wasn’t sure why the man was dead and that was worrying.
Had Rebel killed the guard?
If so, then that meant that Rebel was already gone.
Damn it! Crow pressed his earpiece.
“Be careful. Rebel might be on the loose and he doesn’t know you guys.”
“I met him at the ranch.” Winter reminded him.
“He knows me and Wrath,” Rogue whispered at his side, jogging his memory.
Fuck, he needed to get his head in the game, he’d completely forgotten that Rogue and Wrath had saved Rebel.
He chalked it up to the pounding headache that wasn’t helping with clarity.
Before Crow could continue and caution them to identify themselves to Rebel, Winter’s voice came over the comms again.
“One body in the kitchen.”
“There’s a body in the entryway,” Rogue said, using the comms.
They reached a den that sat off to one side and Crow found two more dead men.
Yup, Crow would bet money Rebel had somehow gotten loose and had made his way out of here.
“With so many bodies, Rebel may not even be there,” Stone’s voice came through the comms.
“Let’s double-check the place and then regroup,” Crow said, turning toward the long hallway.
Rip materialized from the rear of the house and moved into the hallway. The three of them, Crow, Rip, and Rogue, split up to check each room.
Following Stone had been easy since Azrael had hacked into Dave’s system. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, but because Azrael lived there and had for a while, he’d overheard things…like passwords and procedures.
Azrael tucked his phone away when they reached the residence that sat in a rundown part of town at the edge of L.A.
“You think Rebel’s in there?” Boston whispered.
“I’d bet money. Just be careful. If Rip catches you, then there will be hell to pay.”
“He won’t catch me,” Boston scowled and then pulled down his hoodie to cover his face and positioned the mouth and eye holes so he could see and breathe.
Azrael huffed quietly and did the same with his mask. He had brought his knives strapped to each thigh and also had a handgun tucked into an ankle holster, but he preferred knives over anything else.
Boston, on the other hand, preferred guns. Oh, the kid was good at knives too, but felt more comfortable holding the nine-millimeter with the suppressor twisted on the end.
They had to be smart about this and Azrael went to the back of the house. He found the rear door open. Beyond the door lay two bodies. Dead men dressed in dark suits. Lincoln’s guards, no doubt, and he wondered who’d killed them.
“You two are fucking trouble,” Rip growled from right next to them.
Boston yelled a quick sound and leaped.
Rip caught the boy around the waist and clamped him to his side.
The former soldier wasn’t letting Boston go anytime soon. Azrael had heard the talk about Rip. Dave said that Rip had served in the Marines from the age of eighteen to thirty-two. That meant Rip had served almost fourteen years.
Those years had turned Rip into a Marine Raider. And now a lethal military assassin for the current SecDef. But the bottom line was that…Rip was considered a ghost.
Azrael had had to ask Dave about that one. Ghosts were members of a Specialized Tactics unit within the Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC). The JSOC included the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines.
Watching Rip subdue Boston without any trouble brought home the skills of the man.
Rip was big with a lot of muscle and reminded Azrael of Real. Just thinking of Real had him glancing around. If Real knew he was here, what would he do?
Probably throw a fit.
But Azrael no longer cared about what Real thought or did. He was through with the big sexy soldier.
Real wanted distance between them and Azrael had given it.
“Release me,” Boston hissed up at Rip.
“Give me your word you won’t run,” Rip demanded.
“I won’t.”
“You better not be lying to me.”
“I’m not.”
Reluctantly, Rip released his hold on Boston and the boy sprang away, glaring at the big soldier.
“Where’s Rebel?” Azrael asked, trying to defuse the blow-up Boston was just about ready to let fly.
“We don’t know yet.” Rip sighed and gestured to the open door with his gun. “You two stay here.”
“We know what we’re doing!” Boston’s whisper was harsh.
“Yeah, but I have the bulletproof vest on, so stay here until I get back,” Rip said.
It was a valid point and Azrael pulled Boston and put him behind him.
“Let him do his thing,” Azrael murmured, his eyes on Rip.
Rip turned away and stepped through the open back door.
Azrael didn’t work with teams very often, but found them fascinating. If things had worked out with Real, he had imagined himself being part of a team.
But Real had other ideas and Azrael was tired of waiting.
He had a life to live.
Boston made a choking sound and Azrael sighed and spun around to the teenager.
He intended to coax Boston into giving the team time, but that never happened.
A man stood with Boston’s hair in a fisted grip, gripping the strands tightly to keep the teenager still.
The guy had somehow disarmed Boston, because the knife Azrael had lent the teen was laying on the ground.
“Rip,” Azrael said without turning around, but Rip was already at his side.
Rip pointed his nine-millimeter right at the guy, but the man ducked farther behind Boston’s head.
They were at a standoff.
“You won’t get away with this,” Rip told the guy.
“Try me. I’ll kill this one and you’ll kill me and what will that accomplish?”
“Lincoln, I assume.”
“That’s right. So, send your boy there into the house to get me Rebel and I’ll trade this one for him,” Jimmy Lincoln said.
Rip slightly jerked his chin at Azrael.
The situation clicked over in Azrael’s head. How much bigger Jimmy Lincoln was than Boston, of the expansive backyard behind the man holding his friend as a bargaining chip. The weapon in Lincoln’s fist was pressed against the side of Boston’s head. Lastly, Boston’s eyes.
His friend was pissed, but behind the anger, Azrael saw fear.
And Boston’s fear made his decision easy.
Azrael spun around and disappeared into the house.