Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78745 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
We split into our teams. Dean, Riggs, and Asher slip around the north side, heading for the main entrance. Gunner and I duck behind a stack of shipping pallets by the west side fence. Maverick is tucked somewhere overhead, vantage unknown, but I can hear the faint hum of a small drone he’s guiding. My heart pounds relentlessly, adrenaline surging.
Through a gap in the fence, I spot a lone guard patrolling by a side door. He’s armed with what looks like an AK, strolling with a bored slump. Gunner locks eyes with me, nods. We creep around, hugging the wall. The guard stops, checks his phone, and in that second, Gunner lunges. A swift elbow to the neck, gun pressed to the guard’s temple, muffling any scream. The guard slumps as I knock him out with the butt of the gun. We drag him behind a dumpster, zip-tying his hands. I sweep the area—clear for now.
“Maverick, one guard down at west side,” I whisper into my mic. “Moving in.”
“Copy,” comes his hushed reply. “Dean’s about to breach front entrance. Wait for his go.”
We flatten ourselves against the warehouse’s corrugated metal wall. My grip on the rifle tightens, my palms sweating inside my gloves. A dull roar of voices filters through the structure, men laughing, cursing in Russian. The sweet tang of success is overshadowed by the sour taste of dread—Briar’s so close, but still far from safe.
The comm crackles. “Breach on three. Three… two… one.” Dean’s voice signals over the channel. Then an explosion of noise erupts from the front—shouting, gunfire, the clang of metal. They’ve made contact.
“That’s our cue,” Gunner hisses. We shove open the side door. It groans on rusty hinges, revealing a dimly lit corridor stacked with crates. My heart leaps into my throat.
We move fast, rifles up, scanning every corner. The staccato of bullets rattles somewhere deeper in the building. Muffled shouts. We step over a toppled box of ammo, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. Two men appear at the far end of the corridor, weapons raised. Gunner drops to one knee, firing a short burst. One man goes down, the other dives behind a crate. I press myself against the wall, inch closer, and lob a flashbang around the corner.
Bang! The hallway glows white for an instant, and the man stumbles out, disoriented. I close the gap, butt of my rifle slamming into his shoulder. He crumples, and Gunner strips him of his weapon.
We push on. My ears ring, my senses hyper-focused. “Maverick,” I rasp out, “any sign of Briar?”
“Check the north corner, enclosed area,” he responds, panting. “Dean’s team is pinned down near the front. Hurry.”
Gunner and I hurry toward the north corner, passing a row of dusty windows. Sudden gunfire erupts behind us—a guard tries to flank, bullet ricochets whining overhead. Gunner returns fire, forcing the guard to duck for cover. We press ourselves behind a support column.
I grit my teeth, chest heaving. Focus on Briar. I peer around the column, catch a glimpse of the guard’s arm. Another short burst from my rifle, and the threat goes silent. My pulse roars like thunder in my ears.
“Let’s move,” Gunner mutters, reloading. We navigate a maze of crates, following Maverick’s direction. The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of gunpowder, stinging my eyes. A doorway appears at the end of the passage, blocked by a makeshift barrier of wooden pallets. Light flickers from beyond.
I throw my shoulder into the pallets, shoving them aside. My mind screams Briar with every heartbeat. The door behind them is unlocked, just a cheap metal latch. I kick it open.
Inside is a small, partitioned area—a miniature prison cell made of plywood and corrugated metal. Dim lights hang from overhead cords. And there, in a cage-like enclosure, I see her: Briar, huddled on the floor, hair disheveled, face etched with exhaustion. Relief floods me like a tidal wave.
But there’s no time to savor it—Heath stands guard, weapon in hand. The second we crash in, he whips around, eyes wild. “Don’t move!” he yells, swinging the gun up.
I don’t hesitate. A single shot cracks from my rifle, catching him in the arm. He reels, dropping his gun with a yelp of pain, collapsing to the floor. Gunner keeps his rifle trained on him, ready if he tries anything else.
My feet slam against the concrete as I cross the distance to Briar. She flinches, eyes blinking in confusion. “Orion?” she croaks, voice shaking.
I tear at the lock on the enclosure, forcing it open. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe,” I gasp, arms wrapping around her. She’s trembling, cold, and thin from days of captivity. Guilt stabs me for not finding her sooner, but relief eclipses everything else. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here.”
Beyond the partition, more gunfire pops, echoing through the warehouse. Gunner curses into his comm, signaling we’ve retrieved Briar. We still need Chester, my brain reminds me, scanning the room. In a smaller cage near the back, the green shape of a parrot shuffles. That must be Chester, ruffling his wings in distress.