Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82036 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Eagle-eye raises his right fist in the air, signaling a stop. There's a harbor to our right, which is dark and empty, and where we're parking our bikes. Walking is for peasants, but it won't be much of a surprise if the fuckers hear us coming. It's all right. Walking makes me angry.
Fifteen minutes later, we're using a fence for cover while Viking, Wild Child and Quickshot are out scouting. Giordano's limo's parked in front of the warehouse. The time stamp on his last message is five minutes ago. We give him five more before we start infiltration.
If anyone ever wondered about Viking's time in the military, the way he soundlessly takes out one of the front door guards makes it obvious. Quick, silent and efficient, and then the body's dragged out of sight. Wild Child does the same on the other side. Not as clean, not quite as quiet, but he does the job. Finally, we start making our way into the warehouse. About fucking time. This bear's about to do some raging.
———
I'm surprised we get as far as we get before the shit hits the fan, to be honest.
“This place is a fucking maze,” hisses Snark from behind me. We're sneaking down a corridor, coming up on an intersection. Straining my ears, I listen for footsteps, or talking, or anything else that might warn me of anyone around the corner. Nothing.
At least not until I come around it and run right into two goons in whispered conversation. The closest one, I grab by the neck and slam into the wall. He crunches when he hits it, and when I let go, he slides to the floor like a sack of potatoes. The other guy, though, jumps back and pulls his weapon. He aims it right at me.
Fuck.
There's a bang that echoes through the whole warehouse, bouncing off the walls in a never-ending echo. I jump like the bullet comes for me, but Hawk was faster. The goon's forehead splatters with red as his head snaps back. The power of the shot launches him backwards, where he strikes the wall with a heavy thump. He drops to the ground and lies still in a strange, twisted shape.
Well, there goes the element of surprise.
I've kind of been looking forward to it, to be honest.
Almost immediately, another gunshot rings out, too far away to be one of us. “Fuck! Giordano? What about Alessa?” I start to run, but Viking and Hawk hold me back.
“This isn't the time for going solo. We attack as a squad,” roars Viking, and pulls his gun from his belt.
“Fuck, I'd rather break heads the old fashioned way.” I crack my knuckles.
“These guys aren't going to wait for you to get close, Bear.” Snark yanks his piece from his belt and jumps past me. “Let's go.”
“I know. Fucking ruining a good time is what that is.” I draw mine too, and then we're charging through the corridors, looking for our girl.
We burst out into an open area. Crates and crates of who knows what are stacked up on the warehouse floor in rows, but the level we're at is raised above them, giving us a bit of a view.
And exposes us.
“Get down!”
A moment later, assault rifle fire sprays down the wall that we were standing in front of.
“Here!” Viking rolls, dropping down on the other side of the platform. We follow. Hawk hisses when a bullet grazes his leg, but he's right there with us.
“You okay?”
He looks at me, his jaw tight and his black eyes hard. “Of course I'm fucking okay. Just one more hole for the collection. Keep going.”
A full scale battle breaks out as the rest of the club catches up and finds cover. The ratata of full auto rifle fire is punctuated by the boom of high caliber handguns. Just across from us, Ripper is firing that hand cannon of his, making someone scream at the other end. Blade swings himself on top of the crates, and runs over the top, all hunched over like he’s in a video game. His arm snaps so quickly you can barely see it, and someone cries out. Knowing how accurate he can be with those knives, I just assume that’s one less person aiming at our guys tonight.
Still, there are a lot of screams I can't identify, and I hope every single fucking one is one of theirs. We're good, but we're not bulletproof, much as we like to think so.
“Over there.” Snark points at a central structure, like a command center for the warehouse. A spiral staircase leads up to a platform in front of it, and on top, there's several men setting up something. One of them, who wrenches off his black suit jacket and throws it aside, is too fucking familiar.
Dario.
“Above!” I yell, just as Dario lifts something into a mount on the railing with the help of one of the others.