Page 19 of Tank

I crack my knuckles, the sound like gunshots in the stillness. "Let's bring the pain, boys."

I'm about to signal the assault when a flicker of movement catches my eye. It's Sophie, slipping out of the shadows near our surveillance van, her delicate frame trembling slightly as she approaches. Goddamn it, what's she doing here?

"Tank, wait!" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but the desperation in her tone stops me cold. "Let me help. I know how these bastards operate."

Conflict rages within me, the primal need to protect Sophie warring with the knowledge that her intel could be the key to saving those kids. I can't risk her falling back into their clutches, can't bear the thought of her suffering even more.

"Sophie..." I start, but she cuts me off, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination that takes my breath away.

"I'm not some fragile doll, Tank. I survived their hell. Let me help end it."

Seconds feel like hours as I weigh the risks, my heart pounding against my ribs. I know firsthand the strength that lies beneath Sophie's scars, but the thought of exposing her to even a shred of danger twists my gut into knots.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. I meet her gaze, my voice low and urgent. "You stay in thevan, understand? Guide us through the headset. But if shit goes sideways, you get the hell out. No exceptions."

Sophie nods, relief and gratitude shining in her eyes. "I'll be your eyes and ears, Tank. Promise."

I cup her face gently, my thumb brushing over the delicate curve of her cheekbone. In this moment, the depth of my feelings for her threatens to consume me, a tidal wave of protectiveness and longing.

"Stay safe, little one," I whisper, pressing a feather-light kiss to her forehead. "I can't lose you."

With a final squeeze of her hand, I watch as Sophie slips back into the van, her presence a comforting weight in my ear as she adjusts the headset.

I turn back to my brothers, the fire of vengeance reigniting in my veins. "Let's do this. For the kids. For every innocent soul those fuckers have destroyed."

We move as one, a well-oiled machine fueled by righteous fury. The bar door looms before us, a gateway to the belly of the beast.

I take a deep breath, centering myself in the calm before the storm. "No mercy," I growl, my voice a lethal promise.

And with a final nod, we breach the threshold, ready to rain down hell on earth.

The stench of stale beer and desperation assaults my nostrils as we step into the dimly lit cesspool. Smoke curls in lazy tendrils, a hazy veil obscuring the faces of the bar's patrons. But I don't need to see them clearly to know they're the dregs of society, the kind of scum that makes my trigger finger itch.

I scan the room, my eyes adjusting to the shadows that dance across the walls like twisted ballerinas. The air is thick, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken sins. It's the kind of place where hope comes to die, where the lost and the damnedcongregate to drown their sorrows in cheap whiskey and cheaper company.

"Eyes sharp," I mutter into the headset, my voice barely audible over the din of clinking glasses and slurred conversations. "We're looking for any sign of the traffickers."

Sophie's voice crackles in my ear, a lifeline in this den of iniquity. "Copy that, Tank. I've got a clear view of the entrance from here."

I nod, even though she can't see me. It's a small comfort, knowing she's watching our backs.

We move through the bar like wraiths, our presence barely registering on the radar of the drunken patrons. But I can feel the tension coiling in the pit of my stomach, a snake ready to strike at the first sign of trouble.

As we approach the back of the room, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A group of men huddled in the corner, their heads bowed in hushed conversation. Something about their body language sets off alarm bells in my head, a sixth sense honed by years of living on the razor's edge.

I signal to my brothers, a silent command to fan out and cover the exits. We move with practiced precision, a well-choreographed dance of danger and defiance.

"Tank, I've got a visual on the target," Sophie's voice cuts through the static. "He's the one with the snake tattoo on his neck."

I zero in on the man in question, my heart hammering against my rib cage. This is it, the moment we've been waiting for. The chance to strike a blow against the monsters who prey on the innocent.

But before I can make a move, the man's eyes lock with mine across the room. Recognition flares in his gaze, followed by a flash of pure, unadulterated fear.

"Shit," I growl, my hand already reaching for my weapon. "We've been made."

All hell breaks loose as the traffickers scatter like cockroaches, their survival instincts kicking into high gear. Gunshots ring out, the sound reverberating through the bar like a macabre symphony.

I lunge forward, my body moving on pure instinct as I close the distance between myself and the snake-tattooed bastard. He's fast, but I'm faster, fueled by a righteous anger that burns hotter than the sun.

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