Page 230 of Inferno

“All units on standby,” Enzo calls out. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves an ambush. Vehicles incoming in multiple directions. You’ve got five minutes. Get ready.”

His words send an icy bolt through my spine.

“Copy,” I respond, voice grim.

“Fuck yeah, let’s get this party started,” Conan whoops in the background, the anticipation getting to him.

“Ignore my brother,” Finn mutters dryly. “He gets a little trigger-happy.”

I turn to Charlotte and slide my hands slowly up her tattooed arm, feeling the tension beneath her skin, the fire simmering just under the surface.

“Come on, heartbreaker. It’s time.”

She slides on her jacket and zips it up; it’s almost distracting, pinching her in at the waist.

“What’s he done?” she asks, biting her lip as her fingers hover over the butt of her pistol.

“Just a few of his men approaching. Nothing we can’t handle. We stick to the plan and get inside the warehouse.”

“Drago?” she asks again, quieter this time.

I shake my head. Her sigh is heavy and full of things she won’t say out loud.

“We got this, baby. It'll be over soon.” I lean in and press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, one I don’t want to end, but know it has to.

Three words are on the tip of my tongue, pressing hard against the back of my teeth. But I swallow them down. She deserves to hear them when we’ve both made it out alive. When we’re free.

I step out of the car. The cold air slaps me in the face, sharp and biting. The world around us stills, it’s almost unnaturally quiet.

Straightening my suit jacket, I adjust the vest strapped to my chest, already itching to rip the damn thing off. Rounding the vehicle, I open her door and offer my hand. Her palm slides into mine. She laces our fingers together, grounding us both.

“Ready?” I ask.

She nods once, jaw tight as she looks up at the hulking steel structure before us.

“Yep,” she replies, her voice strong despite the nerves dancing in her eyes. She lifts her chin defiantly.

Gunshots echo in the distance, and we pause.

“Ten armed, east side. We’ve got it covered,” a Russian voice crackles through the comms.

“About the same approaching from the north,” Enzo confirms.

Let’s hope these fuckers are as incompetent as Charlotte says. Mikhail’s men are savages. So are mine.

I reach for the black wooden door, fingers curling around the cold metal handle, and push it open. The scent of aging wood and grease hits me, rising from crates stacked like barricades to the ceiling.

“Damn,” Charlotte mutters, scanning the rows. “What the hell are we storing here?”

“Guns and drugs, probably,” I reply, sliding my hand inside my trench coat and pulling on the brass knuckles that have been itching to taste blood.

She lets go of my hand, and I hate it.

“We’re sitting ducks here, Declan. I don’t like it.” Her voice is low, but her steps are measured as she starts pacing the aisle, her gaze scanning for weak points.

“They confirmed it’s just one exit, right?” she calls.

“One way in. One way out.”

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