Page 56 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

He blinked, dazed. “There was... someone. A girl?—”

“Shut up and stay here. Watch the perimeter, and for fuck's sake, find a way to wash yourself off. You stink.”

“And the other two?” another asked, apparently unfazed by the stench.

"What other two?" Stinky sausage slurred.

"The ones who came with us."

“No idea.”

They left him slumped by the porch as they moved into the house. The moment their backs were turned, I crept after them—barefoot and silent.

Webb

The door creaked open again, and two men burst in—tense, alert, and their rifles already raised and sweeping the room. They both passed us blindly, their incompetence stinking like Gabby's fishy weapons.

Eddie and I moved instinctively, our reactions perfectly in sync. He veered left, and I darted right, both of us hugging the walls as we searched for cover and angles.

Then, a third man stepped through the doorway. His movements were slower and more deliberate. There was something different about him—he didn’t storm in like the others, he assessed the room and scanned it. And when his eyes locked onto the movement—on me—his hand started to shift toward the holster at his side.

Crack!

He staggered forward, eyes wide in surprise, and then dropped like a rock. Behind him stood Gabby, pistol in hand, smoke trailing from the barrel, expression dark and calm.

“Hey, boys,” she said quietly, stepping over the body. “Hope I didn’t miss the fun.”

I just stared for a second, gauging her reaction to shooting someone, then nodded, the corner of my mouth twitching.

“Perfect timing.”

Chapter Eighteen

Webb

The last man hit the floor with a dull thud just as Gabby lowered her weapon, her expression unreadable beneath the low blue cast of Eddie’s drone monitor.

We hadn’t planned it—hadn’t even exchanged a glance—but somehow, we’d worked in perfect tandem to take them down. Gabby had dropped the first guy with a sharp, clean shot to the shoulder. The other two hadn’t even had time to react properly.

She'd kept them off balance with calculated shots that cracked over their heads or struck just close enough to make them flinch while one of us moved in to finish it. A strike, a hit, and a takedown. It wasn’t rehearsed, but it was effective and fast.

Eddie was already grabbing zip ties from the emergency gear crate in the corner, so I bent and hauled one of the guys onto his stomach, yanking his arms back and locking them tight behind him with a practiced tug. He groaned but didn’t fully wake up.

Gabby kept her pistol raised, covering us as we worked. Her hands were steady, eyes sharp, sweeping from one window to the next as we secured each intruder in turn.

“Three inside,” Eddie confirmed, his voice low. “The raccoon guy’s still outside but barely moving.”

“We’ll bring him in.” I hoisted the second guy and dragged him toward the far wall.

“Should we even bother?” Gabby asked, following me. “He already met the business end of expired seafood and angry trash pandas.”

“We want them all together,” I pointed out. “They're easier to control that way.”

Eddie headed for the door. “I’ll grab our fish-scented friend.”

While he was outside, I knelt to check each guy again to make sure they were still alive and also disarm them. Their pulses were steady, and they were all breathing just fine. They were armed to the teeth—guns, extra magazines, and one of them even had a switchblade strapped to his ankle. Everything about them screamed professional muscle. There were no identifying marks. No badges. No insignias. Just a quiet, calculated readiness that made it clear they weren’t here by accident. This wasn’t law enforcement or amateurs, these men were brought in for one reason only—force.

“Check their pockets,” I told Gabby as I finished tying the last one’s ankles.

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