Page 103 of Filthy Little Fix
"Suppressive fire!" I exclaim, firing short bursts in their direction, forcing them to duck, but it's a stalemate. For every second we shoot, they answer with twice the fire. We're wasting ammo we don't have.
"Sir, we don't have a clean route!" Luca says beside me, tense. He keeps a protective arm in front of Nyx.
I look at the distance. Twenty meters. We could try a desperate run, but it would be suicide. We'd lose at least one man. Maybe more. Maybe the boy. I can't risk that. I need a plan, but there's no clear path that isn't pinned down, raining bullets.
I see something move. Peripheral vision. A low, fast blur.
Nyx.
He slides away from Luca's protection, crawling low and fast towards a dusty logistics terminal propped against the wall. The computer screen is dark.
"Nyx!" Luca hisses at him. "Get the fuck back here!"
He doesn't obey. His bruised hands fly over the keyboard as he peeks over his shoulder once. Luca covers his back, and the screen flickers, coming to life. Lines of code appear and disappear faster than I can read.
I move to cover him. I can't lose him here.
"Nyx!" I yell, hoping that if he won't obey Luca, he'll obeyme, but my voice is muffled by the Malakovs' gunfire.
Suddenly, a metallic grinding noise. It comes from above. An industrial crane, a monster of steel that had been dormant above our heads. It starts to move. A hook the size of a car descends. It moves sideways, dragging a multi-ton shipping container.
The shooting stops. The Malakovs look up, at the source of the noise, and the container sways.
It drops.
The container sweeps through the exact area where most of the guards were taking cover.
The sound is bony, syrupy, and it echoes. Wine-red blood spreads from under the dust. The remaining guards scatter, shooting at the ceiling. Their line of defense has been obliterated.
The path to the loading dock is clear.
I look from the chaos of the swinging container to the terminal. Nyx is looking at me. There's a small, triumphant smile on his bloodied lips.
Of course.
It's Nyx.
I had forgotten, for a moment. Seeing him so vulnerable messed with what I already knew about him. I tried to keep him hidden to protect him, but he saw the tactical problem, found a solution I would have never conceived, and executed it in under thirty seconds.
I had forgotten. Nyx is the fucking deadliest weapon I have.
"Now!" I order my team. "To the dock!"
I run to Nyx myself, grab him by the arm, pulling him from the terminal.
We leave behind a trail of crushed bodies and a blood-stained container.
The alarm sound echoes throughout the warehouse, a piercing siren that mixes with the sporadic shots from the Malakovs.
Loading Dock 3 is ahead of us—a large, corrugated metal door. Luca doesn't wait for my order. He raises the breaching shotgun and fires twice at the lock, blowing the mechanism apart.
With a kick, I open the door. A black armored SUV skids in front of us, kicking up a cloud of dust. The containment team. Perfect timing.
"Get in!" I order, pushing Nyx towards the open vehicle door. Luca helps him up. Yury and Abram arrive right behind, throwing a terrified Sal onto the car floor like a sack of trash.
I'm the last one in. Luca slams the armored door shut.
Inside the SUV, there is silence. The blood still covers my hands, my face, my clothes. The car accelerates. It skids down the street at top speed.
