Page 78 of Tank
Chapter Forty-One
Tank
Ricky and I crouch low behind a rust-bitten dumpster, the neon-red glow of Club Sin bleeding across the parking lot like fresh arterial spray. The smell of oil, cigarettes, and old urine clings to the air. My stomach’s a slab of stone, heavy and unmovable. I’ve been in war zones less tense than this, but I’ve never had this much to lose. Bianca’s in there. Vanessa’s in there. I know exactly what Victor plans to do if we don’t get to them first.
“They’ve got more firepower. More men,” Ricky whispers. His voice is shaking as much as his hands.
“They’ve got Bianca,” I retort. “They’ve got Vanessa. I don’t give a fuck how many men they’ve got.”
Ricky swallows hard. I see his eyes flick toward the club like the war inside him is even bigger than the one we’re about to rush into. He’s clean now, but I know he’s worried this fight will drag him back into a world he barely escaped.
“They know we’re coming,” he says. “A guy like Victor, he’s always one step ahead.”
It's the same thought that’s been circling in my head all night. I keep my face steady and remind myself that doubting our chances means doubting the girls’ survival, and that’s not an option I’m willing to consider.
“That’s why we hit them fast,” I say. “We hit them first.”
I open my bag and show him the explosives — three small breaching charges, one for the front door, one for the side, and one I’m saving for special circumstances. Though I never was a boy scout, but I always like to be prepared. I also like bombs. They’re almost as good as sticky buns. I look at Ricky and see the fear in his eyes, and I know he’s thinking of the ways this could go south. Ways I don’t have time to think about.
“What’s the plan?” he asks.
I nod toward the club, trying not to picture the worst. “I blow the doors. Side entrance blows ten seconds later. That’s the distraction. We go in hot, center mass, and don’t stop until we’ve got the girls or we’re bleeding out beside them.”
“That’s it?” His voice wavers, but there’s a fierceness underneath that tells me he’s ready.
I look him dead in the eyes. “They’re in there. We’re out here. That’s all that fucking matters.”
I get to work with the muscle memory of a soldier who’s cheated death more times than he can count. The charges are set within seconds, each one precisely placed with hands that won’t fail the women depending on them. My gut clenches with the anticipation that only comes before an explosion or a reckoning. The charges breathe fire and the front doors of Club Sin explode inward like God himself has kicked them. My ears ring with the blast, adrenaline sluicing through my veins. The two of us move fast — muzzles sweeping, triggers hot.
Gunfire erupts from all sides. Bullets rip the air.
Ricky takes out two near the entrance. His face is grim, eyes alive with the reckless hunger of someone with nothing left to lose. I paint the back wall with the blood of a third. A man comes from my blind side — I pivot, drive a combat knife through his throat, yank it out like pulling a cork, sending a stream of pinot-red blood spraying through the air like a fountain on full blast. It’s fucking beautiful.
It’s chaos. Screams echo off the concrete walls. Smoke billows through the room in thick, suffocating plumes. Fire alarms shriek like dying birds, a high-pitched wail that ratchets up the madness. The thump of bass from the club’s sound system still plays under it all like a goddamn funeral drum. It’s the soundtrack to hell, a pounding requiem for a massacre.
Bodies pile up like dirty laundry. I don’t count. I only aim and fire. Move and kill.
But for every bastard I put down, three more take his place. They’re better armed than I thought, better trained than any normal crew of street soldiers. Shotguns, submachine guns, body armor. Victor planned for this — that snake knew that there was a chance, however small, that his hit squad wouldn't succeed. He knew we’d come for the girls, and he’s ready to wipe us out. My breath burns in my throat as I imagine Bianca caught in the crossfire.
I hear Ricky scream my name. I see him dive behind a bar, blood running down his arm like a crimson sleeve. Oh fuck, that’s his other arm. He’s wounded in both arms now, and I can’t tell if he’s smart or just plain lucky to still be alive.
We’re surrounded. We’re trapped.
And I still haven’t seen Bianca.
Then, suddenly, from the midst of chaos, a spotlight flicks on.
Smoke swirls beneath it like a sinister mist, revealing the figure controlling this nightmare. Victor Moretti steps out onto the main stage of the strip club. The bastard is center spotlight, calm and composed, standing like a king of filth and corruption. In his grip is Bianca, held as a human shield with a gun pressed cruelly to her head, the barrel biting into her black hair like a viper’s tooth. My hands freeze, my breath catches. I’ve been in firefights. I’ve been surrounded.
But I’ve never, ever been this close to losing everything.
Bianca’s face is bruised, but not broken. Her eyes are sharp, and they find mine across the smoke and madness. Furious, betrayed, terrified, hopeful. I feel it like a blade to my gut. My worst fear is right here, playing out in front of me, and I can’t look away.
“You want her?” Victor grins down at me. “Come get her. But know this — your little stripper friend in the back? I just gave her a hot dose. Real strong. Unless you want her to stop breathing in the next five minutes, you’ll put your guns down.”
Ricky stiffens next to me. I hear the shock catch in his throat.
“Vanessa’s dying?”
