Page 112 of Reaper
“And Tank. They’re probably torturing Tank, too,” Mayhem adds. I give him a look, but all he does is shrug and smile. “In times like this, all the details count.”
He’s right — even if only technically so — so I plow on.
"The storage facility has multiple entry points, but most of them are going to be locked down tight. Volkov's not stupid — he knows we might come looking. Or he might be expecting Triad retribution… if any of them are left alive." I scan the compound ahead, noting the scattered lights and shadows that could hide guards. "Our best bet is a coordinated assault. Hit them fast and hard from multiple angles so they can't organize a proper defense."
“I can make a distraction. Draw their fire,” Mayhem says.
“I’ll bet you can.”
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Diesel says. “And watch his back.”
“That leaves you and me, Conrad. We’ll take the side opposite them and try to get to Reaper and Tank.” I draw my gun, check the clip, and sigh. “Here goes nothing.”
We split up, Conrad and I taking the west side of the facility, staring down at a chain-link fence topped by an absurd amount of razor wire. Every so often, as I wait with bated breath for Mayhem to do whatever the hell he’s going to do, some shadowsin the facility move. I count three guards, all armed with guns much bigger than mine.
Conrad crouches beside me, his breathing steady and controlled in a way that tells me he's done this before. A lot. The way he moves, the way he holds his weapon, the way his eyes constantly scan our surroundings — it’s reassuring. Comforting, even. A pang of regret twitches my heart. If only things were different…
"How long do we wait?" he whispers, his voice barely audible.
"With Mayhem? Could be thirty seconds, could be five minutes. He operates on his own timeline." I shift my weight, trying to find a position that doesn't make my leg cramp. "But when he goes, you'll know."
As if summoned by my words, an explosion rocks the eastern side of the compound. Not a small one, either — the kind that lights up the night sky and sends debris raining down like deadly confetti. Car alarms start wailing in the distance. Beneath that, a song. I barely register the lyrics to ‘Ashes to Ashes’ by David Bowie.
"Jesus Christ," Conrad mutters. “He has some pipes.”
"That's Mayhem for you." I'm already moving toward the fence, gun raised. "Subtle as a brick through a window."
Shouts erupt from inside the facility. I can hear boots pounding on concrete, voices barking orders in Russian. The three guards I spotted earlier are running toward the explosion, leaving our section of the perimeter wide open.
I reach the fence, and Conrad reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a multi-tool. With a wink and a few flicks of his wrist, he preps the wire-cutters and sets to work cutting through the chain link. “Never leave home without it,” he says.
The metal gives way with sharp little snaps that sound impossibly loud despite the chaos Mayhem's created. Anotherexplosion echoes across the compound, followed by the distinctive rattle of automatic gunfire.
"There," I whisper, peeling back the fence to create an opening. "After you, Marine."
Conrad slips through first, his movements fluid and practiced. I follow, feeling the jagged edges of cut wire catch at my jacket. We're in.
The storage facility stretches out before us — rows of identical units with rolling metal doors, most of them closed. Security lights cast harsh shadows between the buildings, creating a maze of light and darkness that could hide anything.
Or anyone.
"Which way?" Conrad asks.
I close my eyes for a moment, recalling the layout of the storage facility in my mind’s eye. The main building will be toward the back — that's where Volkov would set up shop. Somewhere with multiple exits, excellent sight lines, and enough space for whatever sick games he's playing with the men I love.
“This way," I say, pointing toward the rear of the complex.
We move between the storage units like ghosts, our footsteps muffled by the concrete. Every shadow could hide a guard; every corner could be our last. My heart hammers against my ribs, but my hands stay steady on my weapon. This is what I trained for, even if I never imagined using those skills to save the man who broke my heart.
Another explosion blooms orange against the night sky. Mayhem's really outdoing himself tonight. The gunfire is getting heavier now — rapid bursts that echo off the metal buildings. I hope to hell Diesel is keeping that crazy bastard alive.
"Movement, two o'clock," Conrad whispers.
I freeze, following his gaze. A guard emerges from behind a storage unit, his rifle sweeping left and right as he searchesfor threats. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, with the kind of nervous energy that makes trigger fingers twitchy.
I hold up a hand, signaling Conrad to wait. The guard takes three more steps in our direction, then stops. He's close enough that I can hear him breathing, can smell the cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes.
He turns away.
