Page 71 of Damian
Because I knew one thing with absolute certainty:
If Luthor thought he could take Damian from me, from us, he had no idea who he was up against.
95
Damian
The compound sat like a scar on the edge of the city—high walls topped with razor wire, cameras sweeping in slow arcs, armed guards pacing in twos. Even from half a mile out, it stank of money and blood.
We crouched low in the brush, night pressing heavy around us. Oliver had his rifle trained on the southern perimeter, Gage covered the west. Cyclone sat cross-legged beside me, laptop screen glowing faint blue as his fingers flew across the keys.
“Power grid’s sloppy,” he whispered. “Give me three minutes and I can black out half the compound. Security doors too. But once I pull the plug, they’ll know we’re here.”
“They’ll know anyway,” I muttered. “Better we control when.”
Oliver checked his watch, then gave me a look. “What’s the call, boss?”
I stared at the walls, at the men pacing with their rifles, at the shadows behind lit windows where deals were being made on stolen lives. My shoulder throbbed where the bandage tugged, my ribs ached, but none of it mattered. Notcompared to what waited inside. “Why do we have to catch these bastards? Where the hell is the FBI?”
“We’re not leaving until Luthor’s in the ground,” I said flatly. “Cyclone, kill the lights. Gage, take high ground on the west tower. Oliver, you’re on me. We breach the main gate, move fast, move loud. And no one gets shot.”
A grim smile spread across Oliver’s face. “About damn time.”
Cyclone’s fingers danced. “Lights out in three…two…one—”
The compound plunged into darkness. Shouts erupted from inside, guards spinning, rifles raised, eyes blind against the night.
“Go!” I barked.
Oliver and I sprinted across the gravel, boots silent, rifles spitting fire as the first guards stumbled into our path. Muzzle flashes lit the black, sparks bouncing off steel. Gage’s shots cracked sharp from above, dropping targets before they even knew where the fire came from.
Cyclone’s voice crackled in my ear. “Doors unlocked. I’ll jam them behind you once you’re in. Don’t get pinned.”
“Copy.”
I slammed my boot into the main gate, Oliver right behind me, and we poured into the compound like a storm.
Every shot I fired, every step I took, one thought pulsed like blood in my veins:Get to Luthor. End this. Go home to Morgan.
96
Damian
The compound swallowed us whole.
The moment Oliver and I breached, gunfire ripped through the courtyard, bullets sparking off stone and steel. I dropped the first guard with a clean shot to the chest, pivoted, and cut down another before he could raise his rifle. Oliver swept left, his bursts precise, deliberate, leaving bodies crumpled in his wake.
“Tower cleared,” Gage’s voice snapped over comms. A heartbeat later, his rifle cracked again and another body tumbled from the wall. “West side open. Keep pushing.”
“Copy.” I slid into cover behind a pillar, pain flaring hot in my shoulder as I reloaded. Cyclone’s voice crackled, tight with focus.
“North wing’s the nerve center. That’s where the servers pinged last night. Luthor’s either there or close. But Damian—he’s dug in. Expect traps.”
I bared my teeth. “Good. Let him try.”
We pushed forward. The halls were narrow, every doorway a choke point. The stench of sweat, oil, and stale smoke clung to the air. Two men rushed us from the side hall—Oliver dropped one, I slammed the other into the wall, rifle butt crunching bone before I fired point-blank.
Adrenaline roared in my veins, but under it all, there was clarity—an anchor. Morgan’s voice, her touch, her kiss still burning at the back of my mind. It sharpened me, steadied my aim, drove me harder.
