Page 52 of Knuckles & Knives
“Fuck. Hold on.” I switch over to Axel, his voice crackling through what sounds like gunfire.
“Having a party down here without me?” Somehow, his tone maintains that familiar wild edge. “Because I have to say, these Volkov assholes have terrible timing. I was in the middle of a really good dream about you and that thing you do with your?—”
“Axel, focus.” Despite everything, his irreverence makes something tight in my chest loosen slightly. “Where are you?”
“Obsidian’s east entrance, playing pest control with about six guys who think they’re better with knives than I am.” The sound of metal on metal comes through the speaker, followed by agrunt of effort. “They’re wrong, by the way. Dom’s handling the main floor, but we’ve got more incoming.”
Marcus’s fingers are flying over multiple keyboards, bringing up building schematics and escape routes. “The structural damage is contained to levels one through five, but they’ll be working their way up. We have maybe fifteen minutes before they reach this floor.”
“Hold on, Axel.” I switch over to Keiran.
“I’m watching from the Sterling building. They’ve got professional tactical teams, not just street muscle. Military-grade equipment, coordinated timing, extraction vehicles already in position. You have ten minutes, tops.”
“Who ordered this?” I ask, though part of me already knows the answer.
“Best guess? Coalition of enemies who decided we were becoming too much of a threat.” Kieran’s voice is grim. “Sterling family elders, what’s left of the Volkov operation, maybe some other organizations who don’t appreciate your rapid expansion… The question is how they coordinated without us knowing.”
Marcus’s screens suddenly flicker, several monitors going dark simultaneously.
“They’re in our system,” he says, his voice sharp, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he’s slightly impressed. “Whoever planned this knows exactly how I operate. They’re systematically disabling my technological advantages.”
“Fuck,” I mutter as I link the calls so that we can all talk together. “This isn’t just about eliminating us. It’s about humiliating us first. Showing the entire underworld that we can be outmaneuvered and destroyed.”
“Let them try,” Dom’s voice growls through the speaker. “I’ve been looking forward to reminding people why they usedto cross the street when they saw Vincent Blackwood’s enforcer coming.”
“Dom’s right,” Axel adds, the sound of his movement sharp and violent in the background. “We’ve been playing defense too long. Time to show these bastards what happens when you come for our girl.”
The possessive pride in their voices does something warm and fierce in my chest. These men—my men—are facing coordinated attacks across the city, trapped in a building under siege, outnumbered and outgunned, but instead of panic, I hear anticipation. They’ve been waiting for an excuse to unleash everything they’ve been holding back.
“Marcus, what’s our tactical assessment?” I ask, moving away from sentiment toward strategy.
“Suboptimal but not hopeless.” His fingers dance across the remaining functional keyboards. “The structural damage limits their approach routes. If we can reach the twenty-second floor, there’s an emergency bridge to the adjacent building. From there, we can rally with Dom and Axel at the Obsidian.”
“And then?”
“Then we stop playing by their rules and start playing by ours.” Marcus’s smile is ruthless. “Kieran, are you in position to provide overwatch?”
“Already am. I’ve got sniper rifles positioned on three different floors of the Sterling building, plus electronic jamming equipment to disrupt their communications.” Kieran’s voice carries grim satisfaction. “Turns out all those years of tactical training my family insisted on are about to prove useful.”
The coordination between them is seamless, natural in a way that surprises me. These four men who started as rivals, who’ve spent months navigating complicated jealousies and territorial instincts, are suddenly functioning like parts of a well-oiledmachine. United by the threat to something they all value more than their individual pride.
Me.
“Movement in the stairwell,” Marcus reports, his voice sharp with focus. “They’re twenty floors down but climbing fast.”
“Time to go,” I say, checking the gun holstered at my hip. “Dom, Axel, clear us a path to the Obsidian. Kieran, keep those snipers busy. Marcus and I will make our way to you.”
“Raven.” Dom’s voice stops me before I can hang up. “Be careful. These aren’t street thugs or desperate gangsters. They’re professionals, and they’re here specifically for you.”
“I know.” I touch the knife sheathed at my thigh. I also have my Glock. “But they made one critical mistake.”
“What’s that?”
“They planned for Vincent Blackwood’s daughter.” I look at Marcus, who’s securing additional weapons and ammunition with calm efficiency. “They didn’t plan for Vincent Blackwood’s daughter with four of the most dangerous men in this city willing to die for her.”
The coordinated response that follows is like watching a symphony of violence conducted by men who’ve finally found something worth protecting together. Through Marcus’s remaining monitors, I watch Dom systematically dismantle the team that tried to breach the Obsidian’s main floor. His movements are brutal, efficient, tinged with the kind of cold fury that made him legendary even when he was just Vincent’s enforcer.
Axel is poetry in motion at the east entrance, his lithe frame moving like liquid mercury between opponents who never see him coming until his knife finds its target. The wild energy that makes him so unpredictable in normal situations becomes devastating precision in actual combat.
