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Vapor’s a blur, subduing his own prey with a practiced chokehold that leaves the man desperate for air. Diablo uses brute force to slam into his guard, smacking the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out with a muted thud.

“Clear,” Vapor whispers, the word barely a breath on the wind.

“Move out,” I reply, my voice low, commanding even in its hush.

But we’re not done with the guards yet. From the shadows, more figures emerge. There are too many to silently subdue. We lost the element of surprise, so the time for stealth is over.

“Contact!” Diablo growls, the warning erupting as he barrels toward the incoming threat. He pulls his gun from his cut and fires at the first threat. We’ve got silencers on our guns, but the guards don’t. They fire, forcing us to dive behind wooden crates stacked on pallets.

We close ranks, back to back, as the guards swarm us with the fury of cornered serpents. Guns fire until they run out of ammo, then fists fly. I swing at one of the guards, connecting my fist to his face. The visceral thud resonates through my arm. I feel each impact, the jolt of bone against bone, the resistance of muscle giving way to force.

As soon as I put one down, another guy rushes at me with a knife, slashing through the air. I twist away, but not before the blade grazes my leather cut. I’m not injured, but this guy’s about to be.

“Son of a bitch!” I spit, rage fueling my counter as I hammer a fist into his temple. He staggers, and I follow up with a knee to his gut, driving the air from his lungs. He falls to the pavement and I stomp him until he goes still.

Across from me, Vapor dances through the melee, taking down one assailant after another with lethal grace. Diablo, meanwhile, is an avatar of wrath, throwing punches until the enemy goes down for good.

All around us, other club members fight to the death. A cacophony of grunts and cries fills the night, a discordant lullaby for the damned. My heart thrums in my chest, a drummer accompanying me to war. I fight with everything I’ve got. This isn’t just for the club, but for those who can’t fight for themselves. Those kids need us. I don’t care how many bodies I have to pile up to get to them.

“Keep pushing!” I yell.

Blood, sweat, and resolve mix in equal measure as we carve a path through the guards toward the target entry point. And as I throw another punch, my knuckles crack against a jaw that gives way too easily.

The sickening sound is swallowed up by the roar of a man hurtling himself at me. He’s not like the others. He’s alert, eyes sharp tracking our movements with an awareness that sets my nerves on edge. I duck another wild swing, retaliating with a swift uppercut. Blood spurts from his busted lip. He backs up, wiping the blood from his mouth, grinning.

“Knew you’d be a bunch of pussies.”

I raise my fists to protect my face, refusing to take the bait.

“Juan said you’d hit us with everything you got tonight. Where are the rest of you fucks?”

A cold shiver runs down my spine as the realization hits me—this man knows more than he should. He’s prepared for our tactics, knows our patterns. The only way he could know is if there’s a mole in our ranks.

I don’t have time to spar with this asshole, so I lurch forward, attacking him without mercy. He’s on his back, trying to crab-crawl backward, but I catch up to him and pin him to the ground with a boot to his chest. Fear flashes in his eyes for the first time, but it doesn’t stop me from putting him down.

“Something’s off,” I hiss into the mic beneath my collar, hoping Vapor or Diablo picks up on the urgency without tipping our hand. We weren’t going to use these comms unless absolutely necessary, but this certainly qualifies. Bones, Tank, and Fang are on this channel too so they will all hear me. “They knew we were coming.”

“Fuck!” Vapor snaps. “Deal with it later. Get inside. Get the kids.”

“On it.”

“Heard you,” Bones growls through the comms.

I shove the treachery aside, pivoting on the balls of my feet to face another attacker. Can’t afford to lose myself in the web of betrayal while we’re neck-deep in the fight. But as I slaughter another cartel member, anger simmers within me. I’ve bled for this club, and the sting of betrayal burns hotter than a glowing iron.

I try to push away the suspicion, the doubt, but it’s gnawing at my gut. It’s a dangerous distraction, one that could cost us everything. My jaw clenches as I weave through the combatants, throwing punches with a side of silent questions.

Who? Why?

“They’re all down,” one of our guys yells.

“We’re going in. Now!” Vapor kicks in the door.

We flow through the factory’s guts like phantoms, every motion calculated. Vapor moves to my right while Diablo watches our backs. The low hum of machinery mingles with the faint rustle of our leathers. Rows of sewing machines sit empty.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Upstairs. Second floor. A guard shoves a small child out of sight. Anger steels my spine. They’ve got the kids hidden in the dark second floor.

Signaling everyone with a subtle tilt of my head, they all look up. Vapor silently points at the metal staircases on either side of the building. As he takes half our men toward the left side, Diablo and I lead the other half to the right.