Page 92

Training kicked in before thought—muscle memory earned in sand and blood taking control of my body. My hand was already reaching for the Glock at my back as I shoved Lena deeper behind the stairs, using my body to shield her from the initial volley.

"CONTACT LEFT! EVERYONE DOWN!" The command voice erupted from somewhere deep, that bark that had saved lives in Kandahar now trying to save them on a party yacht. Glass exploded overhead as bullets found the string lights, raining sparks and fragments across the deck.

I counted muzzle flashes even as I moved. Six boats minimum, coming in fast from the port side. The way they'd approached—using the yacht's blind spots, coordinating their assault had been carefully planned.

"Kitchen level, NOW!" I roared at the civilians still standing frozen. A bridesmaid in pink just stared at the blood spreadingacross her dress—not hers, someone else's, but the shock had locked her in place. "Stay low, move fast!"

Like all of us, Duke was already armed. He'd flipped a table for cover, returning fire in measured bursts while using his free hand to shove Mia toward the cabin stairs. Our eyes met across the chaos.

"How many?" Duke shouted over the gunfire.

"Twelve minimum, probably more!" I squeezed off two rounds at a figure trying to board midship. He fell back, his cut visible in the muzzle flash—Serpents. Of course. This wasn't cartel; this was personal. "They're boxing us in!"

The yacht's engine roared to life—someone had made it to the pilot house. But we were too heavy, too slow. The speedboats circled like sharks, their mobility our death sentence.

Movement on the upper deck caught my eye. A shadow where there shouldn't be one, someone who'd rappelled up while we focused on the main assault. "Thor, your six!"

Thor spun with that berserker grace he'd perfected, his dress shirt already torn and bloody. The Serpent had his weapon half-raised when Thor's fist connected with his throat. The man went down hard, gasping, and Thor finished it with a brutal stomp that left no question about survival.

Thor let out a blood-curdling roar, already turning to engage another boarder. Despite everything, he was grinning—that savage joy he found in violence finally given permission to run free.

More Serpents swarmed over the rails. They wore tactical gear over their cuts, came with suppressed weapons and night vision. This wasn't a rival MC having a beef. This was an execution squad.

That's when Rico proved why prospects mattered.

The kid couldn't have been more than twenty—all eager energy and desperate need to prove himself. I saw him notice thetwo bridesmaids pressed against the bar, frozen with terror as Serpents advanced on their position. No cover, nowhere to run.

Rico didn't hesitate.

He launched himself across the space, arms spread wide like some guardian angel in a prospect cut. "Get down! Stay down!" His body slammed into them just as automatic fire ripped across the bar. Bottles exploded in waterfalls of alcohol and glass.

I watched him jerk as the rounds found him. Once, twice, three times. His back bloomed red, the prospect patch he'd worked so hard for now soaked in blood. But he didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just kept his body between those women and death.

"Good man," I whispered, putting two center mass in the shooter before he could finish the job. Rico's eyes found mine across the deck, already glazing but somehow still aware. He managed the slightest nod—duty acknowledged, price accepted—before the light faded.

More gunfire, more screams. The deck had become a slaughterhouse. I processed it all in snapshots: Duke and Tank fighting back-to-back, Wiz calmly directing civilians while bleeding from a luckily-glancing head wound, prospects forming human shields without orders or hesitation. This was who we were when the metal met the meat—protectors, fighters, brothers.

"Tyson!" Duke's voice cut through my tactical assessment. "Where's your girl?"

Your girl. Not Lena, not the tattoo artist. Your girl.

I turned back to the stairs where I'd left her, ready to grab her and move to better cover. The space was empty.

My blood turned to ice water. The carefully maintained combat calm shattered like those fairy lights still raining down. I scanned the chaos, searching for purple hair, a silver dress, any sign of her.

Nothing.

"Lena?" Her name came out strangled, desperate. The tactical part of my brain screamed at me to maintain noise discipline, to think, to plan. But the rest of me had gone primal. She was gone. In this shitstorm of lead and death, she was gone.

A prospect stumbled past, clutching his shoulder. "Sir! Saw Lena heading port side with Mia! They were—" His words cut off as another volley forced us both to cover.

Port side. Where the heaviest fire was coming from. Where the Serpents had concentrated their assault. Where she'd have no cover, no protection, no chance.

The fear that flooded through me was worse than any combat terror I'd experienced. In war, I'd only had my own life to lose. Here, now, the stakes were infinitely higher. Everything that mattered—that purple-haired brat who'd become my whole world—was somewhere in this floating massacre.

I forced myself to breathe, to think. Panic would get us both killed. I needed to move smart, fast, lethal. The Serpents between me and port side would learn what happened when they stood between a soldier and what he loved.

"Moving port!" I called to Duke, already displacing.