Page 25 of Avenging Jessie (Black Swan Division Thrillers #3)

Twenty-Five

Jessie

The high-pitched whir hit her ears a split second before the shadow dropped from the rafters. Two Cyclones swept into view, cylinders gleaming like loaded revolvers under the work lights.

Jessie’s brain shifted into overdrive. They couldn’t outgun both the drones and Brewer’s men in the open. Spence needed to get to that control hub—the only shot they had at stopping the rest now on their way to Langley — and she needed to buy him that time.

She glanced at the catwalk ladders and the narrow gaps between the crates, mapping them in her head. Cover, height, distraction. There. That’s where she’d station herself. She leaned toward Spence. “Go for the hub. I’ll keep him busy.”

His jaw flexed, eyes locking on hers. “Jess—”

“Do it,” she cut in, already moving toward a stack of crates to draw fire. “You’re the only one who can shut them down.”

The drones’ rotors screamed to life. Brewer stepped back into the dark, his voice floating after him. “Better hurry. Clock’s ticking.”

The drones split in the air, one veering high toward the control room windows, the other dipping low to lock onto her. Jessie swore under her breath. Brewer was covering both of them.

“Spence!” She ducked as the lower drone’s microdarts chewed into the crate edge. “Incoming!”

“Working on it!” His voice came from behind the reinforced glass, the frantic clacking of keys a counterpoint to the rising pitch of the drones.

She pivoted around the crate, fired a double tap at the low drone, and managed to nick a rotor arm. The thing wobbled but stayed airborne. “Brewer’s in the wind! I can’t find him.”

The high drone scraped across the control room glass, metallic claws sparking as it tried to chew through the pane. “I’ve got the port open,” he called. “I just need thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds in a firefight might as well be thirty years.

Movement flickered in her periphery. Gotcha.

Brewer was on the catwalk, closing in on the control room with a compact SMG slung at his side. His smile was tight and cold, eyes fixed on Spence’s back.

Not happening.

Jessie popped up and fired at Brewer. He jerked aside, the round grazing the rail instead of his ribs, but it forced him into cover.

The low drone banked again, payload cylinder clicking into thermal charge position. Her stomach clenched. If it fired that in here, half the warehouse would light up like a tinderbox.

But her next thought calmed her worry. Brewer would never do that to his own warehouse. It was just for show, and she knew it.

“Jessie, down!” Spence barked.

On reflex, she dropped as he triggered something on his end. The drone above her seized midair, rotors shrieking, then crashed to the floor in a shower of sparks.

Yes! One down.

Brewer was moving again, using the distraction to close the gap. The second drone had switched to EMP mode and slammed against the control room window. Brewer needed to cut power to Spence’s console before the upload finished.

It was up to her to stop it.

Jessie bolted from cover, crossing the open floor under a hail of SMG fire from Brewer. Pain lanced through her shoulder—hot, sharp, and deep—but she didn’t slow.

She hit the control room door, threw herself inside, and slammed the lock. “Finish it,” she ground out, pressing her hand over the wound.

Spence’s jaw was set, eyes locked on the progress bar crawling toward completion. “Almost there.”

Brewer’s voice came muffled through the door. “You think you can stop me, Stirling? You’re just handing me proof you’re the only one who can control them. And I’ll take that from you the same way I take everything else.”

Jessie drew her sidearm, moved to the glass. Pointed at him.“Try it.”

The bar hit one hundred percent. Spence hit ENTER. The drone dropped like a stone.

But Brewer’s smile through the glass told her this wasn’t over. Jessie froze when he held up a phone, the screen tilted just enough for her to see the shaky, bird’s-eye feed of Langley’s sprawling campus. The image swayed as the drone whose feed she watched banked, the sun flashing off its wing.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. Tommy. Tessa. God, please…

“Destruction’s already a certainty,” Brewer said, voice slick with satisfaction. “No matter what you do, you won’t stop them all.”

“Not all,” Spence muttered beside her. His jaw was locked, eyes on his screen. “But I can knock some out of the sky.”

A sharp tone chirped from his system. A third of the feed cut to static.

Brewer’s head snapped toward the monitors, fury tightening his mouth. “Cute trick.” His gaze slid to Jessie, and the anger melted into a mocking smile.

“You disappoint me, Jess.” His voice dropped into that intimate, snake-oil tone that had once convinced her to follow him into hell.

“I had big plans for you. You could’ve been standing here beside me when the world watched the CIA burn.

Instead, you’re running errands for the people who betrayed you. ”

Her grip on her gun tightened. “Better than rotting in your shadow.”

Brewer chuckled, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’s your brother, Jess? Safe at home? Or about to be a smear on the pavement when the first payload hits?”

She refused to give him the satisfaction of flinching. “You can’t manipulate me anymore.”

On the screen in his hand, the drone’s live feed flickered. Rows of Cyclones tumbled out of formation, spiraling toward the ground like metallic hail. “It’s working,” she muttered to Spence. “Whatever you’re doing, it’s working.”

Brewer narrowed his eyes, not seeing the show.

She tipped her head, letting a slow smile curl on her face. “Looks like you’re losing this one, Brewer.”

Brewer’s smile froze. He narrowed his eyes.

The live feed on his phone jolted, the frame stuttering before the horizon tilted wildly.

More rows of matte-black drones tumbled from the sky like dead birds, slamming into rooftops and asphalt in puffs of dust and debris.

The one streaming the feed juddered midair, then went black.

She pointed at the screen. “Look.”

His gaze snapped to the phone, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw the truth under his polished mask. Not rage or disappointment. Humiliation.

“You,” he hissed, voice cutting through the partition as if it could carve her open. “Always ruining what you don’t understand.” His hand curled so tightly around the phone she half expected the screen to crack.

Jessie didn’t take her eyes off of him, even as Spence hissed and groaned. This was a victory…what was wrong? She didn’t dare take her eyes off Brewer, though. “I understand you better than you think.”

His eyes flared, cold and bright, and the mask snapped back into place. It was stretched too tight now, trembling around the edges. “This changes nothing,” he snarled. “Langley will still burn. And when it does, you’ll wish you’d taken what I offered you.”