Page 56 of Beautifully Shattered (Secrets & Scars #3)

E ight fucking days. That’s how long it took for the arsehole who tunnelled his way onto my property to finally crack.

I’ve gotta hand it to him. He was fucking tough. But I suppose almost any father would suffer the most brutal torture if it meant keeping his son safe.

So what was it that made him crack?

The same twisted shit Hush did to Darnel.

The threat of having his dick severed.

Turns out some fathers just don’t have the balls to see it through after all.

Mind you, Hush told us from the start that the fastest way to get answers was to go for the cock, but we didn’t want to believe her. So she spent days torturing him in other ways. She even dug out one of his eyeballs with a pair of fucking tongs .

Turns out losing a dick is a helluva lot scarier than losing an eye.

Who fucking knew?

That was two days ago, and ever since, we’ve spent every second planning.

Surprisingly, Abbey didn’t insist on rushing in guns blazing like I’d expected. Instead, she wanted to plan, determined to make sure we get this right.

One of our biggest concerns with this raid is that Moore has gone radio silent.

We don’t know if he’s been made. Or if he’s even still breathing. We’re walking into this blind, and one wrong move could have all of our heads on spikes.

Today, the hogs are left behind for vans again, but this time we’ve got more Sadists riding with us than Marx crew.

Abbey made it fucking clear her sister’s safety comes before anything else. That’s why we’ve only got one team of four Marx crew with us on the ground today, with the rest on high alert on my property, just in case.

We may have fewer Marx men with us, but we’ve got their eyes in the sky. Some of their drones are buzzing over the airfield right now, getting us some much needed intel.

We’ve gotta get this fucking right.

“We have heat signatures in hangars seven, eight and eleven. All the rest are cold,” Riggs’ voice cracks through the radio earpiece, relaying the data they are getting from one of their drones.

“Do you know how many?” I ask, pressing the button on my sleeve that connects my voice to the comms.

“Hangar seven has five. Eight has three, and eleven has one,” Riggs confirms.

“Roger that,” I mutter, hating the fucking radio lingo, which Abbey must pick up on because she smirks at me from where she’s huddled in the back of the van, her eyes glinting.

“You sound so professional, Sarg,” she teases, and I narrow my eyes until my own smirk breaks free across my face.

“Yeah, Sarg . You sound so professional. And sexy . I’d do you.” JD gets all up in my ear, and I elbow the fucker away as he laughs.

“Get in line,” Abbey deadpans without missing a beat, and JD howls with laughter.

“I was in line long before you showed up, darlin’. He was watching my balls slap against—”

A shoe smacks him square in the head, and his glare shoots to Jols.

“What was that for?”

“I don’t want to hear about who your balls were slapping against. As far as you’re concerned, you were a virgin until I came along. Got it?” she snaps, her blue eyes narrowed on my best mate.

Slowly, JD’s lips spread in a fucking toothy grin that even his scruffy beard can’t hide.

“I love it when you get all possessive over me.”

Jols rolls her eyes, fighting a smile as Abbey giggles beside her.

“You two are hilarious.”

“No, they’re not, Angel. Don’t fucking encourage them,” I snap, and my wife pokes her tongue out at me .

A sudden jolt rocks the van as it flies over a bump, reminding us that we’re about to go on a fucking deadly mission, and one wrong move means body bags.

We need to keep our heads in the game.

Riggs’ voice cracks through the earpiece again, confirming little activity outside the hangars, and a few minutes later, the vans are speeding through the gates of the private airfield, heading straight towards hangar seven.

Suddenly, every instinct in me is screaming to call it off. To turn the fuck around and get Abbey out of here.

But I know she’d never forgive me if I tried to stop her again.

“Get ready!” Vender shouts from the front, and we all tense, mentally preparing for the moment we need to jump from the fucking van.

Brody is up front with Vender today, and I can tell JD is worried about having his little brother with us. Ever since the ambush at my place, Brody has been more focused and dedicated to what we do. He insisted on coming today. To do his part.

Stocky, Murf, Trunk and Mex are cramped into the second van, while Trigger, Ace, Tups and Spud are squeezed into the third. All good men. Brothers I’d bleed for.

I just hope none of them die today.

Fuck, this shit is hard.

It’s like my head and heart are splitting in two. Half of me is worried about my men, and the other half about my wife. Both sides of my worry tearing at me.

Shifting my foot, I nudge Abbey’s boot with mine, and her gaze darts to me.

“Remember. On my six. At all times,” I snap, my voice low and edged with steel, and for once, she doesn’t give me the eye roll I’m expecting. Just a tight nod, her eyes burning with the same fear and fury I feel.

“Just remember too, no one kills Daniel and Donny but me.”

I nod this time, happy with the arrangement we have in place.

I agreed to let her be the one to kill Donny and Daniel, if she leaves Ian Allen up to me.

That sick fucker raped my wife. Ain’t no fucking way he’s dying by anyone else’s hand but mine.

The van screeches to a stop, all of us bracing as the door whooshes open, and JD and I leap out first, guns raised, eyes sweeping for threats.

The other two vans speed off towards hangar eight, while the black SUV sticks with us, and Marx men pour out, boots pounding the pavement as we run for the hangar door.

Outside the entrance door, two of the Marx team swing the access door wide and toss in a smoke bomb. The flash flares bright, the clap echoing as the space fills with choking white smoke.

Checking over my shoulder, I see Abbey ready with her gun, eyes darting around, right as the first bullets rip through the air.

As much as it nearly fucking kills me, I wait, forcing myself to hold position until my team is inside, working on securing the inside. Every second we hang back is like fucking acid in my veins, but Abbey’s safety is my first priority.

There’s shouting, more gunfire, and then something we weren’t prepared for.

An explosion.

Hangar eleven behind us goes up in a hot ball of fire, the shockwave knocking us off our feet as part of hangar seven’s wall caves inward .

“Angel!” I bellow through the smoke and chaos, my lungs burning, heart ready to fucking cease to exist if I can’t fucking find her.

My ears ring with gunfire and screams until a dainty hand claws my arm, and I quickly blink through the haze to see her on the ground next to me, dazed as she sits up.

“I’m okay!” she gasps, her eyes wide as they flick around the carnage. “What the hell just happened?”

Gunfire pops closer, and I shove myself to my feet, about to pull her up when a body crashes into me, knocking the breath from my chest.

A fist crunches into my nose, hot pain exploding across my face, and my fists fly automatically, trying to fight whoever the fuck is on me. We scrap like rabid dogs, rolling over the harsh gravel in a feral, bloody scuffle.

“No!” Abbey screams, and at first I think she’s yelling about the fucking thug beating on me, but then her voice comes again, sounding further away. “Come back, you son of a bitch! You’re gonna die today!”

Fuck.

I throw my elbow into the thug’s jaw on top of me, feeling bone crunch under the hit. He tumbles off me, and I shove myself up, my fucking heart thundering as I search for my wife, just in time for a bullet to rip through my thigh.

“Fuuuck!” I roar, heat flaring down my leg, and through the swirling smoke, I catch a glimpse of someone who looks a helluva lot like Allen, turning and bolting away.

Rage ignites in my chest, and I snatch up my gun and fire at the Rebel crawling back towards me. The shot lands dead centre, between his fucking eyes, painting the gravel with his brains.

Keeping my gun raised, I scan the smoke-choked space for the next threat.

No one is there. Just shifting shadows amongst the smoke. Voices yelling somewhere deep in the haze, every plan we had in place completely gone to shit.

“Abbey!” I bellow, staggering up as I slip my belt off and cinch it tight above the bullet wound, hissing through clenched teeth. “Angel!” I roar again, needing to hear her beautiful fucking voice.

But nothing comes. Just more gunfire. More screams. And more fucking chaos.