Page 57 of Boomer (SEAL Team Tier 1, #7)

Tangos were stacked behind that frosted glass wall. The angles were wrong to take them out cleanly. “Get down,” he shouted as he took a running start, landed on the massive oak table, and slid full length along it as he fired.

One long arc of fury.

Everything slowed, and his sharply focused gaze tracked each head as he slid past, bam .

The first glass panel shattered, and the first tango went down.

Bam . His sidearm discharged, the bullet hurtling from the muzzle, the rack sliding backward, ejecting the empty casing.

As the slide returned forward, it chambered the next round.

Slow is smooth and smooth is fast. Another panel in splinters.

Number two dropped. Bam , pause bam , pause bam as three more glass panels broke and tumbled, followed by three more bodies.

He landed at the end of the table, breath sharp, and his legs braced. Still deadly. Still calm. Like John fucking Wick, if Wick had sniper quals and a better jawline.

Silence.

“Bloody hell, kid,” one of the SBS operators said from the doorway.

A soft gasp sounded behind him.

Break turned.

Three women and one man. Their faces were tight with fear, but their eyes were clear and alive . One woman with amazing blue eyes looked at him like he’d hung the goddamn moon.

That was better than any medal.

He keyed up, voice like gravel. “HQ secure. Civilians alive. Threat neutralized.”

Lockhart’s voice came through fast. “Copy. Ground team inbound. Hold perimeter. Good work.”

Break smiled at her, then spun his sidearm in a series of smooth, twirling motions before holstering it like a damn outlaw. Yeah. Eat your heart out, Wyatt Earp.

He took one more glance at the shaken group, hearts still beating because he’d moved fast enough. Shot clean enough.

Then he crouched beside the dark-haired woman nearest him.

“Can I offer you a hand out of here?” he asked, voice gruff.

She reached for him like he was gravity. Then the blue-eyed beauty said, “I’m not sure I can walk without help.”

Break smiled at her, and he reached out. “Absolutely, ma’am. I have two strong arms.”

The compound was collapsing around her.

Gunfire crackled through the hallways, and the thud of boots over concrete told her the breach was imminent .

Taylor grabbed the nearest comm tech by the vest. “Go. Get everyone to the safe room. Use the south corridor. Move!”

She turned, firing two warning shots down the hallway where movement flickered past the corner. Someone screamed. Someone else shouted that the perimeter was gone.

She had no time.

The compound’s safe room was built for these exact situations. Reinforced. Blast-resistant. It would hold.

If they made it.

Taylor sprinted past a file room, her head pounding, her body aching from bruises suffered in her last fight with these bastards.

Grabbing a terrified analyst by the wrist, she shoved him toward the hallway.

Three more staffers followed, limping, one bleeding.

They made it to the safe room door. One of the guards was already swiping clearance.

“Get them inside. Now.”

“Detective Hoffman—” the guard started, but she was already turning back, her gut clenching as she took in all the faces. Not everyone.

Anna.

She spun back into the smoke-filled corridor and found her near the server room, braced against the wall, a Glock in her hand, blood seeping from her shoulder, a dead tango at her feet. “Taylor,” Anna rasped.

Taylor didn’t hesitate. She ducked under Anna’s good arm, pulled it over her shoulder, and half-dragged her toward the hallway.

“Come on. I’ve got you. Just a few more steps.”

The safe room was still open. Someone saw them and shouted their names.

They were ten feet from the threshold when Taylor heard it. The sound of boots hitting tile. Fast. Heavy. Close.

She turned, heart slamming in her chest.

Too many. Too close.

She shoved Anna toward the doorway with all the strength she had.

“Go!”

“No—”

“ Go! Lock it! Lock it now!”

Anna stumbled across the threshold, caught by two hands. Taylor raised her weapon and turned.

The door slammed shut behind her with a final hiss of pressurization. She’d saved them. That was enough.

She pivoted, fired twice, ran to the cages.

Taylor sealed the secondary barrier, braced her back against it, and tightened her hands around the grip of her Glock.

The hallway narrowed here. Concrete and steel. One entry. No retreat. She didn’t flinch.

She thought about Ansel, her parents. Then another…Boomer . Don’t let them near my family. Please come back to me, my love.

Her mind snapped into full tactical mode. She reached behind the server stack and pulled a GPS micro-tracker, the one she always kept hidden for worst-case, and tucked it into her boot. If they take me, I’m not staying lost.

The door at the end of the hall shook. Slammed once. Twice. Exploded inward.

Two black-clad men charged in, fast and brutal. Taylor didn’t hesitate.

Two shots each to the heart, but only one man dropped.

The second reached her, and she drove her elbow into his throat, pivoted, and fired twice into his thigh. He screamed. She kicked him into the wall. But more were coming.

A flash-bang rolled in, spinning across the tile. “ Shit— ” White light. Pain.

Her ears rang, her concussed brain shut down. Her vision went sideways.

Hands grabbed her, but she fought like hell, teeth, nails, knees. She bit one of them hard enough to taste blood. Elbowed another in the ribs so savagely she felt something crack.

But a rifle butt slammed into her temple, and the world slipped.

Her last thought wasn’t of the people she couldn’t save. It was of the man who would come for her. Boomer. She tried. Gott, she fought. But they took her.

If she never saw him again, she would hold on to what they’d had with tight fists into the dark, his beautiful face her only light.

He and Bash approached the house, crouching just out of sight of the front door.

A hulking shadow loomed on the porch. Armed. Tense. Boomer looked at Bash. “I’ll go around back.”

Bash nodded.

Boomer slipped through the neighbor’s backyard and climbed the fence, quiet and fast in the dark. His NVGs turned everything green. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Good. Distraction.

He crouched low near the pool. Another silhouette paced the back patio, eyes in the direction of the barking dog. Boomer tapped his comm. “Back door’s blocked.”

“Copy that,” Bash whispered. “What’s the plan?”

A muffled voice from inside rose in volume. “I’m going to see what’s going on. Give me a minute.” Boomer used the shift in attention to sprint low toward the side of the house. He reached the window, just out of the guard’s line of sight, and looked inside.

Three armed men. One of them yelling at Gretchen.

Her face was bloodied. Her mouth clenched. Alaric was on the floor, bound at the wrists, his face bruised and swollen.

“Where is the brat?” the leader shouted. “Tell me, or your husband gets a bullet to the head.”

He pointed his weapon at Alaric’s skull. Gretchen looked at him. Her mouth tightened. Alaric’s voice rasped out, “Don’t tell them.”

The merc kicked him hard in the ribs. Gretchen flinched.

“ Fuck! ” the leader snarled in a harsh Russian accent. He turned to one of the others. “Find that fucking kid. Or Dra?a will have our balls for lunch.”

Boomer’s blood turned to ice. Dra?a . The Butcher of Herceg Novi. Dragomir Mili?.

That war criminal bastard had haunted mission briefs for years. Now Boomer knew exactly why they were here.

It wasn’t about leverage. It was about legacy. A blood oath. The kid was the family’s future. They wouldn’t leave this house without him. Boomer wasn’t going to let them leave at all.

He depressed his comm. “Bash. Knives only. On my mark. I’m going after Ansel first.”

“Copy, mate.” Boomer entered through the back utility door. Quiet. Focused. He moved toward the sunroom. That’s where Ansel had been hiding last time when Boomer came for lunch. He stepped inside. His gut clenched. Ansel’s sculpture was smashed, shards scattered across the floor.

“Ansel?” he called softly. “It’s Boomer. Are you in here?”

Hinges creaked. Then a voice, fragile and trembling. “Boomer? I’m so scared...but I hid.”

Relief surged through him. He pressed his comm.

“Bash, I found him. Moving to the Hoffmans’ position.

” He crouched as Ansel emerged from a small cabinet and threw his arms around him.

Boomer wrapped him up, fierce and silent, every protective instinct firing in his chest. “I want you to stay here. Back in your hiding spot. I’ll be back for you. ”

Ansel hesitated, his voice barely a whisper. “That’s what my dad said. He...he never came back.”

Boomer’s jaw flexed. He swallowed down the ache. “I know. But I’m coming back for you. That’s a promise.” Ansel nodded, eyes wide, and crawled back into the cabinet.

Boomer eased the door shut and moved out. Down the hall, he could hear a merc ransacking the master bedroom.

Bash appeared in the hallway, already moving. One hand signal told Boomer that Bash had him. Boomer nodded.

Then he caught movement in the guest room, a shadow crossing the window.

Boomer slipped into the hallway, blade in hand.

MK 3. Six and a half inches of steel, serrated edge on the spine.

Quiet. Deadly in his hands. The merc stepped into the hall just in front of him.

Boomer struck fast, but the man blocked it.

Countered. Fought. Fought like a man who knew he was about to die.

The elbow landed hard, temple shot. White-hot pain.

Stars. But Boomer didn’t drop. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let go.

The fight turned brutal, elbows, knees, dead weight against the wall. The merc kicked and scrambled until Boomer slammed him into the doorframe hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs.

He shoved the blade deep into his gut. Then ripped it upward. The man buckled. Boomer twisted his head, quick and brutal. Snap.