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A zrael’s only fear was that a bullet would hit Real, and while they all wore bulletproof vests, there was nothing that could protect someone’s head.

Working with Real made him hyperaware of everything as he cleaved his way through men spilling into the room. It boggled the mind over just how many hired guns Micky had there.

The business of snatching and selling children must be booming. It was human trafficking at its worst.

Gunfire, flesh slapping from hand-to-hand combat, and grunts filled the semi-darkness along with the metallic sting of blood. It would take him days to clear the memory of the smell from his nose.

Azrael’s eyes were fully adjusted to the dark because he, Freedom, and Boston had made their way through the completely dark compound. Oh, there was light, but it was sparse and mostly in rooms off the darkened hallways. It was how assassins worked. They took out the light wherever they went.

So, when Stone went down, Azrael saw it.

“Damn it,” Stone’s quiet mutter swept across the short distance.

Azrael was already moving that way as Stone fell to his ass on the floor.

Azrael leaped, spun, and shoved his knife into one perp’s neck and jabbed his blade three times into another man’s throat.

Real watched in horror when Azrael left his side and launched across the distance as Stone fell to the floor.

“Shit!” Real snarled and ran full out to back up Azrael, using the size of his body to block any gunfire that came their way.

Real pressed his earpiece. “Rip, come help me with Stone, we’re on the west side of the room.”

Rip was there in seconds.

Azrael, Boston, and Freedom kept the perps away from Stone.

Real grabbed one of Stone’s arms and Rip the other, and they hauled him to his feet.

Stone stumbled, and Real took most of his weight. They were backed into a corner.

With perfect fucking timing, Genesis barged on the scene.

And they didn’t come in stealthily or anything. They arrived with force. It was loud and savage and brutal.

They were out for blood.

Real caught sight of Winter, along with Crow and Rebel, and several other soldiers from the active side. These men didn’t worry about face masks because they weren’t leaving anyone alive. They wore dark military armor and helmets to protect their heads.

There was one man in particular who stood out without a helmet, and Real recognized Fierce.

Wrapping an arm around Stone’s waist, he hauled the man toward the exit with Rip helping on the other side. When a perp got in their way, Azrael and Boston cleared the way.

Freedom had disappeared in the crush of Genesis soldiers. Going after Fierce. Real couldn’t worry about the kid.

“Did we get Micky?” someone asked over the comms.

Nobody reported in.

“Shit,” Real muttered.

Had they accidentally killed the guy in the dark room back there?

Stone passed out at that point, and Real turned and hefted the man over his shoulder, carrying him fireman style.

Rip turned back to rejoin the fight, and Boston darted after him.

With Azrael watching his flank, Real held his Ruger with its twisted suppressor aimed forward and took the stairs upward.

Something warm and wet was covering his back, and he knew it was blood.

Stone had to be all right. Fuck, he just had to be.

Outside of the compound, Wrath worked on Stone the second the man was placed in the back of an SUV.

“Drive,” Wrath ordered Rogue, and shot Real a quick glance. “I’ll call you from the hospital.”

“Okay, call Dave,” Real said, closing the door on the vehicle.

Rogue peeled out, the tires spinning in the dirt before catching. The SUV fishtailed, righted itself, and careened onto the old paved road that led out of the area.

Wrath would plan to get Stone to the choppers and airlift him to the nearest trauma center.

Justice and Doc, both medics, stayed behind.

“Any more wounded?” Justice asked.

“I don’t know,” Real said.

He grabbed fresh clips for his gun and water from the back of the supply vehicle.

When he spun back toward the compound, he found Azrael silently waiting for him several feet away.

Real twisted off the cap, drank half of the bottle, and handed it to Azrael when he approached.

Azrael drank the rest of the water through the mouth hole of his hooded beanie.

No words were spoken.

Nothing more needed to be said.

They still had work to be done.

Back in the thick of things, they moved through the night deeper into the compound toward the sound of gunfire.

The shootout could have taken from a page from the Alamo. Furniture was toppled over, men were pinned down behind a bar that looked like something out of the movie Road House. The lights were low, but it was not as dark as Real would have liked.

When something chunked hard on the floor, Real knew that sound by fucking heart.

The grenade hit the floor and rolled.

Ahead of him, Azrael was just out of his reach, and Real lunged. His fingers caught the boy’s black ultra-thin vest and he yanked hard.

Taking Azrael with him, Real rolled over the top of a thick oak table and pulled it along with him.

Rip leaped past him, going for Boston, but never made it.

The grenade went off, and the explosion blasted his ears.

Bullets peppered through the area, forcing Rip to scramble behind the same table along with them.

Unexpectedly, the air morphed and waffled with a loud boom.

An invisible force punched like a freight train, and the oak table slammed against his back. The force lifted the table and tossed it like a piece of paper.

That was no grenade.

That had been a fucking bomb.

Real’s back slammed to the ground, and the back of his head cracked hard against the floor.

He lost his grip on Azrael.

Rip lay bleeding beside him, but they were both rolling to their feet at the same time.

Thick black smoke filled the air, and debris from the walls and ceiling littered the ground.

Panic filled him. Azrael was out of his sight. He didn’t let the crushing fear paralyze him as men came out of nowhere, but then so did Genesis. Knives flashed, silencers snicked in the noisy chaos, and the hand-to-hand combat took on a savagery born from protecting their own.

It was a short fight after that, but a brutal one, and Real knew that when the dust settled, only the lucky would walk away.

“Riiiiiip!” The anguished cry from Boston sang through the air.

“Real!” Azrael’s rage-filled voice traveled through the air and punched Real in the gut.

Neither of the young assassins were visible through the black smoke of the explosion, and with his back to Rip, Real fought his way in the direction of Azrael’s voice.

A shatter of glass in the distance had fear lending him strength, and he shot and sliced and diced his way through bodies. Firing with the gun in his right hand and stabbing with his knife in his left.

Up ahead, Azrael, along with Boston, were being hoisted through a broken window.

“Fuck!” Rip snarled, moving like quicksilver, Rip worked the same as he did. Knife in one hand and now a gun in the other.

When they ran out of bullets, they both switched to dual knives.

Genesis soldiers at their sides pressed in, fighting alongside them.

Real stabbed a perp in the throat and dropped low to slice open the artery in the man’s leg. When the guy dropped, Real snatched up the guy’s gun and fired it in the direction of the window.

His aim was precise. He never missed, at least when it counted.

Bodies dropped, piling on each other when each of his bullets hit their mark. He only stopped when he feared hitting Azrael or Boston.

By that time, he was almost there.

What he hadn’t realized was that after the first call of their names, both Azrael and Boston had turned on their attackers.

And Real watched, amazed when his love took out three perps before Real could even get close enough.

Azrael stood breathing hard when Real drew close, and he snatched the man into his arms with a pounding heart.

“You called my name,” he muttered into the young man’s hair, burying his face in Azrael’s neck.

“Yeah, I thought I might have needed backup,” Azrael said with a huffing snort. “But I didn’t.”

Real could help it, he chuckled.