I pause, looking at the bastard. “Good thing dirt doesn’t care whose corpse it is,” I tell the motherfucker then watch with satisfaction as Cowboy pulls the trigger.
When we enter the room, we find Riggs and Preacher helping the now-rescued climb out of a hole in the floor. But with them are extra warm bodies—three young girls who can’t be any older than their teens. My stomach coils.
“Underground tunnels. Most likely used for drug smugglers and skin traders,” Preacher states, the beam of his flashlight shining down into the dark hole, looking for others.
As I watch the group huddle together, my chest tightens at the sight of the three girls.
Their fear is palpable and suffocating. Their wide eyes dart around like startled deer.
I notice how they cling to each other, their knuckles white.
I know the dark truth of the situation and the horrors that awaited all of them.
The thought ignites a fierce burning in my chest, and I clench my fists tightly.
“They touch any of you?” I ask, my voice laced with concern.
“No,” the brunette reassures me, her eyes wide as she and the blonde—both older—shield the young girls.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here. The extraction point is half a mile north,” Riggs says with urgency.
We gather the rescues and work our way out, Preacher helping the beaten man walk out of the building. My boots pound against the dry, cracked ground as we leave the old villa behind us and scan our surroundings, my eyes adjusting again to the endless void of black.
“Pick up the pace,” Cowboy barks, his voice tight. “We got about sixty seconds before we see fireworks.”
The rescues attempt to pick up the pace, but exhaustion drags them down. One of the women nearly trips, but Thor hauls her up without breaking his stride.
“Keep movin’,” Riggs snaps, glancing over his shoulder.
An eerie stillness in the air makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
Then, the night erupts.
The villa explodes in a massive fireball, followed by a shockwave that feels like it passes through my body.
The roar is deafening, causing my ears to ring.
Heat soon follows, even from this distance, a wave of scorching air carrying the stench of burning stone, wood, and flesh.
The flames light up the night sky with shades of orange and red as plumes of thick black smoke coil upward, turning the night into a battlefield.
Preacher coughs, waving his hand in front of his face as the burnt smell thickens. “I think I just inhaled one of them dead cartel motherfuckers.”
“Incoming!” Cowboy shouts from behind, and we look over our shoulders. Barely visible through the smoke-choked darkness, headlights slice through.
“Fuck! Get down!” Riggs barks at the rescues, and they drop, covering their heads, the women and men shielding the girls.
I keep my eyes locked on the vehicle barreling straight toward us. Then gunfire rips through the dark, bullets pelting the ground.
“Where the hell did they come from?” Thor shouts.
Cowboy drops to one knee, shoulders the small grenade launcher he’s been itching to use, and lines up his shot. The thump of the launcher barely registers before the truck explodes, sending metal shards into the air while sending another shockwave rattling through my chest.
“Move, move, move!” Riggs barks, and everyone is up and pushing forward.
We reach the extraction point as the deep whoosh-whomp of helicopter blades cuts through the night.
The rotor kicks up a storm of sand and grit, stinging the skin on my face as we load the rescues into the chopper, putting us right at max capacity.
The second the door slides shut, the pilot lifts off.
My stomach lurches, gravity pulling hard on my body before we level out.
The smell of sweat, blood, and spent gunpowder clings to my clothes, and adrenaline still thrums in my veins as a heavy breath leaves my body.
I shift in my seat, scanning the people packed in the chopper.
Preacher is across from me, his rifle cradled across his chest. Cowboy is next to him, head tilted back, eyes closed.
Thor is at the door, his eyes looking out the window.
Riggs is at my side, his usual controlled energy humming under the surface.
I glance at our rescues. They’re weary and exhausted but alive, and that’s what matters.
The ride stretches on, nothing but the pulse of the rotors breaking the stillness. I finally let my head fall against the metal interior, staring at the bolts and panels above me.
“You handled yourself like a soldier out there.” Riggs’ voice cuts through the hum of the chopper. “Damn glad I brought you along.” There’s no bullshit in his words, no empty praise, just pride in his tone.
Something tightens in my chest, something I don’t have words for, so I nod, hoping that’s enough.
After landing at another secure location, the rescued are loaded into a passenger van.
The brunette steps forward, her face streaked with dirt and sweat.
She makes sure to lock eyes with each of us.
“Those girls are why I continue to do what I do, regardless of the danger I put myself in.” She looks back at the van and then at us again. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
Thor wipes sweat from his brow. “You gotta name, beautiful?” He cocks his head, flashing her a smile.
“That’s classified,” she says.
Thor places a hand over his heart like she just shot him. “Damn. Does that mean your number is classified too?” he teases, and she smiles a little.
“Afraid so.” She turns and climbs into the van, closing the door.
Cowboy snorts as the vehicle drives away. “You’d flirt with a rattlesnake if it batted its eyelashes at you,” he tells Thor.
“I thrive on danger.” Thor chuckles with a confident grin.
Riggs strides over to us. “Listen up, everyone! Just got off the line with Wick. He and Tequila are about to welcome their little one into the world.” He shoots a broad grin at Cowboy, Thor, and Preacher. “Ya’ll up for another trip?”
The three look at each other, and then Cowboy answers, “Let the good times roll!”
We all climb in the chopper and when we land in Louisiana, we’re running on fumes, but there is no time to waste. We tear through the streets toward the hospital, pushing speed limits and barely making stops.
When we hit the waiting room, Riggs makes a beeline for his woman, Luna, who is holding their daughter. The small space is filled wall to wall with family and friends. At that exact moment, Wick steps in, wearing a massive grin.
“I have a son,” he announces, his voice thick with emotion.
The room erupts, cheers reverberating off the walls.
I lean back against the cool wooden door frame, letting the moment's sheer energy wash over me as Wick’s parents and Tequila’s dad are the first to rush forward, their faces radiating pride and joy that lights up the entire space.
One by one, friends and family step forward, their voices merging into a blend of congratulations, laughter, and excited chatter.
I stroll over to Wick. “Congratulations, brother.” Gripping his shoulder tightly, I ask, “How’s Tequila?”
Wick grins. “Good.” His eyes sparkle with mischief. "She’s insisting on seeing the family.” He scans the room, relishing the moment and the love surrounding him.
Kiwi laughs. “Are they aware of how many of us there are?”
“Don’t care. I’m just followin’ orders, brother,” Wick says, leading the way down the hall with one hell of a following in tow.
We pack into the small hospital room like a can of sardines, pumped to see Tequila and the newest Kings of Retribution family member.
Wick sits on the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around his woman, and the other hand resting on the tiny bundle wrapped in a soft blue blanket cradled in Tequila’s arms. “Everyone," Wick says, and the room falls silent.
He looks back down at his son. "I'd like you to meet Damien Dawson.”
From where I stand, my gaze drifts across the room to where London stands next to Promise and Nova. Something stirs deep within me. It feels like a wave that rises from the pit of my stomach.
Thoughts of someday having a family of my own spiral through my mind.
Thoughts I don’t need to feel while staring at London.