Page 147 of Hurt

“Think this might be your new profile picture, bud,” Willow said as she sent the picture out to every contact in Asher’s phone.

Grant brought the pair of binoculars down and used his naked eyes to scan the compound.

The Catacombs.

Thanks to Owen, they finally found it. His meticulous combing of Cyanide pill purchases led him to a PO Box. From there, Jamie and Elijah followed the Vega underlings from the PO Box to the hideout in the desert.

The Weavers were gathered two miles from the perimeter fence. Using a natural rock cropping to shield their numbers they were waiting for more information before unleashing the siege.

It was taking too long. Grant’s fingers itched, and he felt his hand straying to the handle of his blade more than once. He wanted to hold it. To rain down blood with it. The logical side of his brain wasn’t used to being ignored by the primal part, and it was causing a disconnect inside him. He felt like he was short-circuiting. Rather than losing power, he was just getting angrier.

Roland was at his side, silent as always. They had not discussed his earlier outburst. His brother had either decided that now was not the time to bring it up or he had forgiven the incident entirely. That was something Grant would worry about later.

He knew Roland blamed Kurt for Willow being taken. How could he not? Roland had made no effort to hide his distaste for his lover’s brother. He felt like Kurt was a weight around Willow’s neck and more than that, he apparently did not trust him.

None of this sat right with Grant, but there wasn’t much he could do to change his brother’s mind. Not until he had Kurt and Willow safe.

And they would be safe. Failure was not an option.

Grant silently offered Roland the binoculars and his brother held them up to his light eyes.

The Catacombs were built to withstand an attack. It was reminiscent of a military base. While the Weaver Estate was a home with defenses, the Catacombs were a fortress. Owen had managed to pull up some information about it. Prior to 1930 it was a military testing site for explosive ordinance. After that, the records were hazy, but Owen was pretty sure the Vega Cabal acquired it sometime between WWI and WWII. They spent the next few decades outfitting it to fit their paranoid requirements.

Twenty acres in total, it was massive. Buildings littered the property with no rhyme or reason, and those were only the ones they could see. Owen was convinced there were structures underground. They had wanted aerial coverage, but the IT genius needed time to rewire his drones and figure out a way around the Vega Cabal sensors.

Grant was unwilling to wait.

A rock was kicked. It skittered beside his feet, and he half turned in time to see Jackson appear out of the gloom. Grant knew the tall man could move in complete silence if he wanted to. The rock was kicked for their benefit.

“Sentries are down,” he said gruffly, voice as dense and low as the incoming darkness.

“Good.”

Jackson eyed both Weaver brothers with something akin to distaste. His unfathomable eyes flicked from the blade strapped to Grant’s thigh to the 9-millimeter Glock slung into his shoulder holster. His face only deepened into dissatisfaction when he saw that Roland had nothing but his brass knuckles.

“That’s it?”

Roland lowered the binoculars and looked over to the mercenary. The tension between the large men crackled. Testosterone filled the air as they assessed each other.

“Now, now,” Jamie crowed, appearing from out of nowhere. “No need to fight. You’re both pretty.”

Roland’s mouth twitched in annoyance, but he finally broke eye contact. Jackson’s lip curled in disgust as he looked down at the short assassin.

Jackson would be intimidating in a pair of teddy bear pajamas. His slanted eyebrows rested like twin blades above eyes that could cut you with a single glance. But tonight, he was especially deadly looking. His all-black tactical uniform was firmly in place. In addition to his usual thick saber, he had two long guns slung across his back with a bandolero of extra ammunition over his right shoulder.

Jamie shuddered under that look. “Oh, please, step on my neck, Daddy. Just once. I’ve been such a goo—”

“Jamie!” Elijah flicked his cousin in the temple.

Jackson grunted and squared his shoulders.

“Jamie, have you found a good position?” Grant asked, trying to distract the gunmen before he could open his mouth again.

“What? Oh, right. Yes.” Jamie cleared his throat and looked over at the compound. “There’s two buildings just off the entrance that look high enough to get a good vantage point. I should be able to give you good cover once I get up there.”

Elijah dropped the duffel bag he was carrying at Jamie’s feet. “Rope and grappling hooks.”

“How long will it take you to get up there?”