Page 74 of Hurt

A feral feeling rose in him, and he let it loose.

Back to back with Jackson, they circled around each other in a dance. A two-man killing machine that worked in perfect harmony. The bodies stacked up around them.

Jackson slashed the knee of a man, then brought his knee up to smash into his face. Using his body as a battering ram, he tossed him into two of his comrades. They stumbled back long enough for one bullet to cut through each of their skulls.

From up in the rafters, Jamie grinned and shot the men a thumbs up. Lazily, he leveled the high-powered rifle around the room and picked off stragglers. Anyone who separated enough for him to take them out before they got close to the two men wielding blades.

The warehouse reeked of chemicals. A massive drug manufacturing plant, the men and women making the drugs had fled the moment they saw the two men and their blades. About twenty guards met them head-on—Jamie had taken out his fair share, but there were plenty that lay bleeding from knife wounds.

With an exhale, he took out another straggler that got too close to Jackson’s flank.

A whistle of appreciation split his lips as he watched the tall men. Grant was faster and nimbler than Jackson, but the mercenary’s raw power more than made up for it. Grant moved like a dancer—a quick strike then move onto the next before the first body fell, while Jackson was a slashing and cutting machine. Imprecise, but effective in large quantities.

From his perch, it was a thing of beauty. Grant occasionally rolled over Jackson’s back, elegant leg striking out to knock a man back a step so he could stab him through the liver. While he gracefully killed, Jackson had two men almost severed in half, blood and gore soaking his arm.

Grant swung his blade around only to realize they were alone. Harsh breathing echoed around the cavernous warehouse as he scanned the bodies around them. Most of them were dead, or dead enough. Standing up straight, he rolled his shoulders and checked in with Jackson.

The tall man was scanning their victims, kicking and nudging them with blood-soaked boots. If one of them moaned, his machete came down with a sickening wet squelch.

“Jamie,” Grant called out on his comm. “Do you see anything?”

“Whole lotta dead, my liege,” Jamie said in his ear.

Jackson glanced up to where Jamie was perched in the support struts of the warehouse. “Why is he upside down?”

Grant smiled faintly as he looked up to see Jamie hanging from his feet like a bat, rifle pressed to his eye.

“With Jamie, it’s more about results than the process,” Grant explained.

A moment later, the man in question dropped down from his perch. With the gun slung around his shoulder, he walked around large puddles of blood. Stopping, he looked down at one of the bodies.

“Dude. You cut off his head and his arm? How did you even manage that?”

Jackson didn’t look at him as he walked past him, sheathing his machete against his thigh. “What now?”

“We finish up here, then get in contact with Roland,” Grant said as Jackson came abreast of him. “He may need help.”

The two tall men were awash in blood—Grant’s light-colored clothing was splattered with a spreading dark red stain. Jackson’s all-black wardrobe was much more practical.

Jamie looked between the two and shuddered. “I don’t know if I’m afraid or horny.”

Jackson curled his lip in disgust, leveling a vicious glare at the gunman.

“Oh, it’s definitely horny. Will you spank me, Dadd—”

“Jamie.” For all their safety, Grant cut him off. “Burn it down.”

Jamie giggled. “Is today my birthday?” He scampered off to collect whatever materials he needed.

Exiting the warehouse, Grant looked back at the drug-making paraphernalia. It was a good operation for the Vegas. In the past, they had scurried into hidey holes, making small batches of cheap drugs they could sell to the individual. But something had elevated their processes. There was close to a million dollars worth of product stored up, and the equipment was worth just as much.

Crouching down, Grant split a dead man’s mouth with his gloved fingers. Reaching into his mouth, he tapped on his teeth until he found a fake. Wresting it free, he held it up to the light.

“More poison.”

“The Vegas have gotten sophisticated.”

Grant sighed and pocketed the fake tooth. This was troubling.