Page 71 of Monstrosity

"Confident. I like it." He checks his own weapons. "Meghan made me promise to keep you alive. Something about Disney plans."

"Dasha made me promise the same about you. Something about you and Meghan watching the girls if anything happens to us."

"Jesus, that's morbid." He pauses. "But yeah, of course we would. You know that."

"I know. But she wanted it said out loud, I guess. Making sure everything's covered." I adjust my holster. "Plus Cali's apparently decided you're her favorite uncle."

"Smart kid." He grins. "Though Fenrir's gonna be pissed. He's been bribing her with candy for months trying to win that title."

"Mount up!" Runes' voice carries across the lot.

Engines roar to life, the sound of two dozen Harleys enough to shake windows.

I swing onto my bike, feeling the magnitude of what’s about to happen.

The drawings in my cut press against my chest—reminders of what matters.

We roll out in formation, a convoy of death heading for the docks.

The sun is setting, painting the sky blood red. Fitting.

The meeting point with the Irish is an abandoned truck stop five miles from the target.

Their vehicles are already there—black SUVs that scream organized crime.

Professionals, not street thugs.

Doran meets us as we dismount. "Evening, gentlemen. Ready to get rich?"

"Ready to end threats," I correct. "The money's just a bonus."

"Spoken like a man with priorities." He gestures to the assembled Irish soldiers. "My boys are ready. We'll hit the boats on your signal, secure the product while you handle the warehouse."

"Bembe?"

"If we see him, we'll coral him your way." His smile is sharp. "Uncle wants his pound of flesh, but he respects your claim."

"Appreciated."

Doran and Liam's lieutenant—Connor, I think—go over final coordination while I study aerial photos one more time.

The dock is isolated, approach roads limited.

Good for containing everything that’s about to go down but bad if we need to get out of there quick.

"Two minutes," Tor announces.

I check my weapons one final time.

Glock at my hip, backup at my ankle, knife in my boot.

The weight is familiar, comforting even. Tools of the trade.

"Remember," I address my team. "We go in quiet until we can't. Priority is securing the warehouse and finding Bembe. Anyone else is collateral damage."

Nods all around. These men know their business.

"Let's ride."