Page 24 of Puck’N Enemy (Thunder Knights #2)

Logan

The hours that pass bleed into each other like a bad dream. I pace the floor of my dorm room, my heart pounding like it wants to burst out of my chest.

Mitchikov still hasn’t called me with any news. It’s almost torturous to wait and do nothing.

Dylan has been missing for more than twelve hours now. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s trapped in Pete’s clutches or he’d have found a way to contact me.

The sudden loud ringing of my phone jolts me out of my thoughts. Grabbing it, I see that it’s Mitchikov.

A sliver of disappointment goes through me. I’d been hoping to hear from Dylan but deep within, I know it’s an impossible wish. Dylan’s no longer in a position to reach out to me for help.

“Hey,” I say, picking up Mitchikov’s call.

“I found Dylan,” Mitchikov says in a low, clipped tone. The urgency in his voice alerts me immediately. “Pete’s men have taken him to a luxury apartment in downtown Knightswood. I confirmed it from two separate sources. Dylan isn’t too far away from us.”

For a fleeting moment, my lungs fill with relief. Dylan is no longer missing. We know where he is, so it’s just a matter of time before I reach him.

“Text me the address,” I say, grabbing my jacket and car keys. “I’m going right now.”

“Logan, wait.” Mitchikov’s voice is sharp as a blade.

“What is it?”

“You can’t just storm in there like you’re some kind of a superhero,” he says.

“This isn’t a locker room fight. This is the middle of a Bratva turf war.

Pete’s making moves on territory that doesn’t belong to him, and the senior families are done playing nice.

They’re planning to attack him tonight.”

My hand tightens on my phone. “I don’t care about the Bratva. I have to get Dylan out of there before he gets caught between them and gets hurt.”

“You should care, though,” he snaps. “Because that penthouse? It’s about to become ground zero.

I talked to some people and learned that one of the families is already gearing up to take Pete down.

And thanks to my connections, they’re letting us be part of the move.

But you need to understand something, Logan.

This isn’t a hockey fight. It’s going to be a bloodbath.

If you so much as breathe wrong, you’re dead. ”

My pulse thunders in my ears at the change in Mitchikov’s demeanor. The guy who casually picks fights and then laughs about being punched is warning me not to be reckless.

“Tell me what to do,” I say in a calmer tone. “Because I’m not leaving him there.”

There’s a long pause. “You really love him, huh?” he says, sighing.

I don’t answer. I don’t have to.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “But you’re going to follow every instruction I give you. No improvising. No hero crap. If you break formation, you won’t just get yourself killed. You’ll blow the entire op and Dylan will get trapped by Pete for as long as he breathes. Understand?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“All right, then,” he continues in a serious tone.

“When we go in, it’s going to be chaos. You’ll see armed men shooting at each other.

Some will be screaming while others will be dying.

You need to stay focused on one thing and that’s to find Dylan.

I’ll handle the Bratva guys, so you just keep your head down and follow my lead. ”

I swallow hard, my chest squeezing with equal parts dread and determination. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” I vow.

“Good,” he says. “I’ll pick you up in an hour and introduce you to the people running this mission. But remember this. One wrong move and we’re both corpses.”

Closing my eyes for a moment, I think of Dylan and the way he looks curled up in my arms. I have to ensure that peace is restored to him. It’s what I promised him and I’ll do anything to keep my word this time.

I’m coming for you, Dyl , I silently vow. “I’m in,” I say aloud to Mitchikov. “Let’s end this.”

Our car idles in the shadow of a supermarket. Across the street, I have a full view of the luxurious apartment building where Pete’s keeping Dylan. I sit wedged between Mitchikov and a man with icy blue eyes and a face carved from stone.

Everyone in the car, except me, is armed. Even Mitchikov has several guns and knives strapped under his jacket. At this moment, he’s not the athlete I’ve known for the past four years.

He’s a professional killer just like the other men in the car. He’s seen and caused real bloodshed and he trusts me enough to let me see this side of him.

I feel the weight of the baseball bat across my lap. It’s almost laughable compared to the guns in their hands. But Mitchikov had told me bluntly earlier, “You’re not going there to fight the war. You’re going there to grab Dylan. That’s it. That’s all you’ve got to do.”

Taking a deep breath, I bring myself to the present.

From the car window, we have a clear view of the building. Guards in dark suits loiter by the entrance, eyes sharp, scanning every passerby. They look like high-end security, but I know they’re more than that. They’re killers on Pete’s payroll.

The most unsettling thing about the scene is how normal everything seems at first glance. There are regular people walking their dogs on the street. A couple strolls past our car, laughing over something on their phones.

And yet, the tension inside the car is thick and suffocating.

I finally understand what Mitchikov meant. A gang war doesn’t care about outsiders. Anyone walking the street right now could become collateral damage in seconds. But right now, all I can think about is Dylan. Somewhere in that building, he’s trapped, hurt, and scared.

The thought makes me grip the bat tighter.

Suddenly, the car doors open. Someone, somewhere, must’ve given them a silent signal. The men slip out one by one, quiet as shadows.

Mitchikov glances at me. “Stay put,” he says in a commanding tone.

“Is Dylan going to be okay?” I ask in a low, worried tone. “If he’s with Pete, he could get killed too.”

Mitchikov remains calm. “They’re not going to kill Pete just yet. Right now, the priority is to flush out Pete’s men and then breach the building. If you rush in now, you’ll never make it past the front door. You’ll be dead before you reach him.”

I clench my jaw, torn between rage and helplessness.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire splits the air.

Chaos erupts instantly on the street. I flinch as the first scream pierces its way into my ear. More shots follow along with short bursts of automatic fire echoing off the concrete. Somewhere close by, glass shatters in a spray of shards.

And then, comes the deep boom of an explosion. A plume of black smoke surges from the far end of the block.

People on the street panic, scattering in every direction, shoving each other to get away. Cars swerve. Someone screams “Bomb!” and the crowd surges harder.

My heart races as I watch Mitchikov’s bratva friends fan out in formation, returning fire.

“It’s started,” Mitchikov says in an eerie calm tone as he scans the chaos on the street.

“What about Dylan?” I ask anxiously. “What if they mistake him for one of Pete’s men?”

“They won’t,” my friend says firmly. “They know Dylan belongs to us. Be patient for a little longer. The breach team will secure the lobby soon and then, we’ll make our move.”

I nod, struggling to stay calm even as screams and gunfire tear through the air outside. All I can do is continue to pray for Dylan and hope he’s still alive.

My pulse thuds in my ears. Every second I wait feels like an eternity.

And suddenly, everything around us becomes still.

The gunfire tapers off. The last screams fade into the distance. Only the faint sound of car alarms and the crackle of distant flames remain.

Mitchikov exhales slowly, checking his phone. A message buzzes through, alerting him. He nods once, his face set with grim determination.

“Lobby’s clear,” he says, looking up at me. “But we don’t have much time. Cops will be swarming this block in minutes. We go now or we’ll end up being arrested.”

I don’t even respond. Simply shoving the car door open, I run toward the building across the street.

The smell of blood and ashes suffuses the air outside. Bodies, mostly of men in dark suits, litter the street. They lie utterly still against the asphalt, clutching their guns in lifeless hands.

I have no idea which faction they belong to. A part of me doesn’t even care. All I want to do is get to Dylan and get him out of there.

The glass lobby doors are shattered and dangling from their hinges.

Stepping inside, I find the marble floors streaked with blood. More dead bodies lie crumpled at my feet. Bullet holes mark the polished walls. A massive chandelier lies shattered on the ground, its glass shards scattered like diamonds in a pool of red.

My stomach turns at the sight but I don’t stop to think.

Dylan, where are you? I think, desperately trying to navigate through the carnage.

“Over here!” Mitchikov calls, pointing toward an elevator.

I rush toward him in time as the shiny steel doors slide open with a soft ding.

Keeping his gun in his hand, Mitchikov steps in and hits the top-floor button without hesitation.

My heart hammers in my chest as the elevator starts its ascent. When the elevator doors finally open, it feels like stepping into another world.

The penthouse living room is pristine and untouched by the violence below. A plush white sofa takes up center stage. There’s expensive art on the walls and a massive floor-to-ceiling window displays the city skyline. The smell of men’s cologne hangs heavy in the air.

I step out of the elevator first but Mitchikov shoves past me, his gun raised, scanning every corner. For a moment, I wonder exactly how many raids my teammate has been on to move with such precision.

“Stay behind me,” he orders, covering me with his body.

My eyes dart frantically around the room. There’s no sign of Dylan or Pete.

The emptiness makes my skin crawl.