Page 27

Orion

I crouch against the splintered wall of a run-down building, heart pounding beneath my Kevlar vest. My breath comes in steady, deliberate pulls as I glance around the makeshift command post we’ve assembled. It’s dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a portable lamp on the floor and the screens of our scattered devices. Dean stands at the center, issuing orders into his comm, while Riggs, Gunner, Asher, and Maverick double-check weapons. The tension is thick enough to choke on.

We’re less than a block away from a dingy warehouse, the place we believe Briar—and Chester—are being held. It’s taken days of chasing leads and a massive favor involving satellite imagery, but now we know exactly where they are. The overhead shots show a sprawling compound with multiple entrances, more than a dozen armed men, and a handful of vehicles parked near the loading docks. And inside, somewhere in the back, I’m told there’s a section cordoned off by makeshift walls. That’s where they’ve got Briar.

Gunner stands beside me, tablet in hand, flicking between images. “Twelve men, plus Jason and Heath,” he murmurs, dark eyes scanning the final feed we managed to get. “Not counting any stragglers who might not show up on the thermal scans.”

I nod, jaw clenched. “Any sign of bigger players? The Bratva father or anything like that?”

Gunner shakes his head. “Doesn’t look like Yuri is there. Guess he really did cut ties with his sons. But these guys aren’t amateurs. They’ve got trucks, probable arms shipments, and enough coverage to hold off a small army.”

Dean steps over, adjusting the earpiece in his comm. “All right, listen up,” he says, voice tense. He’s in full tactical mode now, and the rest of us gather around him. “We’ve confirmed the back corner of the warehouse is sealed off, probably where Briar and the bird are kept. The info we got from that overhead pass shows minimal movement in that area—likely just a guard or two. Our main trouble is the front.”

Riggs, who’s built like a tank, folds his arms. “So we go in quiet through the west side, slip past the outer perimeter.”

Maverick nods, tapping a stylus on the screen of his phone. “If we can neutralize the roving guard near the loading dock, we’ll have a relatively clear path to the interior. Then we split up—some of us draw attention at the front, the rest push to the back to secure Briar and Chester.”

“Yeah, about that attention at the front,” Gunner interjects. “That’s where the majority of these guys are clustered. We’ve gotta be ready for a firefight. They won’t hesitate to shoot if they sense we’re a threat.”

A slow burn of anger flares in my chest. Let them shoot. My only concern is getting Briar out alive. The last few days, I’ve hardly slept, images of her frightened face hounding every spare moment. Hell, I can barely think about anything else. Jason, that bastard, and Heath, the traitor who waltzed into the zoo. They’re going down , no question.

Dean catches the look on my face. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Stay focused,” he says quietly. “Don’t let rage drive you. The mission is to get her out, not to rack up a body count.”

I give a curt nod, swallowing back the fury. “Understood.”

Asher, new to the team but already fitting in like he’s been around forever, sets a couple of rifles on the rickety table. “Everyone check your gear. We go in five. Comm lines on channel three. We keep chatter to a minimum. Two teams: Dean, Riggs, and me in the front, Orion and Gunner take the west side. Maverick, you run external overwatch with the drone. You see trouble, you call it in.”

We each acknowledge, doing quick re-checks: magazine, chamber, safety, earpiece, vest. The metallic clack of loading weapons is a cold comfort. I run a hand over the front pocket of my vest, where I keep a photo of Briar. It’s one of the photos she had in her memento box, and I snatched it when I went home to grab Jeb. It’s wrinkled and worn from being held so often, but it’s the only tangible reminder I have of her smile.

Gunner notices. He quirks an eyebrow. “You really care about her, huh?”

My throat tightens. “Yeah,” is all I manage. I can’t afford to say anything more right now.

He just nods once, understanding in his eyes. Then he slaps a fresh mag into his rifle. “All right, let’s do this.”

We head out into the night, sticking to the shadows as we approach the warehouse. The air is stagnant, carrying the faint stench of garbage from the nearby alleyways. My boots make barely a whisper against the cracked pavement. I keep my weapon pointed at the ground but ready. My senses sharpen—every scrape of metal, every distant voice, every flickering light stands out like a siren.

We split into our teams. Dean, Riggs, and Asher slip around the north side, heading for the main entrance. Gunner and I duck behind a stack of shipping pallets by the west side fence. Maverick is tucked somewhere overhead, vantage unknown, but I can hear the faint hum of a small drone he’s guiding. My heart pounds relentlessly, adrenaline surging.

Through a gap in the fence, I spot a lone guard patrolling by a side door. He’s armed with what looks like an AK, strolling with a bored slump. Gunner locks eyes with me, nods. We creep around, hugging the wall. The guard stops, checks his phone, and in that second, Gunner lunges. A swift elbow to the neck, gun pressed to the guard’s temple, muffling any scream. The guard slumps as I knock him out with the butt of the gun. We drag him behind a dumpster, zip-tying his hands. I sweep the area—clear for now.

“Maverick, one guard down at west side,” I whisper into my mic. “Moving in.”

“Copy,” comes his hushed reply. “Dean’s about to breach front entrance. Wait for his go.”

We flatten ourselves against the warehouse’s corrugated metal wall. My grip on the rifle tightens, my palms sweating inside my gloves. A dull roar of voices filters through the structure, men laughing, cursing in Russian. The sweet tang of success is overshadowed by the sour taste of dread—Briar’s so close, but still far from safe.

The comm crackles. “Breach on three. Three… two… one.” Dean’s voice signals over the channel. Then an explosion of noise erupts from the front—shouting, gunfire, the clang of metal. They’ve made contact.

“That’s our cue,” Gunner hisses. We shove open the side door. It groans on rusty hinges, revealing a dimly lit corridor stacked with crates. My heart leaps into my throat.

We move fast, rifles up, scanning every corner. The staccato of bullets rattles somewhere deeper in the building. Muffled shouts. We step over a toppled box of ammo, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air. Two men appear at the far end of the corridor, weapons raised. Gunner drops to one knee, firing a short burst. One man goes down, the other dives behind a crate. I press myself against the wall, inch closer, and lob a flashbang around the corner.

Bang ! The hallway glows white for an instant, and the man stumbles out, disoriented. I close the gap, butt of my rifle slamming into his shoulder. He crumples, and Gunner strips him of his weapon.

We push on. My ears ring, my senses hyper-focused. “Maverick,” I rasp out, “any sign of Briar?”

“Check the north corner, enclosed area,” he responds, panting. “Dean’s team is pinned down near the front. Hurry.”

Gunner and I hurry toward the north corner, passing a row of dusty windows. Sudden gunfire erupts behind us—a guard tries to flank, bullet ricochets whining overhead. Gunner returns fire, forcing the guard to duck for cover. We press ourselves behind a support column.

I grit my teeth, chest heaving. Focus on Briar. I peer around the column, catch a glimpse of the guard’s arm. Another short burst from my rifle, and the threat goes silent. My pulse roars like thunder in my ears.

“Let’s move,” Gunner mutters, reloading. We navigate a maze of crates, following Maverick’s direction. The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of gunpowder, stinging my eyes. A doorway appears at the end of the passage, blocked by a makeshift barrier of wooden pallets. Light flickers from beyond.

I throw my shoulder into the pallets, shoving them aside. My mind screams Briar with every heartbeat. The door behind them is unlocked, just a cheap metal latch. I kick it open.

Inside is a small, partitioned area—a miniature prison cell made of plywood and corrugated metal. Dim lights hang from overhead cords. And there, in a cage-like enclosure, I see her: Briar, huddled on the floor, hair disheveled, face etched with exhaustion. Relief floods me like a tidal wave.

But there’s no time to savor it—Heath stands guard, weapon in hand. The second we crash in, he whips around, eyes wild. “Don’t move!” he yells, swinging the gun up.

I don’t hesitate. A single shot cracks from my rifle, catching him in the arm. He reels, dropping his gun with a yelp of pain, collapsing to the floor. Gunner keeps his rifle trained on him, ready if he tries anything else.

My feet slam against the concrete as I cross the distance to Briar. She flinches, eyes blinking in confusion. “Orion?” she croaks, voice shaking.

I tear at the lock on the enclosure, forcing it open. “Yeah, it’s me. You’re safe,” I gasp, arms wrapping around her. She’s trembling, cold, and thin from days of captivity. Guilt stabs me for not finding her sooner, but relief eclipses everything else. “I’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here.”

Beyond the partition, more gunfire pops, echoing through the warehouse. Gunner curses into his comm, signaling we’ve retrieved Briar. We still need Chester, my brain reminds me, scanning the room. In a smaller cage near the back, the green shape of a parrot shuffles. That must be Chester, ruffling his wings in distress.

I grit my teeth, adrenaline still pumping. “Gunner, grab the bird,” I bark, pulling Briar against my side. She can barely stand, but her arms cling to me like she’s afraid I’ll vanish. “We’re going home.”

Gunner nods, dashing for Chester’s cage. Heath groans on the floor, clutching his bleeding arm, but I keep my rifle aimed at him in case he tries anything else. I secure Briar’s weight against me, half-carrying her. The mission isn’t over until we’re outside, safely away from the chaos. But with her fragile warmth pressed against me, I feel the knots in my chest uncoil, replaced by fierce determination. I won’t let her out of my sight again.

Time to get out—twelve men, or maybe more, but we have one goal: Extract Briar and Chester. The firefight still rages somewhere deeper in the building. I adjust my hold on Briar. “Dean, we got her and the bird. Moving out west side. Cover us.”

“Roger,” Dean’s voice crackles. “We’ll clear a path.”

Gunfire cracks in the distance, and I steel myself for what might be the hardest part: the escape. But I don’t falter. Because I have Briar now, safe in my arms, and I’m not letting go.