Page 71 of The Souls We Claim

We split into the teams we arranged. Spark is so close behind me, I can feel his breath on my neck. “Any closer, I’ll end up pregnant,” I whisper.

“Funny,” he replies.

Clutch steps up and picks the lock. Most people, if they fire a gun, hold it somewhere mid-chest and shoot straight. So, we crouch as I nudge the door open, ready to take out anyone who tries.

I flip down my night vision goggles. A pile of pizza boxes and other take-out trash is stacked in the hallway. There are sheets of paper hung on the wall by a single piece of tape.

They are filled with rules and military structures and talking points for the American New Order.

Jesus, they fancy themselves as some kind of organized militia.

The lights are off on the lower level, but there is the soft glow of a light up the stairs. I guess militias go to bed at eleven.

I see King’s outline move down the hallway from what is likely the kitchen. But my team is meant to clear the upper level. Pressing my back to the wall, I take the stairs with my weapon raised.

Our best efforts to remain silent are thwarted by creaking stairs. Someone somewhere in the house kicks a can over.

“You hear that?” a voice says.

“Fucking rats,” another answers.

I’ve been called plenty of things before, but a rat isn’t one of them.

I raise two fingers and point towards the first bedroom. Catalina and Vex move past me as I provide cover. I do the same again and point to the room with the light. Spark and Clutch take it.

I hear the muffled cries and take the rest of the stairs, then rush into the third room.

The cries turn into shouts.

Mayhem commences. There are two men in the room. One in the bed, the other on a mattress on the floor. Neither has a weapon near them. It’s so easy, it’s like taking candy from a baby.

But then I remember letting Lola try ice cream. That kid took one bite and was so excited by it that she grabbed onto the waffle cone hard enough that she broke it. She’s probably tougher than these losers at twelve months old.

I toss a cable tie to the one on the floor, flip my night vision goggles, and turn on the light. “Go tie his hands behind his back.”

He doesn’t even put up a fight. I have him beaten in size, weaponry, and skill. And his friend just lets him tie him up.

From the banging in the room next to me, there is a fight going on. “Seems like I got the cowards.”

Neither of them says a word. The one on the bed looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

They don’t look much older than college kids. Or perhaps I’m getting older.

A single gunshot fires somewhere in the house.

They both look to the door nervously, and then I see the resemblance. They’re brothers.

“You, face the wall, right up to it. I want your nose, chest, and hips making contact with your hands behind your back.”

“Please don’t kill us,” the younger one says as he does exactly what I instructed.

“Nobody’s killing anyone if we get the information we need.” I let the strap over my shoulder take the weight of the weapon as I tie up his hands. “Now sit on the bed, both of you.”

“I told you this was all fucked up,” the older one says to the other.

King walks into the room. “Seven of them,” he says.

“Let’s keep them separate. See how much each one says, and then we can compare to see if we’re getting truth or lies.”