Page 67 of Victorious: Part 3

I turn back, facing the opening where Montana, Dutch, and South moved in moments before. The maintenance tunnel stinks of stagnant water and decades of neglect. I crouch in the narrow passageway, my knees protesting against the concrete as I check my watch.

11:47 p.m.

Three minutes until Haven and Nighthawk trigger the communication blackout that’ll give us our window.

“Alpha, we’re in position,” Montana’s voice crackles through my earpiece, barely a whisper. He’s twenty feet ahead with Dutch and South, weapons drawn, waiting for my signal. The kid has been wound tighter than a fucking piano wire since we learned about Rhonda’s betrayal.Can’t blame him.Findingout the woman you trusted to protect your mother in prison has actually been orchestrating her torture for months instead. Yeah, that would break any man.

“Copy,” I murmur back, scanning the team behind me. Ink moves like a shadow despite his size. Phoenix grips his Glock with the controlled intensity of someone who’s dying for a fight. Strings has his knife ready, and Rip, fuck, Rip looks like Christmas morning because the adrenaline junkie thrives on this shit.

“Security rotation change in ninety seconds. Camera loop activates in sixty,” Haven’s voice flows through my earpiece like honey.

I wish she were here, but she has her own duty to attend to.

My heart hammers against my ribs. My nerves, to make sure this is done right, almost outweighing my excitement in taking this fucker’s operation down. We’ve run this drill a dozen times in my head, but reality has a way of making even the best plans go to hell, especially when those plans involve breaking into a maximum-security women’s prison controlled by Cartel operatives who have had years to prepare for exactly this kind of assault.

“Nighthawk, how’s it looking on your end?” I whisper.

“Crystal clear,” Cassandra’s voice responds. “Thermal shows seventeen guards in the main facility, six in the tunnel access points. Valerie’s cell block is quiet, but there’s unusual movement in the administrative wing.”

Unusual movement.

That could mean anything from routine paperwork to an execution squad preparing to eliminate witnesses. My jaw clenches as I think about Montana’s mother, sitting in a cell, probably wondering why her son hasn’t contacted her in days.

We now know why—Rhonda has been blocking all contact.

“Thirty seconds,” Haven announces.

I key my mic. “All teams, get ready to move.” My chest tightens with pride and terror. These men are following me into what could very well be a death trap, trusting my leadership to get them out alive. The weight of that responsibility sits on my shoulders like the heaviest of fucking anvils.

“Camera blackout in ten… nine… eight…” Haven counts down in my ear.

I close my eyes, centering myself the way my army training taught me.

Focus on the mission.

Trust your brothers.

Bring everyone home.

“Three… two… mark. You have a twelve-minute window before the next guard rotation. Make it count,” Haven instructs, watching on through Loki’s camera hack from home base.

“Move,” I command, and we flow through the tunnel like water through a pipe.

The layout Garver and Nighthawk provided is burned into my memory. Fifty yards to the first junction, left turn toward the main facility, then a straight shot to the access ladder that leads up into the women’s cell block.

Simple on paper.

Potentially fatal in execution.

Montana reaches the junction first, hand signals confirming the path is clear. We’re moving faster than planned, which could be good or catastrophic, depending on what we encounter up top.

“Phoenix, Rip, you’re on tunnel security,” I whisper. “Anything comes down here that isn’t us, you handle it quietly.”

They peel off without a word, disappearing into the shadows like they were never here.

The maintenance ladder stretches up into darkness, rusty metal rungs that could give way under our weight or scream likebanshees if we’re not careful. Montana is already climbing, his desperation making him reckless.

“Easy, Montana,” I whisper into my mic. “We stick to the timeline.”