Chapter 7

Back at the compound,the adrenaline still pumping through my veins, I followed August’s lead. The compound, once a hub of illicit activities, now looked like a ghost town in the wake of the chaos we’d unleashed.

“Cargo is clear and safe. Reinforcements are on the way.” Cain’s voice was firm, insistent as we navigated through the maze of buildings. “Tell me you can hear this.”

I wished I could tell him. Hell, I was lucky the ear piece hadn’t dislodged when my face had hit the dirt. August was alert, constantly scanning, same as me.

“Jesus,” Cain continued. “I’m assuming you can hear me. Okay, no sign of anyone leaving, so… guessing everyone is holed up. Blueprints—Simon, pass me the… shit… okay, yeah… there’s a panic room, top floor of the main building.”

I relayed the important information. “Annie’s safe. No one has vacated or run. Also, panic room, top floor, main building.”

“That’s where he’ll be,” he murmured.

“Who?” I asked.

“The asshole at the top of this cartel. He’s here.”

“You know that for sure?” I glanced at him.

“Instinct.” He didn’t even pause, not even a hint of hesitation in his gray eyes.

A panic room made sense. These guys always had an escape plan, a last resort when things went south, and if there was no sign of anyone leaving… “Let’s move,” I said, my voice steady despite the pounding of my heart. The thought that I could get everyone and shut this down, was a fire in my gut.

We approached the main building, aware that every corner could be an ambush, every shadow a potential threat. The silence was eerie. Where were the remaining crew members?

Protecting the head of this organization?

We moved in formation to the base of the stairs, removing two guards who were staring outside and not watching their backs. They realized we were there too late, but their cries were muffled as we took them down. I reached into a pocket for zip ties, but August was there, killing them on the spot, a knife to each throat. No mercy given.

We did the same on the next floor, three this time, and we shared taking down goon number three, but it was August who finished the job even though all three were unconscious.

He was a killing machine, and I couldn’t even argue with him because he knew them, and I didn’t. Back at Sanctuary, they’d worried about his humanity, and fuck if I could see much humanity in him right now.

As we made our way to the top floor, every step was measured, calculated. We were a team functioning with a singular purpose as we entered a large room, a bank of computers and desks, not unlike the office back at Sanctuary Chicago.

As soon as we entered the room, it was clear we’d found the remaining crew, armed and ready, with their weapons trained on us. But it was the sixth man, thin and quivering, who caught my attention. His weapon wobbled in his unsteady hands; his eyes wide with fear. He was no soldier; he was terrified, out of his depth.

“Don’t shoot!” he cried. Before I could process further, the thin man’s weapon clattered to the floor. He crouched, covering his ears, his whole body shaking. August and I didn’t hesitate with the rest. We didn’t have the luxury of a standoff.

In one fluid motion, I dropped to a crouch, and the room erupted into chaos. The first armed man didn’t have time to register surprise before I squeezed the trigger, the bullet hitting him center mass. He fell backward, his weapon clattering to the floor.

August crouched, then took down the second man with the precision of a seasoned warrior.

I pivoted, my sights settling on the third assailant. He was quicker, firing off a shot that whizzed past my ear. Adrenaline surged, and I returned fire, two shots that hit their mark, sending him sprawling to the ground.

The fourth and fifth men were recovering from their initial shock, trying for cover, firing wide. But August and I were a step ahead. My next bullet caught the fourth man in the shoulder, spinning him around. At the same time, August’s shot took down the fifth, a clean hit to the center mass, and then, he finished off my guy with a kill shot.

In mere seconds, the room fell silent, the only sound the ragged breathing of the small, thin man still crouched on the floor, his hands over his ears.

August and I exchanged a quick glance. The threat was neutralized, but we couldn’t lower our guard, not yet. With our weapons still raised, we cleared the rest of the room, alert for more danger.

“Amos,” August said under his breath.

But there was none. We were alone with the cowering man—Amos—the aftermath of our swift action surrounding us. It was over, at least for now. As I holstered my weapon, August stepped towards Amos, his voice carrying a command that brooked no argument. “Stand up, Amos,” he ordered as he kicked away the fallen weapon. It skittered under a table, and the man uncurled himself, rising, but avoiding August’s gaze, hands above his head.

“Fuck. Mitchell. Don’t shoot me; please don’t kill me. I just do what I’m told.”

August thumbed at him. “Amos, comm, mouthpiece of whoever is in the panic room, runs all the ops, human trafficking, drugs, guns. Knows all the shit here.” August confirmed to me in a dead tone. He pressed a gun under the man’s chin, tilting it, so he could look him in the eyes. “Issuing contracts on the lives of innocents.” Just as much evil in that man, then, as in any others in the cartel.

“He could be useful to keep for intel,” I murmured.

Amos grabbed onto that big time. “Yes! Yes! I can be useful. I’ll tell you everything.”

“After you get us into the panic room,” August snapped.

Amos, was a bundle of nerves, his voice only a whisper as he stammered, “I-I can’t… He’ll kill me.” His eyes were wide, haunted by a terror that spoke volumes of the person behind the panic room door. “I’ll go; you can take me, but please don’t make me—” August pressed the gun harder, and the thin man was almost up on his toes.

“Open the fucking room.”

But Amos shook his head, lost in his fear. “You don’t understand. He’s not like the others. He’s evil. There’s nothing good left in him. Clara saw that. She wanted the girl, and she made it worse. He’ll kill me.” I wasn’t sure what in hell he was talking about, but then, Amos stopped, leaving an ominous silence.

I exchanged a glance with August. We both understood the stakes, the delicate balance of fear and necessity that we were using—good cop, bad cop. My approach softened, my voice becoming more reassuring. “Listen, Amos,” I said. “We can work out a deal for you, but you have to help us.”

There was a moment where everything seemed to hang in the balance, when Amos’s decision was a thread that could unravel at any moment. Then, he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered, a resignation in his voice that was almost pitiful. “Okay, I’ll do it. But please, you have to protect me. Go in there and kill him. Take him out.”

As we prepared to confront whatever lay behind the panic room door, I felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. The culmination of everything August had worked for, fought for—the reason James had died, why Annie had been taken—was beyond that door. The person at the center of all the pain and suffering. The door to the panic room loomed before us, a formidable barrier between us and the architect of all this madness.

August inclined his head. I was taking the rear, and I did one final check on ammunition. I assumed whoever was in there could see us, and I scooped up a semi in my left hand. If they came out shooting, they weren’t getting past me. Solid and fixed, I watched August grab Amos by the scruff of his neck, near dragging him to the door. Amos floundered, pulled August off-balance and, for a second time, stopped. Was this a ploy? I aimed my weapon at Amos, but he wasn’t trying anything, he was unable to stand. August thrust him at the wall, Amos letting out a winded noise as he used his handprint to open a master switch.

August stilled his hand and glanced back at me.

I’ve got this.

“Do it,” August demanded.

Amos whimpered, bashing at numbers on the keypad, a red light indicating an error. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he shouted and cleared the numbers as August growled at him. “You’re making me nervous!”

August shoved him again, but this time, Amos keyed numbers in with care. There was a hiss of something hydraulic, and the wall began to move. Amos squeaked, a fearful terrified sound, then fainted dead away, smacking his face on the floor, sprawled out, almost dragging August down with him. August released his hold, going to a crouch—him low, me high—and we waited as the door opened and slid into a recess.

It was dark beyond, and no one came out firing.

“Come out, and we won’t kill you,” August demanded, but there was nothing.

We both listened for any breath, but there was a sense of nothing in there. Silence. August stepped over Amos, and peeked cautiously around the corner, indicating no sign of anyone, then, that he was going in. I took point, waited at the side, ready to shoot anyone that came diving out, and August, chin tipped, eyes focused, stepped inside. He kept to the wall of the space, which I couldn’t make out properly as it was complete darkness against the bright light of the office space.

“Clear,” he announced in the gloom. Empty.

I took a step forward, peering into the room as if my gaze could somehow unveil new secrets or answers. “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, frustration and tension knotting together inside me.

A bullet hit me from behind, jarring my balance and sending a shockwave through my body. I staggered forward, disoriented for a moment, my knee bending under me, the sharp pain of something snapping made me cry out. Then, the unmistakable sound of two more gunshots burst through the air. I twisted instinctively as I fell, bringing up my gun and firing wildly, missing anything and everyone as I slumped to the ground, my breath gone.

Amos grinned, no longer the cowering, terrified figure we had confronted moments ago. Instead, he stood tall, imposing, his entire demeanor transformed into one of confidence and control. The assault rifle in his hand was steady, trained on me.

For a split second, I froze, my mind grappling with the sudden shift. The impact of the bullet in my back had been absorbed by my vest, saving me from a fatal wound, but the force of the shots had me reeling, and the pain radiating from my leg meant it was a sure bet I wouldn’t be walking out of here. Amos hadn’t aimed to kill; this was a message, a warning.

But then, with a chilling calm, Amos slammed his hand on the wall next to him and the door began to close.

“Bye, you crazy kids,” he said, and in those few, stretched seconds, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. Where was August? What was our next move? Why didn’t he fire? Could I reach my own weapon in time?

The door slammed shut even as I threw myself at it, scrabbling at the metal, not finding a purchase.

“August! Help me get us out of here!” I shouted, but there was nothing.

No sound at all.

Disoriented and still grappling with the sudden betrayal from Amos, I turned around, my vision blurry and unsteady. The room was plunged into an unsettling darkness, the kind that plays tricks on your eyes and mind. I fumbled for the small torch I always carried, my fingers wrapping around it with a sense of urgency.

A narrow beam of light cut through the darkness, casting eerie shadows dancing along the walls. My heart pounded, a rapid beat that seemed to echo in the quiet of the room. I swept the torch around, the light trembling with the unsteadiness of my hand, and my leg throbbing.

The room appeared empty, nothing. But it was the glint of something in the corner that caught my eye. I steadied the beam, and my breath hitched in my throat.

August. Crumpled in a heap, his body still. The pool of blood surrounding him seemed to grow as I watched, a darkness across the concrete floor. My mind reeled, a mix of fear, anger, and disbelief swirling together.

“August!” I called out, my voice sounding hollow in the enclosed space. There was no response, just the oppressive silence that seemed to thicken with each passing second.

My movements frantic, the torchlight bobbing wildly, I hobbled to him and went to one knee, my other one too fucked to bend, and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “August, come on, man. Stay with me,” I urged, but he was unresponsive, his body limp under my touch.

I fumbled for his pulse, my fingers pressing against his neck, searching for any sign of life, relief flooding me when I felt a faint flutter strengthening under my touch. The torch slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor, its light casting a haunting illumination over the scene.

August was down.

We were locked in a panic room.

We’d been played.