Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Having to listen to the screams of women and cries of children through the short burst of gunfire made Gage’s shoulders draw up tight.
It was times like this he was glad he didn’t have to see the pain and destruction.
Scar leaned into him and gave him general descriptions of what was being displayed on the screen.
“It’s a church,” he said. “They’re dragging people out and taking hostages.”
Gage was clenching his jaw so hard it ached.
There was more screaming, prayers called out, men pleading for the women and children to be let go.
“What are we up against?” Ex asked.
Vance, Jo’s lead Intel officer, took over.
“A smuggling syndicate, called тхе Vukovi Bratstvo, means The Brotherhood of Wolves, originated out of the Black Forest. They’ve operated under the radar for over a decade, but they’re growing. Intaking through ports but now moving inland in an attempt to make a concealed route through deep timber territory.”
“It gets no deeper than Montenegro,” Jo’s regions chief added. “Lots of hiding ground in a town that won’t ask questions. And they hadn’t met resistance until they hit this village.”
A map flashed across the screen.
Gage’s adaptive ops liaison, Kim, slid the same map— overlaid in Braille—onto the table in front of him.
He ran his fingertips along a thin line threading through heavy green terrain. Small dots represented a few houses, and a larger block identified the church. More minimally raised symbols mapped the roads and other potential smuggling routes.
“US forces aren’t responding to this?” Mirage asked, likely voicing what Grace wanted answered.
Jo let out a low breath. “They’ll respond, but not as fast as us. The syndicate needs cooperation from the region, not the US. So these hostages may not have much time left.”
“Are we sure they’re still alive and holding?” Mirage asked.
“We got eyes on ’em from Sat 35X, that shows they’re still holding,” the satellite specialist confirmed.
“How soon can you be airborne?”
Gage knew Jo had directed that question at one person.
“Within the hour.”
Meridian stood, triggering the rest of them to do the same. His time frame was tight to rally all they needed for a mission of this caliber.
But no one argued.
“Intel and Tactical will continue strategizing during flight.” Corvo said, “Let’s move.”
The clacking of Jo’s heels paused a few feet down the hall before she turned around.
“Meridian,” she said firmly.
No one moved.
“Do what you do.”
Meridian didn’t respond.
The facility’s voice sounded overhead, as if it’d understood and interpreted Meridian’s cold silence.
“Attention: Multi-team deployment activated. Field code: Black Reaper. Threat level: Red. All assets mobilize. Sixty minutes to launch.”
White Ravens
Scar
Scar waited at the threshold of their division with his team dressed and battle-ready behind them.
Gage stood in front of him with his cane retracted and gripped in his hand like an AK-47, not an aid. Two batons were secured to his reinforced tactical fatigues at his thighs.
Scar tucked Gage’s gold cross behind his white Kevlar vest, then caught the edges of his hood and pulled it up and over his head.
He touched his forehead to his for a moment and just breathed him in.
He cupped Gage’s jaw and kissed him, gentle and chaste, keeping his craving under control.
“This wasn’t how I wanted to spend our wedding night,” he said roughly.
“I know. Me either, but this is what we do.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “So let’s go do it.”
Gage lifted his hand and kissed the gold band he’d slipped on his finger six hours ago.
“Scar, agreeing to be your partner in the field, protecting you, and falling in love with you was the best decision I ever made. Now, fighting beside you as my husband…will be my greatest honor.”
Scar didn’t trust his voice.
I love you, his heart whispered.
“All right, boys. Let’s get our heads in the game,” Roz said, already in handler mode. “It’s time to roll.”
He and Gage walked side by side, the Whites’ field team moving as one unit behind them.
Roz clicked on his radio and mumbled, “Whites are mobile.”
They entered the area called the Raven Concourse—a lobby-style nucleus where each division’s elevators opened.
The Greens and Browns were already waiting with their teams, suited, with hoods up, and weapons boxed.
Valor stood, solid and unshakable, like a mountain, in forest-green fatigues, heavy gauntlets clasped around his forearms, and wearing knuckle guards that extended into two-inch claws.
Zorion looked intense and focused, like the hawk that lurked inside him. His aerodynamic suit—that unfurled into flight configuration when triggered—was a green that would blend into the landscape. His wrists and fingers were taped for stability and torque to control his Cobra compound bow.
Grace was still and quiet, standing sentinel in a rusty-brown armor-plated trench that stopped at his shins. His shadow, Mirage, was tucked tight behind him, already in their fight stance—two bodies creating one super-being.
The Blacks’ elevator began to descend, and no one spoke as they watched the floor numbers illuminate until it opened on their floor.