Chapter 76

**Torin POV**

I move from the end, flanked by a row of integrated metal benches occupied by my men in balaclavas, loading their assault rifles with fresh mags. A hitch in the road jostles me and I stumble a small step as one of them snaps up with superluminal speed to grip my arm, keeping me standing steady. I turn my head to stare into the slit, thick brows crossed over dark eyes.
“Do you want to be my man?”
His eyes grow comically and those bushy brows almost disappear.
“No? Then get your hand the fuck off me.”
He releases quickly and drops back down to his seat. I continue onwards inside the cargo bay of the truck that had been transformed into a cocoon of opulence, the rectangular regal area, a striking blend of luxury and rugged functionality. The floor is covered with plush, deep red carpeting that contrasts with the steel-gray walls lined with custom-built cabinets and display cases, each housing an impressive array of armaments. Polished and meticulously arranged, a collection of grenades, guns, and gleaming knives are showcased against velvet-lined backdrops, each weapon held securely in place by discreet mounts.
I come into the lounge area to plop down on a sleek leather sectional sofa in deep charcoal that offers ample seating. I expand myself, placing my ankle on the opposite knee as I watch the techie across from me, typing tenaciously on his laptop. Middle-aged with a cut bob similar to those brotherhood monks from the 15th century. The recessed lighting fortunately reduces my visual ability to see it lucidly.
“You can’t get anything more can you?”
He shakes his head, eyes fastened on the screen, the glow reflecting on his stout face. “This Calum kid was clever, you can’t bypass any other alternate avenues without his unique identification code. Everything is encrypted in a way that it will only yield to his input.”
I shake my head, smiling with my tongue poking my inner cheek. “That little fucker.”
“I still have a lock on Santos,” he says to soften the blow, a good attempt to dilute my anger.
“I’ve been triangulating their movements, but it doesn’t make sense.” He squints at the screen and raises a quick hand to it in utter bafflement. “I mean, it’s clear they have an exfil prepared for their exodus because he regrouped with a majority of his men. And they’re on the move. But they have avoided all private ports and bays.”
“Let me see.”
He swivels the laptop around on his lap to display the screen.
I slant closer, dropping one forearm on my thigh with my other hand fixed on my hip.
Upon cursory inspection, their destination is obvious to me. “An undisclosed airfield. Red-notice criminals use it all the time.” I thrust up my pelvis to slide out my phone from my back pocket. “Even private hangar bays are not secure enough.”
“What are you doing?”
“Where they’re going, is where we are going. We need vehicles that can go off-road.”
“What about Calum?”
I let out a vindictive laugh, nodding exaggeratedly. “In due time, believe me, in due time. Right now, my sole focus is getting my girl back.”
***
I hold onto the handle as the convoy of SUVs rumbles through the dense forest, expertly navigating the rugged terrain on their way to the private airfield. Their bulletproof exteriors are rugged yet sleek, painted in a uniform shade of deep green that blends seamlessly with the forest. The techie has with him the laptop which I didn't know you could use the keyboard part to flip around so it could also function like a tablet. He has satellite imaging of the whole area including peripheral territories—the density of the forest makes for expert cover. He zooms in on a particular area and I can see the outline of a private jet with a wedge of cars parked on the one side. It seems Santos is just arriving at the rendezvous point from another route.
“How’s my birdman?”
The techie glances at me and nods. “Safe, two cars down, locked and secure.”
I use the comms to communicate with the boys to diverge. A simple but effective strategy. An ambush. The convoy splits, cars peeling away to go ahead and surround the jet to box everyone in a kill circle.
“You might want to hold onto something.”
The techie’s head whips up. “What?”
The driver floors it and the car catapults forward—a heads-on collision with an idle range rover with a powerful impact that flips the car on its side with an earth-shaking thud. We all flood out the cars and I take a position of cover behind the SUV. We’re welcomed by a concussion of sound, a peal of gunshots resounding all around us. I lower myself, poking my head around to glimpse the tattooed hostiles up ahead.
“Rufus,” I say over the communications link. “Why don’t you go find yourself a nice, cozy crows nest. I need you to be my eyes in the sky. Hold off until I say so.”
“Copy.”
We are where the forest thins out, revealing the vast expanse of the private airfield. The makeshift runway, a well-maintained strip of packed dirt and gravel, stretches out before the jet. Its edges are marked by simple solar-powered lights. I unsheathe both guns, eyeing down a trigger happy target spraying bullets at any blur of movement. With his attention snagged, I clip him with two—bullets bursting through his throat—an explosion of blood before he drops. I dart to the back of another vehicle with two of my men positioned on either end. I pat their backs, signaling for them to advance before I provide cover fire. I set my boot on the groove of the back to elevate myself to hover above the roof. One shot grazes a combatant, he jerks away and right into the path of another bullet. Whilst I draw attention, the other two snap into military mode, approaching in a crouched position, swift and stealthy like shadows before they rise and take down eight combatants in rapid succession. I drop back down on the ground, scouring the terrain ahead to try spot the vehicle that Santos occupies.
Momentarily distracted, I almost didn’t see the psycho running up at me with a machete. I dart back, feeling the current of the blade skim past my skin. In the flash of the blade—I catch a glimpse of another hostile in the reflection of the steel behind me with his rifle raised—the barrel aimed at my back. I twist to the side and the bullet punctures his comrade’s chest and he collapses. Still pivoted, I whip up my gun to end him with a flawless headshot—a spray of blood arcs over before his body hits the ground. And that is when I see my techie covering behind a tree, whimpering with his laptop hugged to his chest. I can almost smell this piss in the air. I go over to grab his shoulder and he screams with the octave and length of an eight year old girl.
“Shut up, it’s me. Where’s Santos?”
He points behind us frantically. “I’m going to assume he's the one in the car inside the inner ring near the fuselage of the jet—protected by a barrier of insane loyalists.”
I snap straight. “So we need a way to separate them.”
I locate two of my closest men. “Boys, let’s play a round of ding dong ditch—but with explosives. Both of them exchange macabre grins before they snatch the grenades from their tactical vests, pulling the pin, waiting for the right moment to hurl it so they don’t have a chance to throw back. The first one soars over and implodes mid-air just above them, sending most of them to the floor and the second blows a hole right through the secondary defense, sending combrants sprawling. Doors are flung open and Santos’s men guide him out, shielding him with their bodies, barrels rushing back and forth.
A riot of curls beckons my attention and for a high-strung moment, the cacophony of trading gunfire ebbs out to slow and reverb, muffled bangs as Hadassah emerges into view. She has a slight limp as two men try to wrest her under control. Her face is battered with one eye swollen shut, dark bruises billowing from her jaw.
I crush the swell of outrage. “Rufus, be ready to clear a path.”
“Hadassah!” I scream out.