"Pfft pfft~~ pfft pfft~~~"
Working in coordinated pairs, the team gunned down every hostile that rushed out at them. Downstairs, gunfire remained intense, and the occasional explosion of grenades—most likely Ghost's—rumbled through the building.
The infiltration had now become a full-on assault, forcing the team to slow their advance. The third floor was large, with many closed doors. No one could know what lay behind each one—friend, foe, or an ambush.
Bryan and Sam approached one door. Just before reaching it, Sam tapped on the wall beside it. Instantly, a thunderous blast blew a hole through the door—followed by two more.
Whoever was inside was using a tactical shotgun, packing serious firepower.
Bryan pulled the pin from a grenade, waited two seconds, and lobbed it through the hole. A muffled boom followed. When they breached, the targets were already dead—killed by the grenade's blast.
Owen ran into a similar situation. He and Ela crept up to another door. Owen gave it a gentle push—it creaked open. A blast fired from within, shattering the wall across the hall. Owen pulled back. Ela tossed in a grenade. In the panic, one enemy rushed out—only to be dropped by a burst from Owen's weapon.
Room after room was cleared with ruthless efficiency. One after another, enemies were rooted out and gunned down. Eventually, the two teams met back up. The third floor had been fully cleared—but no sign of Laita Sánchez.
Could he have left with the outbound convoy?
It wasn't impossible. A grief-stricken man might want to lead the retaliation himself. But Owen had doubts. True crime bosses never lead from the front—bullets don't care about rank.
"Owen, the convoy is turning around…"
Becky's voice came through the earpiece. Once their presence was known, it was inevitable the guards would notify Dolok. That's when Owen realized the flaw in their plan—they should've waited until Dolok's forces were fully engaged before launching the assault.
"How long do we have?"
"No more than fifteen minutes."
Owen ended the call and turned to Sam. "Time to fall back. Dolok's coming."
Sam nodded, signaling the team to prepare for extraction. The mission had failed—they'd gambled on a time window that didn't exist. Laita Sánchez hadn't been here.
"We're heading down now."
Owen relayed the message to Ghost and Bayev below. As he turned to move, something caught his eye—a faint glow leaking from between the floor and the baseboard near the corner of the room.
A hidden door.
Owen gestured. Everyone turned toward the light. Quiet as ghosts, they surrounded the area.
Silence fell. The team moved in a fan-shaped formation. If this was a secret room, Laita Sánchez was most likely hiding inside.
Boots rose and fell gently. No one spoke. No one knew who—or how many—were behind that wall.
Owen made a hand sign. Ela nodded, switching to a one-handed grip on her weapon while her free hand retrieved a flashbang.
But just before she pulled the pin, Owen heard it—a faint but unmistakable click, the sound of a weapon chambering a round.
In a split second, Owen grabbed Ela and yanked her to the side—just as gunfire erupted from behind the false wall. A burst of bullets ripped through the wall, chewing holes in the wood and peppering the room.
The team returned fire instantly, shooting through the wall. A few team members were hit by return fire and fell—but the rest pressed on.
Seconds passed. Silence returned. The air reeked of gunpowder. The hidden door was splintered and destroyed. Holes riddled the surrounding walls. A man slumped out of the passageway.
The team approached in formation. Sam kicked away the man's weapon—he wasn't dead yet, but just barely. His chest was covered in bullet holes, his heavy body armor soaked in blood.
Sam turned his face toward the light. "It's Laita Sánchez."
The bastard was incredibly lucky. He must've hidden in the panic when he heard the gunfire. If Owen hadn't spotted the glow through the floor, they might've missed him entirely.
Looking around the room, it became obvious why he had opened fire. A closed-circuit camera sat inside, giving him a clear view of the room outside the hidden space. The moment the team approached, he knew he'd been compromised. Had Owen not caught the sound of his weapon chambering, Ela might've been the first casualty.
Some of the team had been hit, but the rounds struck their body armor. No serious injuries.
Laita Sánchez lay bleeding, but alive. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the floorboards. The bastard had survived a storm of bullets—just like they always say: evil lives long.
The armor had protected his vital organs, but the blunt force trauma alone had likely shattered his chest. Blood poured from his mouth and nose. Broken ribs, ruptured lungs, possibly spinal damage. And he'd also been shot in the limbs.
"It was you… You killed my son, didn't you?"
Laita's voice was hoarse, but his gaze burned with hatred. Though he was nearly paralyzed, there was no fear in his eyes—only cold rage.
"You bastard," Ela growled, "Remember three months ago? You hijacked a CIA shipment. You probably forgot. But one of our best friends died covering our escape…"
"Hah… haha… So you're Americans…"
Laita laughed, almost manically, even with blood pouring from his mouth. The barrel of a gun didn't seem to scare him.
"Blam! Blam! Blam-blam-blam—"
Suddenly Ela snapped. She pulled her handgun and emptied a full magazine into Laita's chest plate.
"That's for Patrick, you son of a bitch!"
She screamed as she fired. Patrick had been torn apart in a hail of bullets outside a supermarket—shot 155 times. If not for the fact the others had their own revenge to take, Ela would've killed Laita the moment she laid eyes on him.
All her rounds struck the ceramic plates in Laita's armor. The 9mm rounds couldn't pierce it, but the impact trauma only worsened his internal bleeding. His mocking laughter turned into pained, broken sobs.
"For what my brother suffered that day, you'll repay tenfold."
Sam extended a hand. Bryan passed him a fragmentation grenade. Without hesitation, Sam shoved the grenade into Laita's mouth.
Finally, a flicker of fear appeared in Laita's eyes. The rest of the team watched in grim satisfaction. On that day, Jim had taken bullets to both legs. He chose to stay behind and cover the team's retreat—detonating a grenade on himself to take out the pursuing enemies.
Now Sam was going to make Laita feel exactly what Jim had felt.
"Mmm-mmm! Mmm-mm!!"
Laita tried to shake his head, tried to plead, but his body was too damaged to resist. His muffled cries turned into animalistic groans of agony.
Sam's eyes were stone cold. The others stepped back.
With one final, merciless gaze, Sam pulled the pin.
Laita Sánchez's eyes changed—from panic… to sheer despair.
No one is truly unafraid of death.
BOOM—
The top of Laita Sánchez's head vanished in a red mist. Blood coated the walls.
Vengeance fulfilled.
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
Every 100 Power Stones = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.
Every 5 reviews = 1 extra chapter on Saturday.