Chapter 115 -
Christian was still going over Victor’s notes when one of the surveillance techs rushed into the room.
“Movement was spotted at the north warehouse,” he said. “Thermal picked up at least fifteen bodies inside. The dock location just activated too.”
Leo didn’t hesitate. “Mobilize immediately.”
Christian grabbed his vest. “We move together.”
“No,” Leo replied, already loading fresh magazines into his carrier. “We hit all three at once.”
“That spreads us thinly.”
“If we don’t, they’ll vanish.”
Christian held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Alright then, I’ll coordinate from here.”
Leo strapped on his vest and checked his weapon. Nia stood near the doorway, watching him. He crossed to her before heading out.
“Stay upstairs,” he said. “With Micheal. No wandering, please.”
“I won’t.”
“If something feels wrong, you lock down the house.”
“I understand.”
He rested his forehead briefly against hers. Then he turned and left.
Three teams rolled out within minutes. Leo led the primary crew toward the North warehouse, the secondary crew headed for the dock garage while the third unit went for the east factory. From the control room, Nia stood behind Micheal as he monitored the feeds.
“North team has two minutes out,” a voice crackled over the radio.
The drone feed showed the warehouse: metal siding, rusted roof, empty lot surrounding it. There were no visible guards.
“That’s too easy,” Micheal muttered.
Leo’s team exited their vehicles and approached in formation.
“Perimeter clear,” someone said over comms.
They breached the side door. Inside, they found empty pallets and old machinery, but no one else was inside.
“Clear,” Leo’s voice confirmed.
Micheal swore quietly. “That’s wrong.”
Before he could say more, another voice cut in over comms from the dock team.
“We’ve got vehicles inbound—”
The transmission dissolved into gunfire.
The dock camera feed filled with muzzle flashes from elevated positions and coordinated angles. Rounds tore through concrete pillars, sending chips flying as the dock team scrambled behind forklifts and shipping crates.
“They’re in the windows!” someone shouted. “We’re taking crossfire!”
At the same time, the east factory team reported contact.
“Multiple shooters inside the structure. This isn’t abandoned!”
The factory feed showed men pouring from behind machinery that had clearly been staged for cover.
This was a carefully planned ambush.
Leo’s voice cut in. “North team are exiting. We’re redeploying.”
They stepped back out into the open lot. That’s when the SUVs came in.
Black vehicles tore around both ends of the street, engines roaring, tires screeching as they blocked the exit. Men stepped out wearing body armour and headsets, rifles already raised.
Gunfire started immediately.
Leo’s team dove for cover behind their vehicles, returning fire in controlled bursts. Bullets punched through windshields and tore through metal doors. One of Leo’s men tried to reposition and caught a round high in the shoulder, spinning him back against the truck.
From the control room, the north camera feed shook violently as rounds struck the mounted drone relay.
“They waited until he cleared the building,” Micheal said. “They wanted him outside.”
The attackers advanced in staggered lines, using their SUVs as moving cover. One vehicle rolled forward slowly while two shooters leaned over the hood, suppressing Leo’s left flank. Another pair broke right, attempting to compress the space.
“West flank, push left. Don’t get boxed in,” Leo ordered.
One of his men sprinted, and dropped instantly.
“Sniper!” someone yelled.
The shot had come from high across the street, rooftop level. A second round cracked against the pavement inches from Leo’s boots.
Leo shifted position, firing toward the rooftop while signaling two men to drag the downed shooter back. Glass shattered above them as he put three precise shots into the upper windows, forcing the sniper to duck.
Across the street, a dark SUV door opened briefly. A man stepped out, scanning the field before leaning back inside. Even through the shaking camera feed, there was something fishy about him.
Leo saw him too and adjusted his aim. He fired once. The man slipped back just before the round hit, the bullet slamming into the SUV’s frame instead.
Gunfire intensified. One of Leo’s vehicles erupted into flame after sustained hits to the engine block. The explosion knocked two men off their feet. The blast wave sent debris skidding across the lot.
Leo moved without hesitation, grabbing one of them by his vest and dragging him behind an overturned truck.
“Fall back in pairs! Move!” he barked.
They retreated in disciplined bursts, covering each other with tight, economical fire. Another sniper round punched through the rear quarter panel inches from Leo’s head.
As he shifted to cover the last pair pulling back, the rooftop rifle cracked again.
The first round missed. The second struck low on his right side, just beneath the edge of his vest plate where it curved near his ribs.
His body jerked. The camera dipped violently toward the pavement. He didn’t collapse immediately. He dropped to one knee, breath punching out of him, but he managed to fire three sharp shots toward the rooftop before his grip faltered. Two of his men seized him under the arms and dragged him fully behind the truck.
“Leo’s hit!” someone shouted.
Micheal was already on the radio. “Christian, north is compromised. You need to move.”
Christian’s voice came back tight but steady. “Convoy en route. Ninety seconds.”
On the north feed, Leo was pale but conscious. Blood spread rapidly beneath his vest, soaking into the fabric at his side.
“Keep moving,” he said through clenched teeth. “Don’t stall here.”
Even injured, he directed the retreat, forcing the team to peel back in controlled intervals.
The attackers didn’t rush to finish them. They maintained pressure, just enough to pin them in place, then gradually eased off as distant sirens cut through the gunfire.
Christian’s backup units barreled into the lot from the far end of the street, returning fire aggressively. The attackers withdrew, loading into their vehicles. Within seconds, they were gone.
Micheal lowered the headset slowly.
“They didn’t try to finish him,” he said.
Nia stared at the darkened north feed.
“They wanted him hit, not dead,” she said quietly.
The SUVs returned just after seven. Christian stepped out first, blood staining the front of his shirt from helping load the wounded.
“Through and through,” he told Nia before she could speak. “It hit his lower rib. Missed anything vital thankfully.”
The medics pulled Leo from the back of the vehicle on a stretcher. His face was pale, his jaw tight against the pain, but his eyes were open. She moved beside him as they walked.
“I’m here,” she said.
He glanced at her and gave the faintest nod.
Inside, the medical team took over. Christian stayed in the hallway with Micheal.
“Dock team lost two,” he said quietly. “East lost one.”
Micheal exhaled slowly. “All three sites hit within ninety seconds of each other.”
Christian nodded. “That was well laid out planning.”
Nia stood just outside the treatment room doors, listening to the muffled instructions inside.
This was a clear message sent. They could reach any site, coordinate across the city, hell even Leo directly, and walk away.
Chapter 116
The medical room was white in that harsh, over-lit way hospitals always were. Cold. Not just the temperature, but the feeling of it. Machines hummed, beeped, and gurgled steadily. Clear tubes ran from hanging IV bags into Leo’s arm, the pale fluid dripping slowly. His chest rose and fell in slow, measured breaths, but every rise felt like a victory.
Nia hadn’t moved from the chair beside him since she’d arrived. Her knees ached, her back stiff, but she didn’t care. She kept her hand over his, his fingers brushing the thin hospital blanket as if her presence alone could anchor him.
Christian stood near the window, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the driveway below. Every shadow on the asphalt made him flinch; every passing car drew his eyes like a magnet. Micheal leaned against the wall near the door, a coffee cup in his hand, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm. His eyes were red-rimmed and tired. No one had slept well in days.
The doctor had been through earlier. He’d given the report. Leo would live. The bullet had missed his lung by two inches. Two inches. Nia kept staring at the bandage, imagining what would have happened if it had been even slightly higher. She swallowed hard. Two inches closer and she’d be sitting beside a body instead of a man who, despite everything, was still here.
Christian finally broke the silence, his voice low and tight. “They knew we were coming.”
Micheal straightened, sipping his coffee with more force than necessary. “The traitor?”
“Victor only knew about the convoy routes,” Christian said, jaw flexing. “This… this was something else. Tactical. Someone positioned themselves knowing exactly how we’d move.” He let the words hang. “Someone was in that planning room.”
Nia’s stomach twisted. She looked from Christian to Micheal. Then back to the bed. “You think… another one?”
Christian didn’t hesitate. “I know there is.”
The subtle shuffle of sheets drew their attention. Leo’s eyes cracked open, slow and deliberate. He blinked, focusing first on Nia, then Christian. The pale light caught the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted, but there was steel there too.
“How bad?” His voice was rough, hoarse, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.
“Bad enough,” Christian said. “You lost a lot of blood. They’re keeping you here tonight. No moving, no trying to fight.”
Leo tried to push himself upright and immediately winced, a sharp exhale escaping him. He sank back.
“Don’t,” Nia whispered. “Just rest. Please.”
His eyes found hers again. “How long was I out?”
“A few hours. Nothing permanent.”
He blinked slowly, the memory of the raid creeping back. “The raid?”
“You need rest first. We'll talk later.” Nia said firmly. Christian nodded in agreement.
Leo frowned, the muscles in his jaw tight. A thin line of frustration flickered across his face, but eventually, he gave a small nod. He stayed there, chest heaving slightly with each breath, eyes staring at the ceiling, imagining the streets, the rooftops, the bullet that had grazed him.
Night fell outside, dark and quiet except for the hum of machines. Christian and Micheal had left, leaving Nia to the quiet vigil of the chair. She dozed in small bursts, waking every time a monitor beeped differently. Her fingers twitched against his hand. Every rise and fall of his chest felt like a lifeline. She counted the seconds between breaths like a fragile rhythm she couldn’t afford to break.
By dawn, the door opened quietly. Rosa stepped in carrying a small tray containing tea, bread, and a thin bowl of soup.
“You need to eat,” she said softly, placing it on the small table beside the bed.
“I’m not hungry,” Nia murmured, though she knew the words weren’t for herself.
“Doesn’t matter. Just eat.” Rosa’s eyes, soft but firm, found Nia’s. “You’re here. That’s enough, but now you need strength.”
Nia wrapped her hands around the warm cup of tea. She let the heat seep into her fingers, grounding her. Rosa lingered, glancing at Leo, at the bandages, at the pale rise and fall of his chest.
“He’ll be okay,” Rosa said gently, almost like she was convincing herself. “He’s strong. Always has been.”
“I know,” Nia whispered.
“Then stop looking at him like he’s already gone,” Rosa said firmly, shaking her head slightly. “He’s here. He’s alive. That’s what matters.”
Nia blinked, swallowing hard. She took a slow sip of tea, trying to draw strength from it. Rosa squeezed her shoulder once, a silent reassurance, and left.
By midday, Leo stirred again. His eyes were clearer this time. He blinked, taking in the machines, the bandages, Nia in the chair, the stillness around him.
“You’re still here,” he said, voice rasping but steady.
“Told you I would be,” she said.
He tried to push himself upright again. Pain shot across his ribs, but he steadied himself. “Help me up.”
“Leo—”
“I need to walk. Sitting here won’t fix anything.”
Her hands went to his arm. Tentatively, she offered it, and he took it, leaning heavily as he pulled himself to his feet. For a heartbeat, he swayed, then he tightened his grip, and found his balance.
They moved slowly to the window. Outside, the guards patrolled, the gates shut tight.
“How many?” he asked quietly.
“Six,” Nia said.
His jaw flexed. “Names?”
“They didn’t tell me.”
He nodded once, staring at the ground outside.
“This is my fault,” he said finally.
“No,” Nia said quickly.
“I planned the raid, chose the team, and walked them straight into a trap.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have,” he murmured. “Santiago’s been two steps ahead since the beginning. I keep reacting. He keeps winning.”
Nia faced him fully. “Then stop reacting. Change the game. Do something he doesn’t expect.”
He studied her. Her words hung in the room in a firm, soft, and demanding way.
“Like what?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not the strategist,” she said with a shrug. “But you are. So figure it out.”
Leo’s eyes narrowed slightly, something subtle shifting. He leaned back against the pillows, quiet for a long moment.
“Victor,” he said finally, voice low, deliberate. “The traitor we caught.”
“What about him?”
“He’s alive. Still in holding. We use him. Feed him false info. Let it pass on. See who’s working with him. Find them before they find us.”
“You think it’ll work?”
“It’s better than sitting around, waiting for the next ambush.”
He sank back against the pillow, fatigue settling in his limbs like lead.
Nia sat beside him, hand still in his. “Get some rest. You can play chess tomorrow.”
He gave a faint and tired twitch of a smile. “Bossy.”
“Someone has to be,” she said quietly.