Blood & Thunder (THIRDS 2)

Sloane turned onto East Ninth Street, honking at cars to get out of his way, and praying Sanders’s car didn’t cause a pileup as he fled. The closer they got to Broadway, the more traffic they came across.

“Goddamn construction! Son of a bitch! Move your ass!” Sloane yelled at no one in particular, slamming his gloved hand down against the horn, and having to swerve around the cars stopped at the red light at the intersection. Oncoming traffic slowed and stopped, some skidding to a screeching halt as Sanders turned left on Broadway. Sloane hit the gas on the Fire Lane, yellow cabs and cyclists darting out of their way. He had no idea where the hell Sanders thought he was going. The guy was driving fast, but he never got far from Sloane. Something in his gut twisted, but he ignored it. He was getting close. He could feel it.

Chapter 12

“WHAT’S YOUR twenty, Sloane?”

Maddock’s voice came in over Sloane’s earpiece, and he hoped his team got there soon. The longer they followed Sanders, the more uneasy Sloane felt. “We’re following him up West Houston Street. Looks like he’s making a right on Hudson Street. I don’t know what the hell he’s got up his sleeve, but he’s slowed down.” As Sloane said the words, the car jolted forward. “Strike that. He’s on the move.” Sloane slammed down on the accelerator, making a left on Leroy Street, and another left onto Washington Street, speeding past an open parking garage on the left, and a large building—a mix of condominiums and businesses—on the right.

“He’s turning right on West Houston Street and the underpass.” Sloane made a sharp turn and slammed the breaks. “What the hell?”

“What’s going on?”

“He…. He disappeared,” Dex replied, turning in his seat to look around them.

“We’re heading your way. Watch your backs.”

“Copy that.” Sloane put the Suburban into reverse and backed up, turning onto Washington Street where they’d come from. He parked a few feet from the corner and turned off the engine, a deep frown on his face. “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither, but we can’t let this asshole get away. Come on.” Dex jumped out of the car and headed for the back with Sloane a few steps behind. He unlocked the back double doors, followed by the deadbolts on the heavy-duty weapons drawers. Dex grabbed his ballistic helmet from the side hook and put it on, securing the straps. Sloane did the same and tested his earpiece.

“Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear, partner.”

Sloane lifted his AR15 from its foam padding, and Dex stared at him wide-eyed. “You know something I don’t?”

“I don’t trust Isaac or anyone who’s with him. This guy led us here. For all we know, he’ll come at us with a fucking tank.” Sloane checked his rifle’s magazine before grabbing an extra three and securing them to his utility belt. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst, right?”

Dex smiled at him. “Right.”

They finished gathering what equipment they needed, and Sloane secured the Suburban. As Dex turned, Sloane grabbed

him by the vest and pulled him over. Dex gave him a questioning smile.

“You be careful. You got me?” Dex nodded, and Sloane knocked his helmet gently against Dex’s, his chest feeling tight at his partner’s affectionate smile. “Okay. Let’s kick some ass.” Sloane went ahead of Dex, his rifle at the ready as he stayed close to the building and rounded the corner on Washington Street. Someone screamed and pedestrians started running, but Sloane ignored the commotion. He headed through the underpass with Dex close on his heels. It was dark, the only light coming from the red LED lights positioned above the garage doors. On the left hand side were three windows with burglar bars and the doors were all labeled. From the looks of it, some were warehouses while others were storage units. On the right hand side of the street, there was a solitary white van parked in front of a closed garage door. There was nothing but deathly silence around them.

Sloane was about to cross the street to what looked like a side entrance when the thundering sound of clanking metal echoed through the underpass, stopping him in his tracks. One by one, the garage doors across from them opened, and armed men in bulletproof vests emerged from the shadows.

“Take cover!” Sloane ordered, grabbing Dex and pulling him behind the van as shots rang out. Bullets sprayed the van, windows bursting, and tiny shards of glass raining down in all directions. Small chunks of brick from the building next to them flew off and crumbled to dust. Sloane hit the small communicator button on his vest’s radio. “Destructive Delta, come in.”

Maddock’s gruff tone did little to mask the concern in his voice as it came on the line. “What’s your position?”

“It’s a trap. They were waiting for us. I make over a dozen heavily armed men, but there could be more. We’re under heavy fire. Where the hell are you guys?”

“Less than ten minutes away.”

“Okay. We’ll try and hold them off.”

“Copy that.”

Sloane edged toward the front wheel of the van, peeking around the front fender. A bullet ricocheted right by his helmet and he jerked back. He prepared to fire when the garage door on their right just ahead rolled open. He aimed his rifle, Dex at his back, but no one came out. “That can’t be good.”

“What’s our next move?”

“If we stay out here, we’re dead. I’ll cover you. Ready?”

“Ready.”