AMIDST THE CATS' CRADLE - 20

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y - - - - J O R D A N

Jordan had little doubt that every single member of his squad would be out of a job as soon as they returned to Laguna. Furthermore, he was certain that they would be sent to the Crypts, The Firm's equivalent of solitary confinement, where they would likely languish until Hemingway, Ace, or whatever the day's a-hole in command was saw the need to bring them out once again.

They were defying every instruction they had received. And not one of them hesitatingly said anything.

A few miles away from the facility, The Night Hawk had been erected; it was another uninspiring structure that revealed nothing about what was happening within. When the other members of the group had successfully entered the facility, Gwen, Jerome, and Tom would be dropped off on the roof by the chopper.

With high barbed wire fences forming a perimeter that would be difficult to breach, Shaun had built a nest on a tiny slope that covered two of the four watchtowers around the isolated structure. The task of destroying the final two towers and entering the structure as quickly as possible would fall to Jordan, Tim, and Mitch.

As Jerome started the countdown, Jordan whispered through the radio, "Delta Two, in position."

Up until Gwen, who was Delta Seven, every team member emerged from the static one at a time. Although she was correct, Jordan still found it hard to believe he had let her join him on this expedition. That annoying, beautiful, perfect woman is still who she always was. Given the condition the guys had been in, they would never attempt the drive back. The group only had one chance to do this, and if they failed, they would be going home with two very little corpse bags.

Jordan sprung into action as Jerome yelled, "Outer teams, go."

He understood it meant the Night Hawk would begin its sequence, move in, and by the time it was within fire range of the guard towers, nobody better be shooting at the dang chopper any more.

After sneaking up to the very edge of the sparse vegetation around it, Jordan quietly counted to 10 in his head before he dashed out of cover. At precisely ten o'clock, two big explosions occurred, one to his extreme right and the other to his extreme left. The fence was still some 25 feet away.

Jordan made it to the fence in a few steps, knowing that Mitch was doing the same at the other end. He cut through the fence with record speed, running to the tower now and keeping himself low, hoping that the diversion was enough of a distraction. He slapped two small explosive kits that Tim had given him on the supporting beams, flipping on the countdown, before rounding back about twenty feet as searchlights came on one by one in the yard.

“Tower One cleared,” came Shaun’s ragged voice over the comms.

Then, a second later, four smaller explosions went off one by one, quickly collapsing the towers assigned to Mitch and Jordan. Jordan watched his come down like some sort of prehistoric monster, collapsing onto itself with the screams of men inside. One of them jumped out mid-fall and before he’d hit the ground, Jordan had gotten him in the head with a bullet from his assault rifle.

He couldn’t help but grin.

This is for all the pain you fuckers are causing my kids, he thought.

Two shots sounded from across the yard as Jordan moved closer, checking the wreckage. There was movement inside, the second guard still alive, but pinned under the rubble. He was flicking between his wolf form and human one, his blue eyes and blond hair changing to the long maw and pristine white of his wolf’s coat every few seconds.

Jordan grabbed his knife from his belt and stabbed the man in the neck with one smooth, almost offhanded movement. The twitching and the groaning stopped.

“Tower Three clear,” he said into the comm.

“Tower Four clear,” came Mitch’s voice.

Just in time, too. Jordan could already hear the low whir of the helicopter moving in from the distance. But then he heard something a lot worse. The steady rattle of a machine gun. When he saw the flares that came with each shot, his stomach sunk.

“Tower Two has a fucking rail gun! I can’t get a clear shot,” Shaun hissed, sounding like he was on the move.

The chopper was moving closer and it would be in range within a minute, Jordan knew, checking his watch. By instinct, he dropped the rifle and took off in a run, shifting between steps, the steady footfalls of a soldier-for-hire turning to the almost graceful, soundless bounds of a large male cougar, speeding across the yard.

He got caught in several of the searchlight beams that were originating from the building itself, but he didn’t care. If the helicopter was shot down, then even if Gwen survived their hopes of saving Duncan and Dawson would be dashed.

Jordan had never run so fast. The tower came closer and closer and when he thought he could make the jump, Jordan’s massive, powerful body stretched out, jumping more than fourteen feet into the air and clinging to the railing, pulling himself on top as his claws sunk into the siding.

His teeth were bared as he balanced on the beam, like a monstrous gargoyle waiting to strike. Two men were handling the machine gun, clearly trying to get a fix on Shaun, before the roar of the helicopter became loud enough to tear their attention away.

Jordan didn’t hesitate. As the guy who’d been helping to feed the shells into the gun looked up, Jordan pushed himself off with powerful legs, claws outstretched. He landed right on top of both of them, the gun kicking up in a wild flail for a moment before it hung forward limply, the shots replaced by blood-curdling screams as Jordan ripped through the two men.

Their blood tasted bitter in his mouth, coppery but disgusting. They were both bigger than they should have been, eyes slightly bloodshot, but nothing compared to the beasts they’d met in Detroit. More like the chumps who they’d killed on the airplane—all brawn, no brain.

The Night Hawk whipped over Jordan’s head, hovering over the building for a second as Jerome and Tom rappelled down, running toward the entrance of the stairwell the moment their boots hit the ground. For a second, Jordan could see a flash of Gwen’s helmet as she pulled the Night Hawk up and away quickly, disappearing above the tree line as if she’d never been there at all.

In his heart, Jordan knew she was as thick in the battle as any of them.

He jumped down from the edge and halfway there saw the large, tense body of Mitch’s cougar stalking around the side of the building, obviously having diverted course. If he was in his shifter form, it could only mean that he’d been on his way to the tower as well.

They were similar in their shifted forms. Both hulking, vicious-looking beasts with golden, sandy coats. Mitch had more white on his chest and wider facial markings, where Jordan had a white tuft to his tail. Not that it mattered much. When one or the other came for you, all you could see were flashing white fangs and imminent death.

It was a relief to see his brother well, though Jordan had been sure that nothing had happened to him regardless. There was a bond between Alpha twins strong enough to sense whether something was cataclysmically wrong or not and thankfully, all had remained intact so far. It only made him wonder if Duncan’s and Dawson’s pain was now doubled because of the agony of the other brother, as it often was with Mitch and Jordan when one of them got injured.

Shaking his heavy head, the large cat stalked forward, Mitch at his heels, as they hugged the walls and moved toward the door that Tim was supposed to blow open as soon as he could. When Jordan reached the corner of the building, his steps slowed, hearing movement. Crouching down, he felt Mitch do the same, and a second later three Arctics soldiers came running past them, brandishing weapons.

Jordan didn’t hesitate for a moment. He jumped immediately, powerful jaws clamping around the face of the closest man, taking him down before he could fire a shot. Jordan ripped half his face off, hearing a spray of bullets go off behind him as Mitch took on the other two. Almost as soon as the first man had fallen, Jordan pounced again, throwing the gun out of the arms of one of the soldiers and thrashing as he gripped onto it.

But with these guys, Jordan could see more determination, more fight. More of that familiar red in their eyes, dilated pupils, and faster breathing. They were definitely hopped up on something, and Jordan could guess what it was. He felt a sharp pain as the man grabbed onto his gun, catching Jordan in the thigh with a stray blast before Jordan could get him down.

He could finally let go when a thick gush of sticky red blood covered Jordan thanks to Mitch, who tore at his back. Mitch had opened up the man’s carotid artery and he was slumped on his side in a moment. Standing up, Jordan inspected their handiwork, feeling the throb of pain in his leg. Mitch had practically peeled off the third guy’s clothes with his claws, filleting the man. It was a gruesome sight.

Glancing down at the guns strewn around them now, Jordan took a deep breath, willing the beast back inside of him. It took some coaxing, the cougar knowing that he’d be stronger in shifter form with an injury like that, but he couldn’t risk being only able to attack from close up at that moment. He had to get a gun and be useful from a distance as well.

The gold slowly evaporated from his eyes, though his body changed faster. The thick, rich fur disappeared into him and his limbs contracted and elongated where needed. When he stood up, he found his shirt slightly tattered, but most everything was intact. Jordan picked up one of The Arctics’ rifles, inspecting it quickly as Mitch finished his transformation.

By the time they were both armed and ready, Shaun appeared, the long sniper case on his back and his brows knit in concentration, an assault rifle in his hands.

“What are you kittens playing around here for? We’ve got some ass to kick,” he huffed with a smile unbecoming a man who’d almost gotten mowed down by a freaking railgun a few minutes ago.

“The man has a point,” Jordan said dryly, willing his legs to move as he fell into a trot behind Shaun.

“Duty calls,” Mitch hollered, snagging an extra pack of ammo off of one of the dead guys’ belts and clipping it on his own.

“What did we miss?” Jordan asked as they slammed against the blown-open door, listening for a second before ducking in one by one.

“Jerome and Tom are pinned down on the top floor. Tim made it to the second one before being pushed back, and has a bullet in his arm. Place is teeming with pissed-off commandos,” Shaun said, as if he were relaying the weather report.

“Fantastic. Anyone found the labs yet?” Jordan asked, knowing that their intel on the building was spotty at best and the documentation they’d gotten had barely told them where the damn thing existed, and especially not what the floor plan was.

“Nope. Figured we’d try not to get killed first. Did you take the nest out?” Shaun asked, sweat dripping down the sides of his face as they split into a corridor that seemed to open up into a big central room farther down.

“Yup,” Jordan said, limping as he moved along.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I owed you and Ari one, after all,” Jordan responded, feeling a dull throb go through his arm where Ari, Shaun’s wife, had patched it back together when Jordan had almost gotten killed in a South American jungle.

“Can we save the pleasantries for later?” Mitch growled, passing both Jordan and Shaun and heading in deeper first. “I hear we have babies to literally save.”

Mitch wasn’t wrong. Tick-tock. Time waits for no cougar.