"You've got company," I warn, tracking two guards running toward the building. "Two hundred meters and closing."
I breathe out, find that still place between heartbeats, and squeeze the trigger. The first guard's head snaps back in a pink mist. His partner barely has time to process what happened before the second round finds him center mass.
"Clear," I report, already scanning for more threats.
"Found them." Elias's voice comes through tight with controlled fury. "Twelve omegas. Condition varies. Beginning assessment."
Twelve. Twelve souls locked away like livestock, waiting for buyers who see them as property instead of people. The rage burns hotter, but I channel it into focus. Can't help them if I lose my shit.
"Archer, we need you down here." That's Bane, and something in his tone makes my blood run cold. "Doc needs another set of hands, and the victims... they need to see a friendly face."
I'm moving before he finishes talking, rappelling down the cliff face like my ass is on fire. My boots hit dirt, and I'm sprinting toward the building, rifle up and ready. The courtyard is a charnel house, bodies scattered like broken dolls, blood painting abstract art on concrete.
Inside is worse.
The omegas are huddled in what can only be described as cages. Fucking cages, like animals. Some look like they've been here days, others maybe weeks. The smell hits me first. Terror, pheromones, desperation all mingled into something that makes my alpha instincts scream.
"Hey there," I say softly, approaching the nearest cage. The omega inside, a young woman who can't be more than twenty, flinches back. "I'm Viper. We're here to get you out."
Not the most comforting name, but it's left over from my days in the Army and it stuck.
Elias is already working on unlocking another cage, his hands steady as he checks vitals on an unconscious omega. "Dehydration, malnutrition, signs of sedation," he reports clinically, but I can see the tension in his shoulders. "Nothing immediately life-threatening, they'll make transport, but they'll need proper medical attention as soon as we hit the ground."
Bane stands guard by the door, rifle ready, but his eyes keep drifting to the victims. For all his gruffness, the man's got a protective streak a mile wide. "Three minutes until we needto move," he says. "Local cops might be dirty, but they'll still respond to this much gunfire eventually."
Carlisle kneels beside a cage where a young omega is curled into a tight ball, his movements graceful and deliberately slow. His usual predatory energy is carefully masked behind a gentle smile and soft words. "Hello, darling," he says, the lilt of his British accent softened into something less casually menacing than usual. "Let's get you out of this dreadful place, shall we?"
The omega unfurls slightly, drawn in by Carlisle's seemingly harmless demeanor. He works the lock with efficiency, never breaking eye contact with the frightened victim. "There we are," he coos, offering his hand. "Just a few steps now, and you'll never see these bars again."
I watch as he helps the omega stand, supporting their weight with surprising tenderness. It's almost unsettling how well he can play at being human, the same man who's made an entire career out of killing—and not just people who deserve it like the bastards we put down today. But right now, his touch is careful, his smile warm, and if I didn't know better, I'd believe the concern in his eyes was genuine.
He catches me watching and winks, the gesture so quick I almost miss it. A reminder that under all that charm and the mask of harmlessness, the Jackal is still very much himself.
I focus on my own group, coaxing them out one by one. Some come willingly, desperate for freedom. Others have to be carried, too weak or too broken to walk. Each one breaks my heart a little more.
"It's okay," I murmur to a young man who won't stop shaking. "We're taking you somewhere safe. There are people waiting to help you, good people who'll make sure you're taken care of."
"Alpha?" His voice is barely a whisper. The word is something terrible to him, uttered in fear, and I can't blame him one bit.
"Yeah, I'm an alpha." I keep my tone gentle, non-threatening. "But I'm not like them. None of us are. We're here to help."
He studies my masked face for a long moment, then nods. Trust, fragile as spun glass, but trust nonetheless.
Elias finishes his initial medical assessments, marking the most critical cases for immediate treatment en route. "Two need IV fluids ASAP," he reports. "One possible concussion, several showing signs of prolonged sedative use. Nothing I can't handle, but we need to move."
"Copy that." Bane checks his watch. "Archer, how fast can you get the bird here?"
"Ninety seconds once I'm airborne."
"Do it."
I hate leaving them, even for that long, but I sprint back to the cliff and start the ascent. My muscles burn, but adrenaline pushes me faster. Can't waste time. Every second counts when you're racing against potential reinforcements.
The Blackhawk starts up smooth as silk, and I'm lifting off before the rotors hit full speed. The compound looks different from above, smaller somehow, less imposing. Just another scar on the landscape that we're about to cauterize.
I set down in the courtyard, rotors still spinning. The team's already moving, carrying our rescued cargo. Bane's got three omegas clustered around him, his presence somehow reassuring despite the tactical gear and weapons. Carlisle and Elias each have two omegas in their arms but there are still five more inside.
"Go, go, go!" I shout over the rotor wash.
