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Then the kids came out of the truck.

Ryder had reviewed the transfer logs back in the briefing room, staring at the cold numbers on the screen. He had convinced himself he was prepared for this moment. He was wrong. Six kids total. The oldest looked maybe twelve; the youngest couldn’t have been more than six. One of the suppliers herded them across the concrete, a heavy hand clamped firmly onto the lead boy’s shoulder.

Bringing up the rear was the smallest girl, swallowed alive by an oversized sweatshirt that trailed past her knees. She gripped the hand of the boy ahead of her with both of hers. Even though it forced him to walk at an odd angle, the boy didn’t pull away.

Ryder ground his teeth until his jaw ached, forcing himself to breathe and let go of the tension. He watched as one of Rooney’s men guided the group across the concrete. They disappeared into the north holding room, the door swinging shut behind them.

Thank God. The kids were out of the line of fire. They wouldn’t need to be traumatized more than they already were.

He keyed the mic. “All six kids are in the holding room with one guard. Everybody else is on the floor.”

“Copy six. Moving.” Fallon.

Johnson tossed the duffel onto a folding table, jerking the zipper open so Kyle Rooney could lean over and inspect the contents. Nearby, Arlo was gesturing wildly with his hands, flashing a grin as he pitched a sale for merchandise he’d already locked down.

Heath still hadn’t moved from the main door.

Five of the Diehls’ crew and six suppliers loitered across the warehouse floor. The seventh guard had moved into the holding room with the kids—though any second now, Fallon would be taking him off the board. Near the bay doors, a supplier drifted over to spark a cigarette. Johnson zipped the bag shut. Arlo let out another laugh.

Heath was still looking around everywhere. Suspicious bastard.

“Okay, I’m in.” Fallon’s voice was barely a breath. “We’ve got the kids covered and away from the door. Man in here is subdued. You guys are clear.”

Showtime.

“Go,” Isaac said. “Everybody go.”

Ryder hit the scaffolding stairs with his team on his heels. The fire door at the east end banged open, and Isaac’s people came through it with their rifles up.

“Hands! Show me your hands!”

“Down! Get on the ground!”

Heath immediately fired at the scaffolding.

Lead sparked off the steel rail a mere foot from Ryder’s face. Behind him, one of his operatives let out a sharp grunt and collapsed heavily onto the steps.

Fuck. Ryder vaulted clean over the railing, dropping the final four feet to the floor. White-hot pain flared through his right knee as it slammed into the concrete. Wincing, he flattened his back hard against the pallet stack.

“I’m good!” The guy on the stairs was on his side, clawing at his chest. “Hit my plate. I’m good!”

The round had hit his body armor. Thank God.

Thunderous gunfire erupted across the floor as everyone scattered, pulling weapons. Arlo had a pistol over by the folding table. Near the box truck, one of Rooney’s muscle crouched behind a front tire, squeezing off shots at the east fire door.

Ryder checked the angles without even thinking about it. Everything was going at the scaffolding or at Isaac’s people coming through the fire door, nothing toward the room the kids were in.

That’s it. Keep shooting at us, you pieces of shit. Keep your eyes right here.

Isaac’s unit answered with a heavy volley. The gunman near the table caught a round in the thigh, dropping to the concrete with a ragged scream. Behind the truck, the supplier tossed his weapon into the open and pressed himself flat against the floor. Meanwhile, Heath dove behind a thick steel pillar near the entrance.

Everyone else on the floor had about one second to choose between the concrete and a fight.

Hands went up down the line as the majority dropped flat against the floor. Johnson threw himself down so violently his face nearly clipped the edge of the folding table. He instantly locked his fingers behind his head. “I’m unarmed! I’m unarmed, man! Don’t shoot!”

Frozen on his knees with his arms raised high, Arlo gaped at the advancing Rogue team. His jaw hung open, completely unable to process the ambush.

Three of the suppliers chose to fight.