He rolled his neck as the vehicle bumped over potholes in the barely there road.

Billy sighed. “Man, I’m still pissed. That boxing match yesterday didn’t help with the anger.”

Wolfe turned back toward his brother. “Yeah. I get that.” Although he usually banked anger low and dealt with it when it exploded. “We lost two guys hauling in that heroin, and having it stolen is an insult.” They had a line on a key player in the trafficking routes, and his unit specialized in hunting. “We’re good at evidence collection.”

Billy drove around a large rock. “Evidence collection. Man, I’m getting tired of our euphemisms. Evidence collection, wet work, the gray zone. Why don’t we just say we’re going to fight this guy and scare or beat the crap out of him until he gives up the information?”

“Because we’re too classy,” Wolfe retorted, straightening as Rock came back into view, riding toward them and giving an all-clear sign. He relaxed again.

There was a moment of silence before the world detonated.

An explosion rocked the truck behind them, and Wolfe instantly pivoted, trying to see what had happened. “Turn around. Fast.”

Billy yanked the wheel and thumped off the road, hitting several rocks before turning and heading toward the burning truck and spirals of black smoke billowing into the sky.

Wolfe scouted the area, saw no one, and jumped out of the MTV, running toward the hissing metal. “Cover me.”

“Got it,” Billy yelled, already out of the vehicle, crouched near the rear, no doubt with his gun out.

Two men had been thrown free and were both lying against rocks to the north. Wolfe reached the truck and ripped open the door, burning his hand. Flames flashed down his side and pain flared, but he ignored it all and dragged Jack from the truck, shoving him to safety. Wolfe reached in for Booker and dragged his limp body, still burning, across the seat to safety.

He was turning to help them when a second explosion rocked the area. His ears compressed and his brain ticked in the microsecond before he was blown through the air, the light disappearing as he landed with a pain he could feel to his soul.

Night was falling when he awoke, parts of his body numb and parts in excruciating pain. Sucking in dust, he rolled over, biting his lip in agony. His team. Where was his team? He used his elbow to force himself to sit. His gut lurched and he turned to the side to puke into the dirt, his lungs and ribs screaming the whole time. He turned and saw Jack facedown in the dirt. Grunting against the pain, he crawled over to his friend and felt for a pulse.

Nothing, and Jack was cold.

The sound Wolfe made felt like it came from the depths of hell. He checked Booker, who was also dead.