The staccato thumping of rap music poured out the door and slammed every building in the alley. Nathan slid past Grangeland and kicked the door.

The man on the other side flew backward as its metal surface hammered his face. The handgun he’d been holding clattered away.

Nathan rushed inside with Harv and Grangeland on his six. He sensed Harv boot the door and heard it slam closed.

Blood gushing from his destroyed nose, the man tried to get up.

Nathan pistol-whipped him, the impact loud and wet. Door man went limp and collapsed to the concrete floor. It wasn’t Montez.

He caught movement on his right.

Another man.

Running. Right to left. Without a shirt. Short. Muscular. Heavy gold chains flopped as he sprinted across the room. Also not Montez.

“I’ve got him,” Harv said.

Nathan watched a red dot form on the running man’s hip.

Harv’s Sig spit flame.

Gold chains tumbled. The wounded man howled and clasped a hand on his left hip.

A third man sitting on a sofa directly in front of them lunged for a handgun on a coffee table.

They fired simultaneously.

Two red holes replaced two red dots, both in roughly the same location, upper right shoulder. Sofa man fell back and cursed in Spanish.

Nathan felt it more than he saw it.

A fourth threat. From above.

Second floor. Far corner of the warehouse. A man stood on a railed walkway, leveling an assault rifle.

Montez? No choice. Fractions of seconds mattered. He painted his laser center mass, and fired.

The man jerked at the same instant his rifle discharged.

The bullets impacted high and right, but the sound was deafening in the enclosed space. Grangeland bent over and protected her eyes as chunks of concrete rained down.

Harv sent a second bullet and scored a hit. The man slumped forward and cartwheeled over the rail. Cranium and metal smacked the concrete at the same time, the sounds indistinguishable.

They moved deeper into the warehouse, scanning for additional threats. None appeared.

That damned noise had to go. Nathan placed the laser on the stereo cabinet against the side wall and fired. The glass imploded and the music died with a static thump. Thirteen rounds left. Harv also had thirteen.

“Grangeland, cover our six. I’m on gold chains,” he said and rushed forward to the squirming man.

He knew Harv would advance to sofa man’s position because door man was either unconscious or dead. In less than ten seconds, they’d overpowered and neutralized four hardened mercenaries.

He pointed his Sig at gold chains’ head and said, “On your belly.”

“You jus’ shot me,” the man wailed. “You fuckin’ shot me, man!”

“I’m impressed with your powers of observation. Get on your belly now or I’ll finish the job.”

Cursing, gold chains rolled over.