Thankfully, the diversion was still noisy. From the front gate came Felix’s distinctive voice. “I’m saying that you crashed my car, you scum-sucking, boot-licking turd, and I’m taking you to court.”

“This isn’t the fucking courthouse,” another man yelled. “Get yer asses out of here. This’s a private road.”

“It’s not private on this side of the gate. We can be here if we want to.” That was a young woman. Erica, maybe? Or Amka? “What an asshole.”

Frankie almost snorted. Okay, not shy Amka.

Peering around the rightmost building’s corner, Bull held up his hand with two fingers extended. Two guards.

Frankie cringed, then firmed her resolve. She’d do what she had to do. Around the corner, she stayed in the darkness beside the building. The dark camo made Bull hard to see—so very reassuring since she was dressed the same way.

A short distance away, their targets stood together, listening to the altercation on the road. “Maybe we should go help?” one said.

In the shadows, Bull moved past the two men and turned, ready to attack from that side.

Noiselessly, Frankie gripped her jo and steadied her breathing. She found the calm space where her mind flowed together with her body and her energy.

This was what must be done, and she’d do it well.

In silence, Bull charged.

Just as quietly, Frankie sped the few steps to hit her target from behind. The short staff came down right on Mr. Spock’s favorite spot—the brachial plexus pressure point near where his neck met his shoulder.

The man dropped like a rock.

She had only seconds before he’d recover and yell. Even as she yanked his arms back and into the tactical zip tie cuffs, Bull was doing the same with his downed opponent.

Shoving a wad of cloth into her bastardo’s mouth, she secured it with duct tape. According to Hawk, duct tape was easy to get rid of, but Chevy would watch over the captive guards during the mission.

Please, let this all be over quickly.

Inside the building, there were thumping sounds and squeaks of frightened children. Gabe and Hawk must have entered.

At the front gate, the altercation had grown louder.

“You’re gonna have to pay for this!” Was that Raymond, the bartender? “Are you drunk? You bitches shouldn’t be allowed to drink. Or drive. Hell, or vote, either.”

He got a rousing cheer from what sounded like more guys than in the diversion group. Some PZ men must have joined in. Frankie almost laughed, knowing Raymond was more of a feminist than she was.

Grabbing her opponent’s jacket, she dragged him into the shadows, following Bull to the back of the building. The PZ really needed to lose some weight. Sweating, she reached the now open back door.