The energy released from the bombs radiated outward, the supersonic blast wave a prelude to the high-velocity shockwaves. Damon flew through the air and smashed into what used to be a parking meter. Pain flowed up his body, and he dropped to the crumbling sidewalk.

Bodies careened by him.

The pain of his body being compressed had barely set in before the depressurization force hit.

He groaned and shut his eyes.

Air rushed in to fill the atmospheric void left by the blast wave. Garbage, bricks, and stones hurtled back toward the explosion. A soldier was hurled above his head to drop several yards away.

He gasped, trying to breathe. A car alarm went off somewhere a block or so away. An actual car alarm.

Silence ruled for a heartbeat.

Then the rumble of falling floors, wood, and objects filled the night as the building imploded.

He scrambled up and looked around to make sure everyone had gotten clear. His radio was gone. Enough moonlight showed through the clouds that he could see the street.

Jax helped Marcus up, and they stumbled toward him, blood covering their faces.

Damon straightened, his body protesting the movement in every joint. He stretched. His ribs hurt like fuck, but he didn’t think anything else had broken. His face hurt, and he touched a new cut above his eye that was bleeding like crazy.

Tearing off a piece of his shirt, he pressed it to the wound.

Dirt, dust, and debris floated through the air. He coughed. “We need status on everyone.” Then he looked around. Glass had blown out of all the windows and doors on the entire block, and two of the adjacent buildings were now faceless with yawning holes in their fronts.

Quincy rolled off the curb and then stood.

Relief filled Damon. “You’re okay,” he gasped. “Where’s Greyson?”

Rocks were imbedded in Quincy’s jaw, and he tugged one out, his eyes watering. A quick glance at his leg confirmed a definite fracture. “Don’t know. He’d sent me down to get the other binoculars when the warning came through.”

Oh, God.

Damon looked at the main office building, and his legs were moving before his brain caught up. “Grey,” he bellowed, jumping over a pile of stones and into thicker dust. The building was destroyed. There hadn’t been time between his warning and the explosion for Grey to make it all the way down.

No answer.

He looked wildly around, Jax on his six. “Did anybody see Greyson make it down?”

The roof looked as if it had blown apart on its own, and half of the building was gone.

Jax pointed toward a hole in the stairwell. “He might not have made it out of the stairs.”

Panic shook Damon, and he rushed forward, ignoring the raw pain ripping through his body. Rocks and boards blocked his way. He started throwing debris to the side, clearing one step at a time.

Jax and Marcus bent to help him. The rocks scratched their hands, but they kept shoveling.

A soldier jogged up with his radio. “Found this at the corner.”

Damon jerked his head toward Jax. “Take over. Find out if everyone made it out and who’s injured and how badly. Find Tace Justice. We definitely need a medic.”

Jax wiped blood off his cheek and took the radio, heading back to the street.

Damon dug harder, Marcus by his side.

A foot came into view. A Flak boot. “Greyson!” Damon targeted the rocks covering his friend, and Marcus slid next to him, grabbing a board and flinging it behind them. They worked in tandem, releasing Grey’s feet, then his legs, then his torso, and finally his head.

Damon held his breath. Grey’s head was turned to the side. He definitely wasn’t moving. “Grey?” He couldn’t lose another brother. He just couldn’t.

No movement.

“Greyson?” Damon gingerly placed a hand on Grey’s chest to see if it was moving.

Greyson reared up, scattering the remaining rocks. “What the—”

“Grey.” Damon grabbed him for a hug. “A building fell on you.” He released him, running his hands down Grey’s arms. He winced. “This one’s broken.”

Greyson stared at him, his eyes slowly coming back to comprehension. “Bombs?”

Damon nodded.

“Assholes.” Grey winced and then took inventory.

“How bad you hurt?” Damon asked, sitting back on his ankles.

Grey tucked his left arm in and then slowly moved his legs. “Not bad. Broken arm. Head hurts. Probably gonna piss blood for a while.”

Damon leaned in and patted his shoulder. “Yeah. We all are.” It was a hell of an explosion.

Jax ran up, papers in his hand. “We have a huge-ass problem.”

Grey groaned. “When don’t we?”

“Sami was tossing these in the truck with all the other stuff we grabbed, and this caught her eye. It ain’t good.” Jax handed over a perfectly drawn schematic of Vanguard territory. Definitely rendered by somebody on the inside.

Marcus flashed his light over it. “This had to take some time.”

And somebody very familiar with the interior of the territory drew it. Even the buildings were listed with who lived or worked where. Labeled with neat and scratchy lines. Damon’s gut rolled over. “I know that handwriting.”

Jax’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. That’s Pastor King’s handwriting. Psychotic and neat. The As are weird.”

Jax’s jaw hardened. He looked around and then focused on the map. Fury flashed across his face. “There was nobody here waiting for us, Damon.”

The truth hit Damon harder than the blast had.

Holy shit. The bomb had definitely been a trap, but it was more of a diversion. He pulled Greyson to his feet. “They waited for us to leave.” Vanguard territory had been attacked before, but this time was different. Very. “Somehow, they’re on the inside.”

Oh, God. They had to get back in time.

* * *

April hadn’t been able to sleep all night and finally gave up the fight, working all morning with the kids before heading back to her apartment around lunchtime. She rubbed her chilled arms and watched the storm continue unabated outside. There was no rain. Only fierce and jagged lightning strikes followed by furious thunder.

Where was Damon? Was he okay? They should be raiding right at that second after traveling all night.

She sat at her table and planted her face in her hands. Why hadn’t she told him how she felt? It wouldn’t change whatever happened during the attack on the Bunker, but at least he’d know. She took the exquisite ring out of her pocket and slid it onto her left ring finger. It fit perfectly.

He hadn’t asked. But he’d wanted to say the words to her.

And she hadn’t let him.

Man, she sucked. What was she so afraid of? Losing everything? She’d already done that, and here she was. Still standing. Or sitting, as it were. Her heart hurt for him, and fear made breathing difficult.

But she should’ve given him the words.

A knock on the door had her looking up. “Come in.”

Sharon opened the door and slid inside, her eyes over-bright and her cheeks the color of ripe tomatoes. “We’ve been drinking mimosas all morning before the bridge tournament. I made a break for it.” She snorted and then hiccupped.

April gaped. It was just past noon. “You’ve left the church again. That’s twice.” The woman had seemed like a total germaphobe. Just how drunk was she?

Sharon stumbled inside to draw out a chair. “I know, right?” She giggled.

April would not have pegged the serious Sharon for a giggler. “How did you get out?”

“We’re free to come and go if we want, you know. And I was here before.” Sharon rolled her eyes.

Oh, yeah. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought any of what you’ve been drinking?” She could seriously use a snort or two. When was the last time she’d had a mimosa?

“No, but I’m here to bring you back. Janet passed out, and we need somebody in her chair to start the tournament.” Sharon grinned. “You missed Bunko last night, and it was fun. I’m sure the kids here are fine for a while. So let’s do this.”

The invite was a sweet one. April patted Sharon’s hand. “I appreciate it, but I’ll have to take a raincheck this time. Definitely next time, though.”

Sharon wove on the chair and frowned. “Why? Come on. I mean, why?”

Because she’d promised Damon, and her word mattered. April just smiled. “I have a lot to do today. But I definitely want to play next time.” And have some of whatever Sharon had been drinking.

Sharon pursed her lips. “I was also hoping you’d take a look at Bobby.”

April ran through the kids in her head. “The little, redheaded kid?” He had to be around four years old, maybe five.

“Yeah. He’s running a fever, and I don’t know what’s happening. You have more experience with kids than most of us.” Sharon gestured for the door. “What do you say?”

April paused, torn. If there were a sick child, then she wanted to help. But she had made a promise to Damon, and everything inside her wanted to keep that. “If we have an ill child, we need the doctor. Let’s go get Doc Penelope and see what she thinks.”

“No. Just you. No Penelope,” Sharon said, pressing her lips together.

April studied the blonde. If anybody wanted to get her to the Pure, saying there was a sick kid would do it. As well as an invite for fun and alcohol. She didn’t want to be suspicious, and she certainly hated skirting the line of paranoia, but something felt off. “I don’t think so,” she murmured.

Sharon threw up her hands. “Why are you being so difficult?”

April leaned in. “Why are you insisting so hard? What’s really going on?”

Sharon huffed and stared at her. “The pastor would really like to see you.”

Now they were getting somewhere. “So he sent you out here, in the germ-filled, bacteria-esque world to lie to me?” Anger stirred as well as warning inside April.

“Please. Don’t be so dr-dramatic.” Sharon hiccupped again. “We have champagne. The good stuff.”

“Tempting, but no.” April pushed her chair away from the table and stood. “I think you should go back to the pastor and tell him to be honest next time.” What in the world was really going on? Man, she wished Damon were there. If nothing else, she was going to keep her word to him until he returned. She’d promised. Plus, something felt off. She was too smart to walk into a trap.

“Fine.” Sharon stormed to her feet and stumbled toward the door.

April fought a grin. The woman really was sloshed. She followed and opened the door to help her through as well as point out the right direction to the Pure apartment building.

“Hello.” A man shoved inside, pushing April back three steps.

She blinked and then recognized that Jerome guy from inside the Pure. Going on instinct, she turned and started to bolt.

He grabbed her around the waist from behind and slapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming. Fear swamped her, and she kicked, struggling to free herself. He pressed harder, hurting her jaw. She whimpered and tried to scream behind his hold, but he muffled her voice well.

Sharon backed away, her eyes wide. “Jerome? What are you doing?”

April punched back as hard as she could, and he released her, instantly wrapping an arm across both of hers and her waist, partially lifting her off the ground. His body was lean and hard behind her.

She breathed out over his hand, trying to focus. Blood rushed through her head, ringing loudly in her ears.

Sharon held up both hands. Bewilderment crossed her rosy face. “Stop this. I said I’d help get her there, but this is going too far. Let her go.” Her voice slurred.

What the hell? April nodded in agreement. She needed to get free.

Jerome sighed, his breath stirring her hair. “Sharon, pull it together, or you’re out of the Pure.”

Sharon’s bloodshot eyes widened. “But—”

“But, nothing,” he snapped. “The storm is keeping everybody indoors. We have a small window to get her to the apartment building between patrols.” His mouth lowered to April’s ear. “They’re like clockwork, and this has to be timed perfectly.”

She shivered. If they thought she was going quietly, they were freaking crazy.

“Now, I’m going to remove my hand, and if you scream, I’ll choke you out.” He moved his hand.

Her mind reeled. If she screamed, who would hear? The kids? Atticus was up with the older kids right now and might not hear her. But what were her other options? Before she could make up her mind, Jerome had retrieved a knife from somewhere. He held it up in front of her eyes. “Do I have your attention?”

She stopped struggling against him.

“Good.” His hold loosened enough that she could breathe again. “If you fight me, I’m going to gut Sharon like a fish.”

Sharon gasped and shrank against the peeling wall.

“Go ahead,” April snapped. She was done with these people. Period.

Jerome chuckled. “I like you. Okay, no gutting Sharon. I guess there’s only one way to go here.” He moved, something shifted, and then pain exploded in April’s head.

She went down, unconscious before she hit the floor.