Just like that, Max had taken out the two guards who stood by the entrance of the container. His movements had been clean, efficient, and filled with the quiet rage that had been building up inside him from the moment this entire mess began. He had followed the faint echo of Sheri's voice, then the rhythmic clangs that had bounced off the maze of steel containers until they led him right where he needed to be.
He didn't hesitate when he saw the guards. He didn't question whether they were high-ranking members of the Black Hounds or just disposable pawns. He attacked with precision, striking before they even had time to reach for their weapons. A knee to the ribs, a sharp elbow to the throat, by the time they hit the ground, they were out cold.
Max half expected to find someone else inside, a lieutenant, maybe even Jett himself, but when he stepped through the narrow gap, his eyes fell upon something far worse.
It wasn't just Sheri inside.
It was also Anton.
