Chapter 49: it never ends

The Brooklyn Bridge barricades didn't just break—they exploded in a shower of concrete chips, twisted rebar, and screaming security guards as the primary lead war-rig smashed through at eighty miles an hour.

"Out of the fucking way, commuters!" Ren yelled from the roof-mounted gunner seat, holding the trigger down on a heavy plasma rotary cannon. Neon-pink energy bolts chewed through three armored defense buggies, sending them flipping off the bridge and plunging straight into the murky East River below with massive splashes. "Manhattan toll plaza is now free of charge!"

Mari was standing right beside Adrian on the open bed of the lead rig, her dark hair whipping wildly in the wind, her matte-black suit skin-tight and partially unzipped to reveal the fresh, dark bruises lining her neck and collarbone.

Adrian was hovering behind her like a nine-foot, bloodthirsty gargoyle, completely bare-chested and covered in soot, grease, and scratch marks from the penthouse. His massive, calloused hand was locked around Mari’s waist, dragging her back against his broad, burning chest every time the war-rig hit a bump on the bridge.

"Hold on, Queen," Adrian growled, his deep, filthy voice vibrating straight through her spine as his mouth came down to bite hard on her earlobe. "It's about to get bumpy."

"If you bite me again, brute, I'm using your face as a battering ram," Mari panted, though she shoved her hips back against his thrumming heat, letting out a sharp, breathless laugh as the adrenaline spiked straight to her core.

Down in the Brooklyn Navy Yard, Warlord Lance was frantically screaming into a tactical comms unit behind a wall of sandbags and concrete barriers. "I don't give a shit who she thinks she is! Open fire! Blow that rig to—"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence.

The lead war-rig didn't bother braking. It smashed right through the main chain-link perimeter, crushed two heavy automated turrets under its monster tires, and slammed to a halt in the middle of the courtyard with a screech of burning rubber.

Before the dust even settled, Kael vaulted off the top rack like an unhinged acrobat, landing squarely on top of an oncoming mercenary's shoulders. He drove both daggers straight down through the guy's collarbones, spun off his falling body, and grabbed a second mercenary by his tactical belt.

"Hey buddy, nice helmet!" Kael cackled, ripping the guy's helmet off and smashing it repeatedly across his own jaw until the mercenary went completely limp. "Too bad it doesn't cover your jawline!"

"Kael, stop playing with your food!" Sera yelled, gliding across the wet pavement like a blue frost-demon. She swept her hands out, instantly freezing the fuel line of a heavy corporate gunship that was trying to lift off from the pad. The engine sputtered, froze solid, and crashed backward onto a row of luxury SUVs in a gloriously loud fireball.

Mari dropped off the war-rig, her combat boots hitting the blood-stained pavement with an authoritative crack.

A heavy enforcer in full riot gear lunged at her with an electric stun-baton. Mari ducked smoothly under the swing, grabbed his wrist, and shoved her thigh aggressively between his legs, using his own momentum to flip him face-first into the concrete. Before he could push himself up, she put a heavy plasma bolt through his rear armor plate.

"Next!" Mari barked, her eyes flashing with lethal, dark amusement.

Warlord Lance was backing away behind a line of shaking bodyguards, pointing a massive silver hand-cannon at Mari with trembling hands. "You... you crazy bitch! I have two hundred men in this yard!"

"Correction," Ren shouted from the gunner seat, taking a long drag off his Cuban cigar while casually adjusting the cannon turret. "You had two hundred men. Now you have about twelve guys, three burning trucks, and a massive fucking problem."

Adrian stepped up right beside Mari, his massive frame broad, terrifying, and radiating suffocating heat. He grabbed a thirty-pound iron anchor lying on the dock, casually picked it up with one hand, and hurled it through the windshield of Lance's primary getaway armored truck, crushing the engine block into metal soup.

"You threatened my Queen," Adrian growled, stepping into Lance's personal space until the warlord was practically staring into his sweat-slicked chest. He grabbed Lance by his tactical harness, lifting his entire 250-pound body two feet off the ground with one arm. "Any last words, tax dodger?"

"Wait! I—I'll pay!" Lance shrieked, wetting himself on live television as Ren's broadcast drones zoomed in on his face. "I'll give you fifty percent of the yard revenue!"

Mari stepped up, pressing the warm, smoking barrel of her sidearm directly against Lance's belt buckle. She looked up into his terror-stricken eyes, a dark, filthy, devastating smile spreading across her lips.

"Fifty percent was yesterday's price," Mari purred softly. "Today, the tax rate is one hundred percent... plus your teeth."

She pulled the trigger.

Lance dropped like a sack of rocks, howling in agony, while the remaining eleven mercenaries immediately threw their weapons onto the ground and dropped to their knees, weeping and pleading for mercy.

"Ren, lock the Navy Yard down," Mari commanded, turning on her heel and casually resting her hand against Adrian's broad, burning shoulder. "Lena, gather their supplies. We've got a whole continent left to collect from."