John Price knew something was wrong. His wife always called. His kids always checked in. There were always pictures of his little girl curled up with the dogs. But now—nothing.
The first scream tore through the phone. Gunfire. Barking. Growling. His wife’s voice—cracked, desperate, in pain. His oldest son gasping through terror, cut off by a gunshot. The sound of something breaking.
More voices. Pleading. Crying. Bodies hitting walls, floors. The dogs—snarling, vicious, tearing through whatever stood in their way.
Slamming into doors. Paws scraping against wood. Teeth snapping against rope. They had been locked out—but they were getting back in.
Then, her voice. Small. Strained. Choking on pain. “Daddy—please come home.” A broken cry, breathless and uneven. “The bad men—m-mummy won’t—”
Something shattered. A sharp yell, then a struggle. Footsteps. Heavy breathing. Teeth grinding against knots.
Movement—rushed, uneven. The Ovcharka and Kangal—dragging her away. Getting her out. She couldn’t walk. She was on their backs.
Price barely registered his own body moving. His pulse sharpened into pure focus. His family was dying. His daughter—his baby—was still alive.
How much longer? He didn’t wait to find out.
The second the call cut, Price was already moving. Ghost didn’t speak. Soap clenched his fists. Gaz adjusted his gear. Roach checked his weapon with quiet precision. Krueger exhaled slowly. Farah’s jaw tightened.
Alex and Nikolai stood ready. No questions. No hesitation. Every man had heard it. Every death. Every scream. Every second of Price’s world being torn apart.
The house was chaos. Blood smeared the floors. Bullet holes shattered the walls. Bodies—some his family, some the attackers—lay twisted and broken.
His wife slumped against her chair, hands lifeless in her lap. His oldest son, collapsed near the doorway, knuckles bloodied—he had fought even as he died.
The others—throats slit, eyes swollen, knees shattered. Some burned, some torn apart. The attackers—mangled, throats ripped open, bodies twisted. The dogs had fought. Had killed. Had defended the last of them.
But where was... Price didn’t finish the thought. Either she was already dead. Or she was still alive. And he was about to tear through the earth to find her.