Dom's crew stood frozen in the safe-house command room. Brian stepped in, pulling Dom and Han back. "We don't even know if this text was really from Letty. "He glanced around, frustration clear in his tone. "Even if it was her, what if she's being tested by Owen?"
They'd just been debating whether Owen Shaw would suspect something off about Letty if he'd managed to trace their intel. Leaving now could mean walking straight into his trap—and condemning Letty in the process.
That conflict held the room in silence. None of them wanted to push her deeper into danger. But after tonight, Letty couldn't stay embedded with Owen any longer. The risk was rising by the hour—for her and for them.
"So what do we do?" Han asked quietly.
Roman, pacing near the table, blurted out, "If the real Owen Shaw and his brother come knocking, we don't have much of a chance, man. "He gestured toward the reinforced windows. "You all saw what those guys were packing tonight. We boost cars—we don't fight damn warlords."
The words hit home. They were street racers and thieves, not soldiers. Their world had collided with something far meaner.
Dom said nothing, jaw tight. Brian's eyes flicked between them, weighing the impossible call—stay and risk everything for Letty, or run and live with it.
Han and Gisele stayed neutral, trying to read the room. Roman and Tej were leaning hard toward leaving before the sky fell in. They might be a crew, but this alliance was built on jobs and loyalty paid in cash—not a death wish.
Luke Hobbs finally broke the silence, voice steady but cold. "Right now, we don't even know if Owen's people have our location. My base is fortified—plenty of weapons, and a secondary exit tunnel. If they hit us, you move through that passage. I'll cover the front."
He keyed the base's defence grid, the hum of armed systems filling the bunker. No one argued. Dom might've been the heart of the family, but Hobbs was the wall between them and the next explosion.
Outside, on Bath Street—quiet, industrial, a forgotten corner of London—Ross and his team rolled in. The old SDD bunker sprawled beneath the street, relic of another war. Most of its systems were mothballed, but infrared sensors, motion alarms, and turrets still whispered power from the dark.
Luke's men and ICPO officers worked side-by-side; the alliance was uneasy. Interpol had pushed for this operation and paid for it in blood. Their ambush earlier had failed—Owen Shaw's crew slipped the net and left their field team wrecked. Now ICPO leaned fully on Hobbs's command.
Ross crouched behind cover, thermal reader glowing in Yin Yang's hands. "Heat signatures—forty minimum. Dominick's crew are holed up top floor, seventh level."
Ross grunted. "Tough entry. Straight assault's suicide. "He adjusted his scope, eyes scanning the concrete maze ahead. "If Arthur's team brings those micro-missiles, we open the door fast."
Right now, their loadout was thin—light machine guns, a few micro-rams, nothing heavy. Then Ross's phone buzzed. He checked the screen, expression hardening.
"In three minutes," he said, sliding the phone away. "Prep for breach."
The countdown started. Toll Road hefted his weapon, belts of ammo slung over his shoulders. He'd been ground down for weeks, but tonight—finally—a real fight. Three minutes crawled by. Then Toll Road squeezed the trigger first.
BANG — BANG — BANG!
Inside the bunker, ICPO agents jolted awake. "Contact! Enemy attack!"
They scrambled for weapons, rushing into the corridor—just as six rockets screamed through the entry.
BOOM — BOOM — BOOM — BOOM — BOOM — BOOM!
The blast tore the base apart. Half the ICPO squad vanished in fire and steel. Ross and his team charged through the haze, gunfire strobing the dark. The floor turned red and loud—mercenary precision against stunned defenders.
At that same moment, Arthur and his unit rolled up. The Humvee skidded to a stop. Doors flew open. Arthur, Ghost and Christmas geared up fast—each motion automatic, practiced.
"Christmas, flank left. Ghost, with me."
They split without another word, the thunder of suppressed fire echoing down the tunnel.
⸻⸻
Seventh Floor
Dom's crew felt the tremors shake the concrete beneath their boots. Luke turned from the monitors. "Move! Go, now!"
He dragged three automatic light machine guns to the corridor door, braced them on tripods, and wired time-charges along the exit tunnel. "You take the passage—Tej, Han, Roman, everyone. I'll hold them off."
Dom hesitated, but one look at Hobbs's face told him this wasn't negotiable. They piled into the freight elevator. Hobbs grabbed a tablet, diving across the room as bullets shredded the door.
From the feed, he watched movement on the stairwell. He tapped the command screen—the mounted guns roared to life.
The first merc up the stairwell—Toll Road—barely cleared the landing before three linked bursts shredded him.
He had time to shout one warning: "Bomb!"
Caesar's head snapped up. He barely got the window open before the detonation. Glass shattered as he dove, hitting the rooftop opposite. Ross and Yin Yang followed, bodies slamming hard against concrete. All three were bleeding and bruised.
Then the world lit up. BOOM — BOOM — BOOM! The seventh floor erupted, fire curling out into the night.
Ross stared at the flames, jaw tight. Toll Road was gone. No question. In Yang and Caesar emerged from the stairwell behind him, silent, the loss heavy between them. When you sign up for this life, you know it can end fast.
⸻⸻
Meanwhile, Arthur and Ghost reached the hidden tunnel. Before moving in, Arthur had Dade pull the full schematics—he knew there was a secondary exit somewhere beneath the old structure. They reached the narrow corridor, weapons drawn, waiting for Dom's crew to emerge.
Footsteps echoed—fast, unsteady. Arthur raised his weapon, Ghost at his side.
They shared one look. Then they both opened fire.
To be continued…