Revenge to the Alpha Mate novel Chapter 229

Chapter 229: Chapter 229

Jacob’s Perspective

The oppressive silence after our failure didn’t last long. Our group’s skills might be a mixed bag, but our ability to band together and focus in a desperate situation? That, we had mastered.

We gathered in the clearing between the two SUVs, using the headlights like a primitive campfire, brainstorming how to crack this hard nut.

"A frontal assault is out. We don’t have the numbers or the firepower," Lily said, sketching a crude outline of the factory in the dirt with a stick. "And the backdoor approach just slammed in our faces and bolted itself shut."

"So, we split up. Good old diversion," Xavier summarized, arms crossed, his voice a low rumble.

A plan began to take shape. Lily, Xavier, Adrian, and the twins would "pay another visit" to the slaughterhouse at first light. This time, it wasn’t a probe. It was a full-blown distraction. Gunfire, maximum chaos, designed to pull the guards and most of the Hunters’ attention to the front gates and outer perimeter.

Meanwhile, Celena and I would use the chaos to infiltrate from the completely opposite side—maybe the flank or the rear. Our goal wasn’t a fight; it was to get in, find the factory’s hidden secrets, locate Brett or clues about the captured wolves, or at the very least, map the layout and discover its true purpose.

"It’s risky," Adrian said, his gaze coolly analytical. "The diversion team will be under immense pressure. If the infiltration team is discovered, they’ll be sitting ducks."

"Still better than all of us charging in and getting turned into Swiss cheese," Jim muttered.

"We do it," I decided. It was the most feasible idea we had.

The preparations began in earnest. Adrian, our expert in mechanics and "special acquisitions," drove through the night to a larger town over a hundred miles away where we were unknown. He returned with useful gear: two sets of dark clothing for night movement, high-tensile fiber ropes, compact breaching tools, and—inflatable pads and camouflage netting.

"What’re these for?" Jim asked, poking one of the pads.

"Your stand-ins," Adrian replied, a rare, sly grin touching his lips.

Meanwhile, Lily and the twins took a more direct approach—they "borrowed" some firepower from a nearby gun shop known for its "diverse inventory." Their haul consisted mainly of various calibers of ammunition, several smoke grenades, and a few rifles with better range and accuracy to add weight to tomorrow’s "diversion." As Lily put it, "The bigger the show, the safer Jacob and Celena will be."

By the time everyone reconvened at our temporary hideout with their "acquisitions," dawn was approaching. We snatched two or three hours of fitful sleep in the vehicles or against trees. Our werewolf constitution was a lifesaver.

At first light, the operation commenced. In the backseat of one of the diversion team’s SUVs, Adrian used the inflatable pads, netting, and a couple of caps to create two rough, silhouette-like shapes that might pass for people at a distance. Lily and the twins set up in chosen sniper or ambush positions, rigging some guns with ropes and simple triggers to fire intermittently, creating the illusion of multiple shooters.

Xavier drove Celena and me on the final leg. He took a long detour, dropping us at the edge of desolate woodland about ten miles southeast of the slaughterhouse.

"This is it. Any closer risks their patrols or cameras," Xavier said, killing the engine. He pulled our backpacks from the trunk—they held Adrian’s tools and essentials. He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, then looked at Celena, his rugged face deadly serious. "Watch your backs. Both of you. If it feels wrong, you bail. Don’t be heroes. We’ll keep them busy."

"You guys don’t get carried away either," I said, thumping his chest in return.

"Don’t worry. When it comes to making an exit, we’re pros," Xavier grinned, getting back in the driver’s seat. The engine growled as the SUV quickly vanished down the mist-shrouded dirt track.

Celena and I exchanged a look, checked our gear one last time, and then plunged into the dense undergrowth, moving swiftly and silently toward the factory.

The wait was excruciating. We lay motionless behind a thicket with a view of the high walls, adjusting our breathing, becoming part of the landscape. The sun rose higher, burning off the mist.

Then—

Rat-a-tat-tat... Boom! Crack!

From the northwest—the direction of the factory’s main gate and the road—a fierce firefight erupted! The deep boom of shotguns, the sharp stutter of semi-automatic rifles, the distinctive bark of large-caliber pistols, all mixed with the faint sounds of shattering glass and crunching metal. Damn, Lily and the others were putting on one hell of a show.

"Go!" I hissed.

We shot from our cover like arrows, taking advantage of every eye and ear being drawn to the northwestern spectacle, sprinting for a predetermined, relatively isolated section of the perimeter wall at the factory’s side and rear.

The wire fence gave way silently to the hydraulic cutters. We ducked through the gap, landed, and pressed ourselves against the shadow of the wall. Inside the compound, an eerie "emptiness" prevailed. The diversion was working; most guards had been pulled to the front.

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