All The Way In

Power doesn't shout. It reclassifies.

Every man who's worn a uniform knows the rule: never volunteer.

Mac raised his hand anyway.

Puerto Rico. After the storm. The assignment nobody wanted, in the place nobody was watching. Mac had survived a week's worth of California burning and saved his mother's life. He figured a disaster zone had nothing left to show him.

He was wrong.

What's buried on that island isn't debris. It's a trail. And it doesn't stop where trails are supposed to stop. It climbs — past the men who signed the orders, past the men who lost the paperwork — toward a desk so high up, nobody says the name out loud.

Then the bodies start. Just like last time. A witness. A friend. People who stood too close to Mac and paid for it.

Somebody is cleaning up. And Mac is on the list.

They should have read his file. A career spent doing the jobs no one else would touch left Mac with a skillset that never made it onto a résumé — the kind that reads a room before the door closes, hears the second set of footsteps, and knows which way a trail runs before the man following it does. It's kept him breathing more times than he can count.

It's about to have to again.

He has one message for whoever is at the top of that trail, and he only says it once:

Don't make me your enemy.

ALL THE WAY IN is the sequel to A WEEK'S WORTH. 145 chapters. No speeches. No filler. As always, Mac is first boots on the ground with an A-team. He doesn't research disaster zones. He stands in them.

You won't stop until it's over. Neither will he.