Chapter 59 Beckett
Beckett
The city erupted.
Gunfire chewed the night apart, muzzle flashes sparking from rooftops and alleys, the air splitting with the guttural shouts of Hydra men closing in from every direction.
Bullets sparked off stone and metal, glass shattered from the stalls around us, and the market district became a cage of smoke and fire.
“Contact left and right!” River shouted, already laying down fire as shadows surged from the alley.
“Cyclone—feed!” I barked.
“Forty-plus signatures closing fast,” his voice came ragged through comms. “They were waiting for us—whole damn block is hot!”
“Figures,” Oliver muttered, squeezing off three rounds and dropping two men before ducking behind a crumbling wall.
I pushed Elara hard against cover, my body braced in front of hers as rounds peppered the brick at our backs. “Stay low. Stay with me.”
Her eyes burned, pistol already raised. “I’m not hiding, Beckett.”
Damn stubborn woman. Even here—especially here—she wouldn’t let me carry it all alone. And somehow, that made me fight harder.
I leaned out, rifle snapping to my shoulder, and fired in controlled bursts. One Hydra soldier collapsed in the street. Another crumpled on the rooftop. But for every one that fell, two more rose. They poured in like a tide, black-clad, masks gleaming in the half-light.
“Push forward!” I roared. “Break their line before they box us in!”
Gage grinned through the smoke, charging ahead with Oliver covering his flank. River cursed but followed, bullets ripping Hydra down in brutal rhythm. Cyclone shouted coordinates from behind, his drone marking clusters with flashes of red on the tablet.
The ground shook as a Hydra truck roared into the street, headlights blinding. Men poured from the back, rifles raised.
I yanked a grenade free, thumbed the pin, and hurled it straight into the cab. The explosion tore through the night, fire swallowing the vehicle whole. The shockwave rattled my teeth, heat blasting across my skin. Hydra screamed as the truck collapsed in a bloom of fire.
Elara fired from beside me, her pistol sharp, precise—dropping a man who tried to flank left. Her hand shook, but her eyes stayed locked, steady. She wasn’t breaking. Not tonight.
More boots pounded from the alley. More shadows spilling closer. Hydra never ended—they just kept coming.
And through the roar, through the fire and fury, one truth anchored me, unshakable.
They could throw an army at us.
They could burn this city to ash.
But Hydra would not take her back.
Not while I was still breathing.