Chapter 17 #2
“Top floor’s clear,” Boomer’s voice came over comms. “Beef found three more. We dropped them. No hostiles left moving that we can see.”
“Copy. We have Marques. Basement,” Ice replied. “Bag their toys first.”
Blair kicked the knife away from the handler’s outstretched hand as Boomer and Beef entered, relief etched in Beef’s face. Boomer scooped up the pistol and tucked it behind his vest. Beef moved back to the hallway, watching the stairs, weapon up, eyes wide but steady.
Ayla’s voice followed. “You’ve got a narrow window before any friends or neighbors decide to drive by and check the party.”
“Understood,” Ice said. “We exfil now. Boomer, take overwatch up top. Beef, help Kodiak with Marques. Blair, Break you’re on point. Move.”
They turned back toward the stairs. Blair led, Beef on her right. As they climbed, she could feel the weight of the building pressing in on her, amplifying the sound of her boots, the beat of her heart.
At the top of the stairs, the hallway yawned open again. She stepped back into the main room, weapon swinging to cover the angles she knew they had already cleared, but that didn’t stop her from checking them again. The floor was a minefield of bodies, spent cases, knocked-over furniture.
“Movement,” Break’s voice snapped into her ear. “Back left corner.”
Blair pivoted even as the words hit. A biker exploded up from behind the counter, a roar tearing from his throat, shotgun barrel swinging toward the cluster of them moving through the space.
She was closest.
There was no time to think, just react.
He crashed into her, the shotgun barrel slamming across her vest as he drove her backward.
Her rifle flew from her hands as they went down hard, her shoulders crunching into the floor, air blasting from her lungs.
The biker’s weight came down like a slab of concrete, rank sweat and leather stinging her nose.
He jammed the butt of the shotgun into her side, aiming to bring the barrel around, but she twisted, grunting, and drove her forearm up under his chin, forcing his head back. His spit hit her cheek as he snarled.
Breakneck was on him a second later, fingers biting into the man’s vest as he hauled him off her. They hit the floor in a tangle, Breakneck’s grunting as the biker drove an elbow into his side. Breakneck’s face went white around the edges, his grip faltering.
The biker saw it. His gaze sharpened with ugly satisfaction, hand darting for the knife on his belt.
Blair rolled to her knees, grabbed the shotgun where it had skittered, and rammed the barrel up under the biker’s sternum for leverage.
She used every ounce of strength in her body, shoving with a hard, upward jerk.
The biker lost his balance. Breakneck used the shift, planted his boot in the man’s gut, and heaved. The man flipped, crashing onto his back.
Blair drove the butt of the shotgun into his face. Bone crunched. She hit him again, once, twice, until he stopped moving.
Silence fell for a heartbeat.
She stood there, chest heaving, sweat and someone else’s blood streaking her cheeks. Breakneck watched her from the floor, breath ragged, eyes dark with something that wasn’t only adrenaline.
“You good?” he asked, voice rough.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“You saved my ass,” he said quietly.
“Team effort,” she answered, grabbing his forearm and pulling him up. “Come on. We’re not done.”
He let her haul him to his feet, his face pale, tremors in his hand, something else burning in those gray eyes, something deep that had nothing to do with injury.
They moved again.
By the time they stepped out onto the porch, Kodiak and Beef had Marques between them, the guards’s arms over their shoulders, feet dragging but moving.
The night air hit Blair like a slap. The compound looked different now, like something broken open, secrets spilling out. Bodies scattered the yard. Skull appeared, pushing two bound men, Bones growling and trotting around them like he was herding them.
“TOC, we’re exiting the structure,” Ice said. “Status.”
Ayla’s voice was brisk. “All visible hostiles are down. Perimeter remains clear. I’ve got your convoy intact and waiting.”
The RCMP SUVs and the SEALs’ vehicles sat where they had left them near the breached fence, Carver and Jones hovering near the third SUV, faces pale in the wash of headlights.
They started across the yard, forming a rough protective shell around Marques. Blair went ahead, Beef and Kodiak on the right.
Breakneck walked slightly behind and off to the side, eyes raking the shadows.
“Guys!” Ayla said suddenly, sharp. “West side. Weapons shack. I’ve got a new signature. Something’s—”
He saw it at the same instant.
A biker burst from behind the weapons shed, a shadow separated from deeper shadow, an RPG launcher already hefted onto his shoulder, muzzle yawning toward them.
Blair’s mouth went dry, and the world narrowed to a sliver. Time seemed to slow down.
Breakneck slammed his hand into her shoulder, driving her down even as he drew his pistol. “Avalanche!” he shouted, voice raw.
Blair hit the dirt, Marques dragged with her as she grabbed his vest and yanked. Beef dropped. Kodiak threw himself over Marques. Ice pivoted, Boomer and Skull hit the dirt, Skull pulling Bones down with him.
Breakneck moved before she could take another breath. He went airborne, twisting his body in a move that was pure reflex, pulling his sidearm at the same time he aimed.
The man was running, steps uneven. Breakneck fired once, the shot snapping out like a whip crack.
The bullet caught the biker high in the shoulder, driving him back. His grip loosened. The nose of the RPG rose just as his finger convulsed on the trigger.
Breakneck dropped onto her, his heavy body covering her, his arms slipping around her, his back to the explosion. He never lost focus for one second. His gun fired again, this time hitting the man in the forehead before he could take another breath.
The rocket spat fire, shrieked across the yard. It passed over their heads in a flaming arc, so close Blair felt the burn slice the air above her face.
Then it slammed into the far tree line behind them.
The explosion tore the night open.
Heat slammed them like a wall. The concussion wave rolled over the yard, flipping loose debris, flattening the grass. Blair’s breath punched out of her as the ground beneath her shuddered. For a second, all she could hear was a roaring buzz.
She opened her eyes, staring up at the night sky, vision full of drifting sparks and fragments of leaves tumbling down.
Somewhere beyond the ringing in her ears, Ayla’s voice was shouting her name. “Sergeant Brown! Breakneck! Report. Report!”
Blair sucked in a breath, coughed, turned her head.
Marques was still beside her, Kodiak sprawled over him, eyes already blinking back into focus. Beef was on his back, clutching his arm where something had grazed him earlier, face pale but conscious. Ice was pushing himself up, swearing softly, helmet askew.
Breakneck’s weight was too heavy. She tried to move, but he didn’t budge. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Kodiak!” she shouted.
The dirt scraped, footsteps rushed, and his weight moved off her. She reared up. His face was pale beneath impossibly thick, dark lashes. “Kelly? Kelly!”
Kodiak took something out of his med kit and ran it under Breakneck’s nose. He sputtered and coughed and came awake, his body jackknifing like there was still a threat, and even emerging from unconsciousness, he was ready to fight.
He fought Kodiak’s arms, tried to rise. “Blair,” he called, his chest rising and falling too fast.
“I’m right here,” she said, touching his arm. He stopped fighting, eyes locked on her like he needed a visual confirmation she was breathing.
She met his gaze.
The raw terror in his eyes gut-punched her.
He covered it in the next breath, jaw clenching, shoulders squaring, but she had seen it. It struck her, hard and deep, that he hadn’t been afraid of the RPG. He had been afraid of what it would do to her.
“We’re here, Ayla,” she said into her mic, voice hoarse. “We’re up. Target’s down. RPG hit the trees. Minor injuries only.”
Her voice came back thick with relief. “Copy. For a second, I thought I’d lost you.”
Blair pushed to her feet, and she offered Breakneck her hand. He took it. He got to his feet. “Are you all right?”
The world tilted, then righted. She dragged the back of her hand across her face, smearing soot and sweat. She nodded, squeezing his arm hard. “We’re good. Marques is alive. We’re moving.”
Ice strode over, shook off a few stray leaves that had landed on his shoulders, and surveyed the group with that flat, ice-blue scan that missed nothing.
“Geezus, kid. Blair was right. We needed your gun,” he said quietly to Breakneck. Then to all of them, “We’re done here. Load up.”
They moved as a unit again, all of them stiff and a little stunned but functional.
Blair reached out and brushed her hand against Breakneck’s arm as they walked, the contact brief, the gesture impulsive and probably stupid.
He didn’t look at her, but his fingers flexed once over the grip of his pistol, like he was holding on to something too fragile to name.
Behind them, the biker compound smoldered in the dark, the echo of the RPG blast still bouncing off the trees.
Ahead, the SUVs waited, engines idling, lights low.
Between the two, Blair felt the shape of her life shifting in imperceptible increments she would only be able to name later.
For now, she lifted her chin, tightened her grip on Marques’s arm, and walked toward the vehicles, Tier 1 at her back and Breakneck’s presence like a steadying ghost at her side.
They were alive.
For tonight, that was enough.