Chapter Twenty #2
Isla stood at the concrete slab, motionless but for the small turn of her head, just enough for Avery to see the quick flash of her eyes when she spotted Darian in the shadows.
Noah lifted two fingers, a sharp signal for her to stay put. Isla gave the slightest nod and turned back to the slab. Her hand rose, steady despite the tension cutting through the air, and she knocked again.
Three dull thuds.
The sound rolled across the clearing like a heartbeat, then faded into the hiss of rain.
Behind Avery, Darian’s breath hitched. “I didn’t want this,” he said hoarsely, his hands still raised, his voice breaking the fragile silence. “The kidnapping. The hostages. This isn’t what the Brotherhood was supposed to be.”
Avery kept her gun trained on him, every muscle locked. “You expect us to believe that?”
His shoulders sagged, rain running in dark lines down his face. “You think I wanted them dragged into this? I told them it was a mistake.” He swallowed hard. “Charlotte shouldn’t have been murdered.”
The name hit like a knife. Avery’s stomach dropped.
“Punished, yes,” Darian went on, voice trembling. “But not murdered. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”
He sounded broken. Or maybe he wanted them to think he was. Avery couldn’t tell. The sincerity in his voice sounded almost real, but “almost” didn’t count when lives were on the line.
Noah stepped closer, gun still steady. “Who’s holding the hostages, Darian?” His tone was clipped, controlled. “Who’s inside that bunker?”
Darian hesitated, glancing toward the slab, then back at them. His mouth opened, the words right there—
Gunfire shattered the clearing.
Avery flinched as rounds chewed through the trees, sparks and splinters exploding into the rain. The sound was deafening, sharp, and close.
“Down!” Jackson barked, grabbing Avery and pulling her behind the trunk of a fallen tree.
Isla dove to the ground near the slab, rolling behind a chunk of broken concrete.
Darian dropped flat, mud splashing up around him. He shouted something, maybe a warning, but his words were lost in the chaos.
The forest erupted with light and sound, the staccato echo of gunfire bouncing between the limestone bluffs.
Avery pressed her cheek to the wet bark, breath ragged, heart hammering.
They weren’t being watched anymore.
They were under attack.
Avery hit the ground hard, mud splattering her face, the cold shock of it barely cutting through the noise. Gunfire tore through the rain, sharp and deafening, bullets slamming into the trees above her head and shredding bark into a mist of splinters.
She could hear Jackson and Noah beside her, both down low, returning fire in short, controlled bursts. Darian was sprawled a few feet away, face pressed into the mud, hands still over his head.
“Stay down!” Jackson shouted over the gunfire.
Avery shifted, trying to see Isla through the blur of rain and smoke. The other woman was still by the bunker, crouched behind the slab, her gun braced over one knee. Brave or reckless. Probably both.
The rounds didn’t stop. They came in bursts, a rhythm that told Avery exactly what she didn’t want to know. Trained shooters, coordinated.
Through the ringing in her ears, a voice cut through over the comm.
Cal.
“No one’s coming out of the bunker,” he said, his breath quick and uneven. “Repeat, no movement from inside.”
Jackson swore under his breath, reloading fast. “You sure?”
“Positive. Garrett and I managed to jam the door. Heavy chain through the handles and a wedge on the inside seam. They’re sealed in.”
A flicker of hope cut through Avery’s fear.
“Good,” Noah said, his tone grim but steady. “Keep them locked down.”
“Copy that. There’s only one way in and out, and they don’t have it.”
Avery pressed her shoulder into the ground, squeezing her eyes shut for a heartbeat as bullets tore overhead. She forced herself to breathe through the mud and smoke.
Please, she thought. Let that hold.
Because if Cal and Garrett were right, if the Brotherhood was truly trapped inside that structure behind the bunker, then maybe, just maybe, they had a fighting chance.
But the gunfire didn’t let up.
It only grew louder, closer.
A round hit the ground inches from her hand, kicking up dirt and water. She jerked back, adrenaline roaring through her veins.
Avery’s gaze flicked toward the slab again, where Isla was still huddled, unmoving, rain running down her back. The Brotherhood might have been contained, but containment was temporary.
And every second they stayed pinned down out here in the open, they were one heartbeat away from being overrun.
Gunfire cracked through the clearing, closer this time. Too close. The hiss of rain couldn’t mute it, couldn’t soften the metallic shriek of rounds slicing through branches overhead. A spray of bark exploded near Avery’s face, and she ducked lower, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her teeth.
Muzzle flashes flared through the trees like lightning.
“Down,” Jackson barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She pressed herself flat, cheek against cold mud. Water pooled under her vest, the taste of grit in her mouth.
A cry broke through the gunfire. Raw and jagged.
Darian.
Avery’s head snapped toward him. He was sprawled on his side, mud splattered across his face, one hand clamped to his shoulder. Blood slicked his palm—or maybe it was just rain. She couldn’t tell.
He groaned, voice hoarse. “I’ve been hit. Damn it, I’ve been hit!”
Or he wanted them to think that.
Avery’s instincts screamed trap, but before she could react, Jackson was already moving.
He rose halfway out of cover, pivoted with the precision of a man who didn’t need to think before he shot. His gun came up, smooth and certain, and in that instant Avery saw what he was aiming at.
Through the curtain of rain, just past the far edge of the clearing, a man crouched behind a fallen tree, rifle braced, barrel smoking.
Chuck Barlow.
The recognition hit her like a gut punch. She’d seen him before in photographs of the known Brotherhood members.
Jackson didn’t hesitate. One clean shot rang out.
Barlow’s head snapped back, and his body dropped instantly, motionless in the mud.
The forest went still.
For a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain on leaves, the faint ring in Avery’s ears. Her breathing came fast, sharp in the sudden quiet.
Then, shouting.
Muffled at first, then louder, spilling from behind the bunker.
Avery’s blood ran cold. Voices, angry, panicked. Boots hitting concrete. Metal clanging.
Noah turned his head, eyes narrowing. “They’re trying to get out.”
From the building behind the bunker came the crash of something heavy hitting the door, then another, louder.
The Brotherhood.
They were still trapped, for now, but maybe not for long.
Avery started to move before she even thought about it, pushing up from the ground.
Jackson’s hand shot out and grabbed her vest, yanking her back down into the mud. “Don’t,” he hissed, eyes locked on the clearing.
Through the rain and the low fog, she saw Isla slip around the back of the bunker. Isla moved silent, fast, hugging the wall as she disappeared from sight.
Noah’s voice came through her earpiece, “We need a distraction.” He glanced toward Jackson. “Keep your eye on Darian. If he moves, you drop him.”
Jackson gave a short nod, weapon trained on the man still lying in the mud a few feet away.
Then Noah straightened, raising his voice just enough to carry through the clearing. “Hey! Over here!” he shouted. “You want to trade, you get me. Let the hostage go!”
“No,” Riley cried, sobs breaking through her words. “He says—he says only Avery. If it’s anyone else, Megan and I die.”
Avery’s stomach dropped. Her name again. They knew exactly who they wanted.
Jackson’s hand tightened on her shoulder, holding her down. She felt the tremor of his restraint. He was ready to move, ready to kill, but not yet.
Rain streamed off their helmets, the forest breathing around them in heavy, wet silence. The air smelled like metal and gunpowder.
Riley’s voice cracked again, high and desperate. “He says he means it.”
Avery’s chest constricted. The sound of that young woman’s fear hit her harder than any bullet could.
Noah crouched lower, his voice tight in the comm. “Hold your positions. Nobody moves until we have a clean line.”
Avery forced herself to stay still, though every nerve in her body screamed to run to that slab. The man’s arm was locked tight around Riley, the muzzle of his gun pressed against her ribs.
There was movement by the bunker, and the slab opened.
Avery caught it first, two figures breaking from the shadows. Megan and Isla. They were running, hunched low, splashing through the mud toward the tree line. Isla had one hand pressed to Megan’s shoulder, guiding her fast and hard.
“Go,” Avery whispered.
They disappeared into the brush, Isla’s dark shape vanishing last. She’d done it. She’d gotten Megan free.
Noah saw it too. He didn’t let his voice waver. “You want a trade?” he called out to the kidnapper. “You’ll get it. You’re getting the head of Crossfire Ops. You’re getting me.”
The masked man didn’t move. He still had Riley, his arm locked around her, gun pressed tight against her ribs.
The noise from the building behind the bunker grew louder, metal slamming, men shouting over one another. Avery’s pulse pounded in her ears. Any second, they’d break through that door.
Then a sharp burst of light flared from the ridge.
The flashbang went off.
The blast rolled through the clearing, echoing off the limestone and the trees. The shockwave slammed through the air, rain scattering in a blinding sheet.
Avery’s vision went white, her ears filled with a roar so loud it felt like it was inside her skull. The air itself seemed to punch her, hard and flat, stealing her breath. For a second she couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, only feel the ground trembling beneath her palms.