Chapter 9 #2
Ellis tapped Colt’s arm, gaining his attention. She made some signals with her hand—wanted them to split up. Flank the enemy. Damn hard when they couldn’t stand—were stuck crawling across the damn roof.
Six shook his head, held up a container. Colt gave the guy an arch of his brow, but Six merely grinned, motioning to Ellis.
Colt grabbed her, locking her head against his chest. “Eyes and ears, sweetheart. Then, we fly.”
Ellis inhaled. “He wouldn’t…”
She tucked in hard against him as he curled over her. A soft whoosh, a click, then the world exploded. Lights. Smoke. A deafening shock wave.
Six popped up, laid down a bunch of cover fire, then they were moving inside the smoke.
Springing to their feet then racing across the roof.
Dodging vents as they ran toward the edge.
Shouts carried on the breeze, the acrid smell of propellant heavy in the air.
They had maybe ten seconds to reach the other side, start down the damn ladder before the bastards would begin recovering.
Less if they’d trained and gained some resistance to the grenade’s effects.
Six had another canister in his hand—was tossing it over the edge as they zeroed in on the fire escape.
The man didn’t slow, didn’t seem at all fazed when the second flashbang erupted on the pavement below them, illuminating the alleyway in a blinding light.
He just kept moving, grabbing the rails then sliding down, his feet hugging the sides—not even touching the rungs.
Colt grabbed Ellis’ arm, tugged her against him. “Arms around my neck. And don’t fucking let go.”
She didn’t argue, plastering herself against him as he climbed over the edge.
She released one hand to fire off a few rounds—send the couple of men who’d managed to stumble after them diving for cover—then she was holding tight.
Flying with Colt down the ladder, friction burning a line across his palm.
But it didn’t matter. Didn’t slow him down. Ice could treat him later, if needed. Right now, they had to move.
Gunfire popped around them as they hit the pavement, Six shoving them against the side of the building as he countered—keeping a couple of bullets from catching Colt in the shoulder—Ellis in the head. His buddy grunted, cursed, then palmed Colt’s side and pushed.
Colt ran, sweeping the area with every step, his other hand grasping Ellis’.
He was moving fast—probably faster than she could go, still recovering, than she should go—but she kept up.
Managed to match his steps, sprint across the street, vault over a fence, then down an alley.
Footsteps echoed behind them. Steady. Strong.
He kept running, taking a sharp right, then an equally sharp left. He wound through a parking ramp, jumping concrete barriers then over a railing. Six was bringing up the rear, keeping himself between the men chasing them and Ellis. Blocking her from a possible shot. Risking his life.
Was Six slowing down? Grunting? Breathing harder than usual? Or was it Ellis? Colt couldn’t tell for sure. He was too focused on weaving—on not trapping them in a dead-end alley or parking garage. Mentally calculating if that Suburban could reach them—cut them off.
Tires squealing a few streets over had him changing direction, again. Increasing his pace. Ellis fell behind—his grip dragging her along. Forcing her to match his strides. He knew he was pushing her. Probably opening up her damn wound, but Ice could fix that. Dead was permanent.
Rain pelted his face, soaking through his clothes as they raced through the darkness, each step marked by a splash of water on the pavement.
They were nearing the end of their endurance.
Even he couldn’t keep up the pace much longer, his fingers starting to tingle.
He made one last adjustment—angling toward pier.
He didn’t want to take them in, but he was out of options.
They couldn’t fight. Not outnumbered and likely outgunned.
With limited resources. And he doubted the bastards would follow—risk drowning in the icy water.
Headlights cut through the fog off to his right. Spaced wrong for a Suburban. Jeep. Most likely a Wrangler. It headed straight for them, swerved, executing a perfect one-eighty before the passenger door popped open.
Jericho jumped out, laying down impressive cover fire as she yelled for them to get in. Colt hit the vehicle still sprinting, pulling Ellis in behind him as he shuffled over to the far side, giving Six room to slide in beside them—slam the door.
Bullets hit the tailgate, cracking the rear windshield as Jericho climbed in.
Cannon stomped on the gas, jerking them all back in the seat—peeling away amidst a billow of smoke.
Ice’s truck fishtailed onto the road behind them, followed by Bridgette’s Jeep, both blocking any resistance from the rear.
They traveled for over a minute, constantly scanning the streets, but there was only the rain against the windshield. The slap of the wipers.
Colt relaxed a bit, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to regulate his breathing.
Heavy pants filled the cab, his pulse still pounding through his head.
He took a few deeper breaths then glanced at Ellis, cursing at the pale cast to her skin.
The obvious pain creasing her eyes and mouth. “You okay? You hurt?”
“Think I might puke. Damn, you run fast.” She grabbed her stomach but held it together. “Everything hurts, but…I’ll live.”
He nodded, did a quick sweep only to snap his head back. His breath stalled in his chest, an icy chill crawling across his skin. Blood. Lots of it. On the hoodie he’d given her. Her pants. He forced himself to swallow, to choke it down.
“Damn it, Ellis. I thought you said you were okay?” How the hell had she gotten hit? He should have given her his vest. Blocked whatever shot had clipped her. Or had she reopened her wound? Was bleeding out, again? No, it was the wrong side…
“I am—”
“You’re bleeding.”
She frowned, looked down. Paled. “Oh my god. Six.”
Colt inhaled—focused on Six. He was whiter than Ellis, blood soaking his shirt up by his collar—dripping down his arm and off his fingers. Leaking out beneath the bottom of his vest. Bullet must have just missed the armor—caught him high in the shoulder.
“Shit. Cannon. Pull over, now. Six is hit.”
“Belay that.” Six shook his head. “We’ll stop when we’re safe. I’ve got pressure on it.”
“Well, it’s not doing a damn thing, is it, because, you’re bleeding out.”
“Don’t be a drama queen. I’m…” He grunted, voice trailing off.
But Colt was already stripping down. Vest, sweater, tee. Balling up the shirt as Ellis leaned forward—switched places. Colt helped Six out of his vest then pressed the wad hard against the other man’s shoulder, cursing when Six’s eyes rolled back.
“Damn it, Cannon, he needs Ice. Now.”
Cannon looked at Colt in the rearview, his gaze darting to Six. “Working on it.”
Jericho was on the phone, talking quietly.
She pulled it away from her ear, met Colt’s gaze.
“Ice says there’s a mobile clinic nearby.
Only a few minutes. A buddy of his runs it—Dr. Coen Brady.
Apparently, the guy just rolled into town.
Was Special Forces for twenty years. Top notch.
Brady’s expecting us. Ice said he’ll stay with Six while we continue to the safehouse. Meet up with us after.”
“Screw that. We don’t leave people behind. What if those assholes want a round two?”
Cannon huffed. “None of us like it, but they’re not after Six.
Or Ice. They want Ellis. Our tail’s been clear for five minutes, now.
And that whole area is bound to be swarming with cops.
Feds. They won’t risk another attempt with all the heat.
I’ve got Rigs and Addison heading to the clinic. They’ll stand watch.”
Jericho twisted more in the seat to look at Colt.
“Ice said Brady has some British Special Forces guy tagging along. Gibson. I didn’t get a last name.
He’ll jump in if needed. And if they’re really worried shit’s about to go sideways, they can call me, and I’ll get the SOG team here. It’ll complicate things but…”
But it was their only option, other than a hospital. Which wasn’t going to happen. Not unless Six would die otherwise.
Colt clenched his jaw to keep from screaming. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. “This Brady better be damn good.”
A hand on Colt’s arm. Sliding from the blood, but strong. Six chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine. Not the first time I’ve been shot. So, stop worrying and get Ellis somewhere safe. She’s our priority.”
Colt leaned over, getting up in Six’s face. “I swear, buddy. If you die on me, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“You can try…”
Colt shook his head, stomach somewhere up by his throat.
That icy feeling still beading his skin.
He was done waiting in the wings—staying on the defensive.
As soon as Ellis had caught her breath, she was going to start talking.
And she wasn’t going to stop until Colt knew everything—including how to get her back.