Prologue #2
How this would impact Anna.
He’d already cycled the bolt action and fired, again, at a second tango closing in on Crow’s other side before the thoughts caught up to him.
He was putting Anna’s life at risk. Choosing his brothers over her.
That stopped him. Had him forcing in a few shaky breaths. Trying to clear his head. Get his Delta days out of it because he was reacting on instinct. Naturally defaulting to keeping his buddies alive when his head told him to stop. To do whatever it took to save Anna.
He could leave. Track down his target. Let Crow live or die on his own… Except for that damn promise Phoenix had made. The one that quieted the voices in his head. Eased some of the guilt weighing him down. And that vow hadn’t ended because they’d left the service.
A cold sweat broke out along his skin, unease souring his gut.
If he helped Crow—held true to that code—Phoenix might never see Anna alive, again.
True, he was pretty damn sure both of them dying would be the end result, regardless.
That Smyth was merely playing him. That the man didn’t have any plans on actually releasing Anna or allowing Phoenix to simply walk away.
But on the off-chance the bastard wasn’t dicking with him. ..
Phoenix couldn’t afford not to try. To have to live the rest of his life wondering if he’d been the reason she’d died.
If he could have saved her. Which brought him back to his current dilemma.
If he didn’t help Crow—if he walked away and let Crow and his team fight this war alone—they’d never survive.
And Phoenix would have to look in the mirror every day knowing he’d failed another brother.
Shawn’s face wavered in the distance. A constant reminder of all Phoenix had done wrong. The mistakes he couldn’t change. The guilt that still haunted him. The demons he couldn’t quite exorcise.
He took a breath, hands trembling for one agonizing moment as he weighed his choices, knowing he was damned regardless. That, for the first time since joining the service, he couldn’t save everyone. Couldn’t trade his life as penance.
Couldn’t win.
All because of Smyth.
Bastard would pay. Phoenix would see to it, personally. And if the man hurt Anna...
He pressed his cheek into the rest—lined up his next tango. Whatever the cost, he’d see that Crow made it out alive. His buddy’s crew, too. Then, he’d go after Smyth. Force the man to release Anna. And, if he refused... Phoenix would be the last mistake Smyth never saw coming.
Hard damn break when Phoenix’s next shot just missed that rogue CIA agent. The one shot that might have pulled the entire op out of the crapper. Tipped the scales slightly in his favor where Smyth was concerned. Given Phoenix a modicum of time to make things right.
No doubt about it. Life sucked. Phoenix had embraced that motto since he’d made it through Delta Force selection, and it was proving true, today.
His near miss had the CIA asshole retreating. Running toward an alley then disappearing before Phoenix could adjust then shoot, again. The guy’s men tried to follow suit when Crow jumped up and ran for the warehouse then vanished inside amidst a fiery explosion from a grenade off to the right.
Phoenix should leave. Pack up his gun and get as far away as he could because if that asshole he’d tried to kill had access to a drone—if Phoenix really had gotten lucky earlier… It didn’t take a genius to know he’d be at the top of the guy’s hit list.
His years of training had him settling in.
Dropping targets as some other guy exited the warehouse.
The same guy he’d seen enter with the woman.
Part of Crow’s team. If Phoenix had thought Crow had a death wish, then this jackass took it to the next level.
Vaulting over vehicles. Taking down targets like some kind of action hero in the movies.
It didn’t even look as if he was trying to avoid the bullets more that he was dancing through them.
Worked for Phoenix. Fewer tangos he had to deal with.
He’d managed to take out three more when the area in front of the building exploded.
Not like before with Crow. This was massive.
Left a damn crater in the pavement. Sent huge chunks of asphalt hurtling through the air. Crushed a car several feet away.
Drone. Had to be. Predator judging by the damage. And Phoenix bet the next one would either level the warehouse or come for him.
He’d do one last recon of the area. Ten seconds, tops, before he’d bug out. Hell, he’d jump to the next building if need be. He might not make it, but he’d take the chance if it was his only viable choice. No hesitation. No regrets.
He panned over through his scope. Caught movement in the side alley. One of the mercenaries stumbled to his feet. Looked as if he was trying to line up a target at the rear of the building, but his hands hadn’t quite caught up with his brain.
Phoenix didn’t need to see Crow to know the merc had Crow in his sights. Phoenix felt it. Saw it play out in his head. Like an old movie on a loop.
He adjusted the scope. Fired. All in the span of a breath. Guy dropped several seconds later. A couple heartbeats away from firing. Which hopefully meant Crow was clear.
And not a moment to spare as another shell impacted the building—leveled the damn thing in one hit. Nothing but blowing debris and half a wall left standing.
That got Phoenix moving. Quickly dismantling his rifle—packing it into his case.
A quick roll of the blanket and pad, and he was set.
Ready to leave in under a minute. A glint of metal in the sky had him running.
Racing toward the edge without a second thought.
Fifteen-or-sixteen-foot gap between the two buildings.
Pretty much his max. Might get an extra foot with the slight drop in height of the adjacent roof.
No time to worry about it because he wouldn’t survive a direct strike on the building. Even if the explosion didn’t kill him, the ten tons of brick and concrete falling with him would. That, or he’d get trapped. Die from blood loss or internal injuries as he waited to be rescued.
Which made the decision easy and erased any doubts as he neared the edge and focused on the other side.
He visualized it in his head. Swung his arms back as he took his last step, throwing them and his body forward off the lip.
There were a few moments of hang time. Him lifting his knees to his chest—capitalizing on any momentum he could achieve.
His body bracing for the impact. How he’d cushion the initial impact with his legs, then roll.
Would have made it, too, if the damn drone hadn’t launched a shell. Hit the building just as he jumped.
The blast shot him forward. Knocked him off-balance as chunks of concrete blasted through the air in an ever-increasing wave.
He had enough sense to roll as he smacked into the surface.
To let go of his case and pad, and use his arms to protect his face, the sheer force of the explosion tumbling him across the rooftop.
There was a flash of sky. Of smoke and dust and debris.
Then, the roof collapsed, and he fell into darkness.