Chapter 14 #2
Phoenix took a deep breath—glanced at Olivia. No fear. No doubt, just her green eyes bright. Body primed. He took a moment to put every nuance into memory. Take a mental snapshot of the way she was looking at him, right now. The hint of a smile as she gave him a nod.
He leaned closer to her, not caring that Gibson was standing right there. That he’d hear every word. “Do not get shot. And don’t you dare die on me, or I will break down Heaven’s gates and bring you back.”
Then, Phoenix was moving. Completely focused on the mission.
On neutralizing as many men as he could.
Not just as a means of getting to his teammates, but to protect Olivia.
The fewer armed bastards he left behind meant fewer chances she’d get hit.
Or catch an odd ricochet, because, like he’d said before, Murphy was always there.
Waiting to screw things over, and he’d never been on Phoenix’s good side.
Screw Murphy. Phoenix had never relied on luck. And he wasn’t going to start, now.
He was halfway down the hall when two men walked out of a room on his left.
Assault rifles slung over their shoulders.
Heads bent together in conversation. Phoenix made a low whistling noise—drew their attention.
They turned, then dropped, two hits to the head, nothing but a soft whoosh from the silencer registering in the corridor.
He stopped just long enough to grab one of their keycards—toss the other to Gibson—then he moving quickly to the corner. Gibson and Olivia could sweep the rooms behind him. Hide the bodies. Phoenix’s primary goal was to clear a path. Take down anyone who got in his crosshairs.
He pressed his back into the wall, listening for movement before taking a peek.
Scanning each direction. If his internal compass was right, the branch to his left would dead end.
Might house a few more rooms and another exit.
Probably not where they’d keep potential security risk prisoners.
The kind that could kill if they escaped.
Which meant focusing on the one to his right—the pathway heading back toward the main part of the lodge.
Gibson caught up to him at the corner—tapped Phoenix on the shoulder.
He used that unit, again, to disable the cameras, then he waved for Phoenix to go right and indicated he and Olivia would double check the area to the left.
It made sense, but Phoenix couldn’t stop the shiver that wove down his spine.
The realization that he might be leaving Gibson and Olivia vulnerable.
That there was a chance he was wrong, and their teammates were being kept in a remote location.
That Gib and Olivia would have to face the bastards holding their team, alone.
A glare from Gib, and Phoenix was off, knowing he had to trust in their skills as much as they did in his.
That he’d end up getting them all killed if he tried to do his job and theirs.
Still, if he got even an inkling that Olivia was in danger, all bets were off.
It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t the code, but he would not lose her, again.
Not when they might have a second chance.
His first, other than Cannon getting him to sign up.
Though, Phoenix still wasn’t sure if that qualified.
Or if it would end up shredding the last of his soul.
Because if anything happened to her on his watch. ..
He knew he’d never come back from that. Having to relive the loss. The never-ending ache in his chest. She was free to walk away. To go back to London—take what was left of his heart with her. But to know he’d failed her, again...
She might not have phrased it like that. Didn’t seem to blame him for not freeing her from Slader. But Phoenix couldn’t quite shake the feeling that, somewhere along the line, she’d been praying for a miracle.
For him.
Hearing a dull thud behind him had him laser focused.
Intent on eliminating every damn threat because he knew the sound of someone hitting the floor.
The fact no one had set off an alarm meant it had been either Gibson or Olivia.
That there had been tangos down that dead-end hallway.
Possible threats that could have injured his crew.
Phoenix would ensure there weren’t any more.
He reached the first door—heard voices murmuring from within. A quick breath, a mental plan of how he’d sweep the room—headshots to ensure his enemies stayed down—then he was swiping that keycard through the slot and stepping inside.
Three men looked up. Stunned. A cigarette hanging out of one of their mouths.
Phoenix had two down, was targeting the third before the guy even drew his gun.
Bastard managed to raise it, looking as if he was a second away from firing, before his head snapped back.
A red mist spraying across the rear wall.
Room cleared.
Phoenix took a moment to grab one of their radios.
Slip on a hat. The men hadn’t been wearing uniforms, so, in a pinch, he might look like one of them.
Might give him an extra couple of seconds before anyone else starting shooting.
The difference between him saving his buddies or putting them at increased risk.
He returned to the hallway. Closed the door.
Hid any evidence that would announce his presence.
Then, he was stalking to the next room. Listening.
No voices. Not so much as a whisper of breath.
He checked it, regardless. Made a mental note that he could use the room if things went off the rails.
If any of them got trapped. Like the comm in his ear. A Hail Mary.
Gib and Olivia had backtracked to the hallway. Nodded as Phoenix slipped out, continued down the corridor. It made a ninety-degree turn up ahead—what Phoenix suspected was the gateway to the main staging area of this level.
If Dungeon and the others were still here, they’d most likely be in the next sector. Where whoever was holding them could keep watch. Eliminate the chance of his team escaping.
A glance down the hall confirmed his suspicions.
What looked like a large open area about twenty feet ahead of him.
Glass-walled rooms lined the corridor, a few tangos in each one.
While he couldn’t see his entire team, he recognized a couple of sets of boots just visible beyond one of the far walls.
Enough to suspect his buddies were positioned with their backs to a wall in that next room, feet pointing inward. Hands likely bound behind them.
This was it. Either he decided there were too many mercenaries to make the rescue happen, or he went all-in. That’s how Spec Op worked. He was either a hundred and ten percent committed, or he walked away. No half-assed try. He was getting his team out of there or dying.
Funny, how dying wasn’t foremost on his mind, now. Not after spending the night with Olivia. One touch, and she’d thrown his life into chaos. Threatened to revive the man he’d been before she’d vanished. The one in love with Anna Carmichael. Who’d dreamed of a future beyond war.
He could still have that if he upped his game. Made sure he took out the men guarding his team, first. Relied on Gibson and Olivia to have his back.
Christ, she’d better not get hurt.
One last deep breath, then he straightened.
Rolled his shoulders back, as he tipped the brim of his cap low over his face.
At least, being left-handed meant his gun was hidden at his side.
That, if he kept close to the far wall, his targets wouldn’t know he was ready to fire before he’d already dropped those key tangos standing watch.
Three steps in, and one of the men looked up.
Nodded back at Phoenix when he brushed a finger over the rim of his hat.
Several more, and he was at the corner—had a full view of the room.
Dungeon, Priest and Relic were off to his right.
Backs against a stack of boxes. Hands bound behind them, just like he’d suspected.
Blackburn was in another corner. Slumped over. A small pool of blood beneath him.
Shit, the guy didn’t look good. In fact, Phoenix wasn’t sure he was breathing. If it was already too late to save him. If maybe Gib had known, all along, but hadn’t wanted to say anything until the rescue was over. Until they’d done everything possible to get everyone out.
Phoenix would stick to that. Would operate on the premise that he’d bring them all home. Only way he knew how to keep it all straight. Not lose hope.
So, glancing over at his buddies, raising his head enough to meet Dungeon’s gaze—let the other man know shit was about to go down—calmed any doubts. Centered his thoughts.
Phoenix did a quick scan of the room. Ten men.
All armed with assault rifles, though, most we’re hanging at their sides.
Only the three standing watch over his team were actively engaged.
Had their guns ready to fire. The other seven were spaced around the area.
Three at his twelve o’clock. Two at eleven, and two more at ten.
If he picked his line properly, he should be able to drop them before they decided to kill their prisoners.
God, he hoped they’d be more interested in him than the other men.
Phoenix shifted a bit. Got within reach of another stack of boxes. He didn’t know if they’d stop any bullets, but they beat standing out in the open. His vest could take a few hits, but eventually, some would punch through.
He just hoped Gibson and Olivia took out the men in the rooms he’d passed in the hallway. Those were the wildcards. The ones he couldn’t plan for. Not and keep his buddies from being targeted. Even if they managed to scramble and take cover, they’d be easy hits with their hands bound.
Phoenix looked at Dungeon one more time.
Gave him a quick nod, then Phoenix was moving.
Side-stepping toward the boxes as he raised his Sig—fired.
Two men dropped. No arching, no twisting, just their bodies crumpling.
Hitting the floor with a resounding thud.
The third guy managed to turn. Got off a trigger pull before Phoenix dropped him, too. Third headshot.
Phoenix saw Dungeon roll—got Priest and Relic scooting behind those boxes. Wasn’t much, but it might keep them from catching a few bullets.
Which filled the room a second later, some of the men from the rooms down the hall joining in. Phoenix managed to catch a tango as Phoenix dove for cover, clipping another on the way down. A few shots ricocheted off whatever was inside the boxes, as an alarm sounded throughout the level.
That was his cue to keep moving. Pop up, drop another tango closing in on him, then dart behind a desk. It wasn’t much. Just a small workstation, but it kept him in one piece. Gave him a chance to empty a few more rounds out one side. Not aiming but maybe enough to get the mercenaries scattering.
Getting knocked on his ass as pain thrummed through his chest had him cursing. Thumbing the spot where his vest had stopped the bullet from puncturing his rib cage. Seeing Olivia come charging into the room amplified that pain. Had him imagining all sorts of horrifying scenarios.
And just like that, he was pushing everything down. Stepping back out. Eliminating the threat moving out from behind some kind of computer station off to her right.
Phoenix got the bastard on the other side, next. The one looking as if he was going to enjoy killing her. Watching blood blossom on her jacket.
No fucking way. A lunge, a dive, and he was in front of her. Taking a bullet in his vest that had been aimed her way before she flicked her wrist. Caught the bastard in the throat. Just like Gibson. The girl was crazy. No doubt about it. Deadly, but insane.
Olivia looked at him just as something skipped across the floor behind them.
The clicking sound registering before the word “grenade” formed in his head.
A quick wrap of his fingers around her shoulders and they were on the ground.
His body shielding hers as an explosion rocked the room.
Those glass walls shattering into a thousand tiny shards.
Debris shot through the air, filling the room in a blinding cloud of dust. Phoenix waved it away, scanning the area for his next target, when Gibson emerged through the swirling mass, clearing the section before nodding.
He stopped beside Phoenix, offering his hand, yanking Phoenix up. Then, Gibson was heading for the back—where Dungeon had disappeared with the others.
Pain teased Phoenix’s senses, but he pushed it aside. Anything short of death could wait. He helped Olivia up, ignored the glare she gave him, then darted over to Blackburn. Reached for the guy’s neck.
Olivia shuffled in beside him, looking at him when he made eye contact. She didn’t need to ask. Must have read his reaction by the closing of his eyes. The hushed curse that made it past his clenched teeth.
She placed a hand on his arm. Squeezed it. “Go see about your mates. I’ll watch over Blackburn until we can bug out.”
He nodded, knowing there wasn’t anything to say to make it remotely okay.
“And Ethan...” She sighed as her gaze dropped to his chest. What felt like fire burning beneath his vest. She opened her mouth, looked as if she was going to thank him, then motioned to the hallway. “We don’t have much time.”
Just enough to get out. Lick their wounds. Pray the entire facility wasn’t out to get them because... This was more than one or two hitmen. This was war. And they’d only just begun.