Chapter 49
Army
Arms wrap around me like a python, and I know it’s Bane. I throw my head back, but he dodges, so I don’t break his nose. Pix grabs the gun from my hand, and Ash grips my face, getting in close.
I disobeyed a direct order from my president, but I don’t give a shit. I want to raze the world to the ground along with anything that gets in my way.
“Army, focus on me!” he shouts in my face, and I grunt like a bull trying to break free.
“I got the trace!” Digits shouts. “Army, I fucking got it. Go, go!”
Ash grips my head tighter and gives me a hard shake. “Leeva could still be alive.”
Or we retrieve her body so I can be buried alongside her.
Because if she is dead, I’ll follow her soon.
Pain slashes through me, then murderous rage.
“Digits, I need you to track Guerilla if he tries to run.” I sound like a demon straight from hell.
“Already on it.” He sets his laptop on the table and gets to work. “Get the hell out of here.”
Bane releases me, and we sprint out of the Cell. After ordering Tats and Toxic to deal with Thunder’s body and to watch over Razor, Ash jumps into the passenger seat of my truck, and Pix and Bane get into the back.
They all opt to ride with me rather than on their bikes, and I know it’s to ensure I don’t succumb to my PTSD and have a dissociative episode, and also to keep me from going completely off the rails.
Whatever the reason, I appreciate them being by my side. Not just to keep me steady, but because I know we’re family and they have my back, even if I disobeyed a direct order from Ash.
Digits keeps us updated as we speed toward the address he gave us. But my gut swirls when he insists that Guerilla hasn’t left the property.
Could he have used the top-tier tech again to remain off the CCTV cameras? Could he have left before Digits got the feed up from them?
If Guerilla gets away from me this time, he’ll go deep underground, and I won’t have the pleasure of ending him and watching the life drain out of his eyes before I’m forced to face the MC’s vote.
He can’t…he just fucking can’t be allowed to continue breathing.
What I wouldn’t give to turn back the hands of time, even if not all the way back to when I harshly friend-zoned Leeva, but to the time when I was beating the shit out of Guerilla at the hospital after she had lost her baby and ran.
I should’ve ended him there—and I would’ve if it hadn’t been for Zeus and Ash pulling me off him.
The hospital staff had watched in horror, but I would’ve faced prison time willingly if I could’ve killed him.
The sound of that pump-action shotgun being engaged fills my head again, followed by the blast, and my vision blurs. If Leeva was shot with a shotgun at close range by my brother…
He wouldn’t miss.
There was no way she’d survive.
My vision turns black.
“Army!” Ash shouts and jerks the wheel.
I course-correct the truck on the road, forcing away the horrific thought and graphic images my mind wants to paint.
“Take your next left,” Pix orders me, and I catch her eyes in the rearview mirror. Her expression is grave, and her mouth is a thin line.
“We should’ve put a 911 call in to have an ambulance on-site,” Bane rumbles.
The area is run-down and desolate. There doesn’t look to be many people around to call in a gunshot; likely, no one from this area would call it in even if they heard it.
Ash glances at me, and I read his unspoken words. If the worst-case scenario is what we’re facing, then we’ll need the coroner, not the paramedics.
My heart hammers, and my skin is covered in a cold sweat as I race down the street to the address we got from Digits. Slamming on the brakes, I skid to a stop in front of what looks like an abandoned apartment building.
I’m out of my vehicle, sprinting hard for the building, pulling out my gun.
“Jesus Christ, he’s going to get himself killed,” Ash growls, his thundering steps coming behind me.
I’m doing the exact opposite of everything I was trained to do. Running into enemy territory without hesitation or a plan of attack. Running wild and reckless, instead of calm and level-headed.
There’s been no reconnaissance to scope out the building’s layout to identify where an enemy could be lying in wait to ambush. There’s been no plan of attack developed, let alone a counterattack plan.
Nothing but blind rage and urgency is driving me to reach my brother and fucking end him.
To get to Leeva to…
God, I can even think of that because the claws of my PTSD want to drag me down into oblivion.
The building’s front door yields easily to my kick, and I enter. It’s four stories, but I have no idea which floor or apartment they might be in.
Ash, Bane, and Pix push in behind me.
“Pix, you check the first floor,” Ash takes control. “Bane, you take second; Army and I have the third.”
We don’t waste any time executing our tasks. I don’t argue with Ash about not needing a babysitter because that would waste precious time. But when I try to continue going up the stairs to the fourth floor, intending to check that floor while he takes the third, he shoves me down the hallway.
“We’re staying together.” His gravelly voice is low and lethal. “Don’t fucking challenge me right now.”
He starts to go to the apartment closest to us, but I see one down the hall that looks like it’s the only one with a shut door.
I race down the hall and try the door. Somewhere in the back of my mind is my training, warning me that I'm acting blindly and could get my head blown off, but rational, clear-headed thinking is not prevailing.
The handle turns, but the door doesn’t open. I ram it with my shoulder, but it doesn’t budge. Nor does it move when Ash and I kick it together.
“It must be barricaded,” he says.
“Leeva!” I roar.
There’s no noise coming from the apartment, though. Nothing. No sounds in the building except for Bane and Pix clearing the floors below, and now, from the sounds of it, they’re racing up to us since they heard me.
My body shakes as the bloodlust to find my brother before he goes underground fades, and the reality of Leeva and that shotgun blast sinks in. Ash grips me to steady me, and Bane shouts, “In here!”
I realize he’s now inside the unit next door, kicking at the wall. He repeatedly kicks; his thick, long legs and boots acting like a wrecking ball, and he makes a hole.
I race toward it, dropping my shoulder to ram through the drywall and the splintered, rotting wooden beams, and stumble into a small bedroom that has a single bed.
A roaring sound fills my head, and my vision blurs at the edges as my mind wants to dissociate to protect me from what I might find, but my need to get to Leeva is stronger.
I stumble to the doorway and grip the doorframe to remain upright as I survey the scene in front of me.
The kitchen cupboards have multiple holes across the cabinet face from the buckshot, and blood is splattered on the wall. But it’s the pools of blood on the stained, cracked linoleum that draw my attention.
One of the pools of blood is disturbingly large, with raven hair fanned in it like it’s a grotesque live-art painting.
“Leeva,” I choke, running to her and falling to my knees. I don’t even care that the other body lying in a pool of blood is Guerilla. My hands shake as I touch her skin.
She’s cool when she should be warm. She’s still when she should be rolling over to smile at me.
“Leeva,” I choke again, gently turning her so I can see her.
“Holy fucking shit… It was Guerilla who was shot with the shotgun,” Pix says.
And my mind is zipping back online and into control as I see that Leeva is breathing. Shallowly. Weakly. She has a knife stabbed into her chest, still embedded.
“He’s not dead,” I hear Bane say as I scoop Leeva into my arms, careful not to dislodge or bump the knife.
“Keep him alive so Army has the pleasure of killing him,”Ash orders.
Then he lifts the slab of wood that’s across the door and opens it for me. We move as fast as we can without causing more injury to Leeva and get outside to my truck.
Ash jumps into the driver’s seat, and I lay Leeva across the backseat, and she groans. My heart is going wild, and my eyes frantically scan her as I crawl into the truck with her. But she’s still unconscious, her hair wet with blood, hanging over the side of the seat.
“Go, Ash,” I shout, even though he’s already cranking the wheel to do a U-turn in the middle of the street as I cram myself into the rear footwell to kneel beside Leeva so I can stabilize the knife.
She’s cool and clammy, and her breaths are shallow, weak pants, like she can’t get enough air.
“Do you need to prop her feet up for shock or blood flow back to the heart?” Ash punches the accelerator and races down the street as I hear him call Digits.
I shrug out of my cut. “With chest wounds, they should be laid flat unless there’s a breathing problem.”
As if on cue, Leeva coughs and wheezes with pink, frothy blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth, her shallow, weak breathing becoming ever more labored.
I gently lift her to put my cut, along with Ash’s that he just tossed at me, under her to elevate her slightly, and the wheezing stops. I pull my shirt off and use it to carefully put pressure around her wound and to hold the knife steady.
“Hold on, little dove.” With my free hand, I brush her hair back, making a hideous red smear across her temple. “Hold the fuck on, Leeva,” my voice cracks.
While Ash drives like a bat out of hell, coordinating with Digits to notify the hospital so they're ready for us and also with the police so they don’t try to stop us, I monitor Leeva.
Her skin seems like it’s getting colder.
Her shallow breaths sound wet and heavy, like they’re getting harder to take.
The pulse points on her neck and wrist are erratic but getting weaker.
“Go fucking faster, Ash!” I shout.
“Digits, I need that police escort!” he shouts, and the truck jerks. “Fuck!”