Chapter 16 #2
Blood dripped from a slice along Nick’s forearm, more down the side of his cheek, but he kept circling, advancing whenever the Reaper missed his mark — let his guard down.
Sweat ran down Nick’s back, fatigue quickly cramping his muscles when the Reaper paused, looked past him at Sloane. The creep smiled, flipped his knife.
Nick moved.
No hesitation.
No regrets.
Just him blocking any clear sightline at Sloane as he dove at the man — took a slice across his shoulder as he tackled the Reaper to the roof.
The bastard’s knife glanced off Nick’s vest, cut a thin line under his arm, as they grappled for control, blades clashing, limbs intertwined.
They rolled, all the injuries and lack of oxygen taking its toll as Nick lost ground, took a few punches to his ribs.
The Reaper’s knife hovered above him, the man’s sheer strength slowly pushing it toward Nick’s neck. Nick clenched his jaw, working through how to twist his shoulder, plunge the tip into the roof — give him the advantage, when a shadow moved behind them.
Sloane.
Rising on trembling legs from behind that shed, hands shaking, her face so damn white she already looked dead. She stepped out, her weapon tracing out a box in the air, the muzzle sweeping through multiple targets. Their gazes clashed for one heart-stopping moment before she clenched her jaw.
Fired.
The shot punched through the duct above the Reaper’s head, a rush of steam hissing out the opening. The guy shouted, turned his face to avoid the scalding vapor, easing up the pressure for half a second.
Nick struck — dipped his shoulder, twisted enough the asshole’s blade jammed into the roof, opened up his right side. A shove and a lunge, and he caught the creep in the ribs, twisted the hilt as the knife hit deep.
The bastard inhaled, tripped onto his feet, Nick’s KA-BAR pulling free, fresh blood coating the edge. The guy looked down as his hands, eyes wide, mouth gaped open, when the roof heaved, dropping out from beneath him.
Time slowed, flames flickering in the gap, the Reaper clawing at the air, then nothing.
Nick rolled onto his hands and knees, head pounding, the air so hot it seared a line down his throat.
He staggered to his feet, stumbled his way around the hole and over to Sloane.
She pitched forward, slumping in his arms as he dove toward her, catching her before she hit the roof — likely following the Reaper into the abyss.
He tugged her against his chest, muscles protesting, his vision a wash of gray and black, as he took a moment to breathe her in. Savor the unsteady beat of her heart against his ribs. Proof he hadn’t lost her, yet. That they still had time.
He smoothed his hand down her hair. “That was one hell of a shot.”
She snorted, drifting off until he shook her good shoulder. “I was aiming at his torso.”
“Close enough.” He gathered her in his arms, searching for a viable path around the flames and steam. “Don’t you fade. You promised.”
A nod. Weak. Barely more than an inch of movement.
He shuffled sideways, determined to shimmy down the window washing cable if needed when a thunderous beat compressed the air a moment before a spotlight lit up the night, the circular beam bouncing along the rooftop.
It swung toward them, catching them in the center, the downwash from the rotors funneling the fumes and ash around them. Nick raised his arm, shielded his face from the assault when a basket dropped through the smoke, Kash clipped to one side.
It slipped sideways, bounced off a stack, then swung back, the heat from the blaze creating massive updrafts that messed with the lift.
Kash hit the roof, boots scraping across the gravel, moving with the grace of a man who’d spent his life in the fray. He didn’t talk, just grabbed Sloane, heaved her over the side and into the basket. He turned, reached for Nick when the rest of the roof collapsed.
Nick dropped, stomach shooting up into his throat, hands grabbing at air, before Kash caught his wrist, jerked him to a halt. Pain shot through Nick’s shoulder, everything rushing past as Foster peeled off, headed for the shoreline.
The hoist kicked in, each crank lifting them toward the open doors. Kash held on, dragging Nick into the helicopter with a rush of wind and rain, everything roaring through the cabin until the doors closed, shutting out the chaos.
Nick looked around, frowned, only Dalton sitting on one of the seats. “Where’s Kessler? The rest of the team?”
Dalton shifted over. “They’re safe. On their way to Providence. Mac picked them up, while Foster and the guys provided cover. Once they were safely away, we came after you.”
Mackenzie Parker — former-Coast Guard chopper pilot and Foster’s wife.
“I thought she was still on maternity?”
“You know she’s as crazy as Foster. Insisted on coming along, and we’re damn lucky she did, or you’d be buried under that damn annex.”
The annex.
Sloan.
Nick scrambled to his feet, tripped over to Sloane.
Eyes closed, head lolled off to one side, she looked beyond death.
Beyond saving.
His gaze locked with Chase’s, the man’s clenched jaw and furrowed brow painting a vivid picture — one of those endings Nick had been dreading.
And he knew…
The real fight had just begun.