Chapter 12
12
NATHAN
A s soon as they’d pushed open the double doors and stepped into the sunlit courtyard, gunfire had rained down.
Reflexes, as tortured and malnourished as they and his whole body were, forced him to react almost instantaneously to the gunfire by diving for cover. And shit, there was no cover. The wooden bench that was so weather-beaten it shouldn’t still be standing would have to work.
They’d opened fire.
Someone had found them out. Nathan had trouble wrapping his head around it. It had been radioed in not even sixty whole seconds ago.
Sixty seconds, if that, was all it took for the entire compound to get the message, pinpoint their location, organize a plan of attack, and then execute said plan?
Guns were discharging left and right.
Nathan glanced to his left to check that Caden wasn’t shot full of holes. She wasn’t right beside him. She was glowering at him, no doubt cursing him in all the languages she knew, four yards away. Apparently, they had dived for cover in different directions.
While Nathan had gone for the first barrier he’d seen, she’d used those thinking skills Nathan had yet to fully develop and dived in the direction of the SUVs. She was using one of those outside cement ashtrays that doubled as a trash can for cover. It was too skinny for any kind of proper cover, but she was angling all the important bits of her anatomy out of range as much as she could.
All Nathan could think for a terrifying moment was that Caden was gonna get dead, and he was going to get goddamn shot again.
Something was weird, though. It took the trained SEAL a whole thirteen seconds to realize what was happening. Or what was not happening.
It took him another seven moments for that tidbit to sink in. They’d opened fire but were not, in fact, aiming their weapons at the escaped prisoners. They were aiming for the helicopter hovering overhead and the giant holes in the gate encircling the perimeter that was now smoking and aflame. They’d inadvertently timed their escape perfectly with invaders. Maybe it was a rival gang or the authorities. Who the hell cared?
All Nathan could do was grin. Either he was the luckiest bastard in the world or... or nothing he was the luckiest man in the world.
Caden was moving, obviously already having caught on. She was fast and single-mindedly focused on the SUVs. Nathan moved to follow, keeping his automatic up and ready. He didn’t want to get shot by either party. The invaders would mistake him for his captors because he was dressed like them, and the ass-clowns guarding the compound would shoot him if he took off the clothes. Neither option was preferable.
A word of what the guard was saying caught Nathan’s attention. He searched out the shouter in the chaos and was surprised to find the guy was looking straight at him. Something about the way the man was yelling and pointing and looking directly at him was ringing alarm bells with Nathan.
He could only barely speak the language, and even that was to ask where the bathrooms were. Other uniformed guards were diverting their attention from the firefight to him. It didn’t take a native speaker to understand that they’d spotted him.
It took him only a moment to weigh his options and another to utilize the AK-47 and spray a few bullets their way. Mostly just to let them know that he was armed, and that he wasn’t their biggest concern at the moment. They mostly hit the ground or scattered, but the message was sent.
He moved forward but stopped short when cold metal, which could only be the barrel of a handgun, pressed against his neck. Nathan froze and watched as another guard, this one sported a pair of big ears and a hooked nose, stepped into his line of sight and directed his weapon at Nathan. He said something in Russian and then shouted it again after Nathan didn’t respond.
Finally, Dumbo motioned for Nathan to drop his guns.
He complied. He moved slowly, dropping the AK-47 and putting his hands up, so as not to scare them into killing him prematurely. He wasn’t going to do their work for them and rid himself of all the weapons he’d collected. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d miss a few.
The gun barrel resting on his neck moved and a single hand was patting him down, removing and tossing his pilfered weapons to the side. Dumbo was speaking more Russian, but Nathan didn’t bother to pay attention. He was focusing on the guard behind him and waiting for his moment.
It would have been convenient if Caden swooped in, armor shining, white steed whinnying, and save his ass, but she was most likely dealing with her own assholes.
The gun was on his left shoulder now and the single hand was on his left thigh. Nathan took his chance (figuring he could survive a shoulder wound much better than he could survive a bullet through the neck) tucked his shoulders down and catapulted his body forward.
Using his head as a battering ram, Nathan slammed into the guy’s gut. Dumbo bounced off of him and hit the grass, gasping and wheezing.
Pivoting and reaching for the knife he’d stowed in his boot, Nathan straightened.
Lined up his shot.
Tried to remember how exactly he was supposed to compensate for the uneven weight of the weapon.
Cocked his arm.
And was hit square in the chest with a sledgehammer.
Nathan was familiar with that particular full-body jerking. It was very much like being hit with a sledgehammer wielded by some beefed-out giant. The second guard had his gun leveled on him and—had that gunshot come from his gun or someone else’s? It had been a while since he’d been graced with the oh-so-pleasant sensation of being shot but he remembered the feeling all too vividly.
Another too-close-to-be-any-other-gun-but-the-one-aimed-at-his-torso shot sounded and another sledgehammer hit him right in the ribs.
Damn it all to hell, he’d been shot. Twice .