Chapter 21 Adam
Adam
Rounds snapped overhead, ripping branches, spraying mud across my face. The ridge had turned into a damn shooting gallery.
“Left flank!” Russ barked.
I pivoted, sighted, and squeezed. One hostile dropped, but three more surged from the trees, masks gleaming wet under the floodlights. Organized. Coordinated. Trained. These people wanted all proof of their sinister deeds gone.
Not scavengers. Not looters. Soldiers. Mercenaries.
“Fall back?” Hawk shouted, already bleeding from a graze along his arm.
“No,” I snarled. “We hold.”
“Adam—” Russ started, but I cut him off.
“Boone’s not here. Raine’s not here. We hold until they’re clear.”
The comm crackled—Boone’s voice again, strained, engine roaring in the background. “Stoker, they’re on us—pushing hard. I can’t shake ’em.”
Raine’s voice cut in behind his, fierce and unyielding: “We’re not running forever. Tell your men to hang on, Adam.”
My chest clenched. Every instinct screamed to break from this ridge, chase after them, put myself between her and every bullet out there. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
The masked men pressed harder, fire raining down from the treeline. I dropped another, then another, but we were running thin—ammo, cover, patience.
Blade slipped back into position beside me, knife slick with blood, voice calm as if this was another day at the office. “This isn’t random. They’re testing us. Seeing what we’ll give up to keep what’s ours.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Hawk snapped, firing a wild burst.
“Hell if I know, it felt the right time to say something.”
I shook my head and shoved it down. I chambered another round and pushed up to fire. My voice roared across the comm. “Boone, Raine—hold tight. We’re not losing anyone tonight.”
Not on my watch. Not again.