Chapter 42 Adam
Adam
The ridge was mud, blood, and silence.
I lay half-crouched against the shattered remains of the SUV, my chest heaving, my sidearm nothing more than dead weight in my hand. The last mag had been spent minutes ago—or maybe hours, it all blurred together.
Around me, my men looked just as wrecked.
Hawk leaned against a tree, his sleeve tied around the gash in his arm, his eyes glassy but defiant.
Russ knelt nearby, calm as ever, though the tremor in his hands told me he was close to collapse, I saw the blood dripping from his arm.
Blade moved like a ghost, knife dripping, his eyes flat and unreadable.
Blood on his shoulder, I hoped the bullet went through.
We hadn’t won.
But we hadn’t broken either.
The masked men had pulled back, vanishing into the storm the same way they’d come. Not because we’d beaten them. No—they’d had their fill. Measured us. Tested us. And decided to let us live.
For now.
I saw people trying to get out of the vans that were still there. Kidnapped for what?
Headlights crested the slope, cutting through the rain. Engines—louder, heavier. For one breath, my gut clenched, ready for another wave.
But then the shouts carried across the ridge. “Texas DPS! Hands where we can see them!”
Relief hit me like a blow. Real backup. Finally.
I staggered to my feet, mud sucking at my boots. My body screamed, but I forced myself upright. My men deserved to be seen standing.
Russ let out a slow exhale. Hawk barked a laugh that turned into a cough. Blade just wiped his knife on his sleeve and faded into the shadows, silent as ever.
I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand, jaw tight. “About damn time.”
But even as the troopers swarmed the ridge, floodlights sweeping the trees, my chest stayed heavy.
Because backup was late. Too late. And that meant someone wanted it that way.
And because through the rain, through the chaos, I still hadn’t seen her.
Raine.
My throat closed. My knees nearly buckled with the thought.
Then—her voice. Raw, desperate, cutting through the storm.
“Adam!”
I turned, and there she was—mud-smeared, dripping wet, limping but unbroken, fire in her eyes even through the tears.
Alive.
For the first time all night, I let myself breathe.