Chapter 105 Raine
Raine
The SUV reeked of gunpowder and sweat. My hands still shook from the recoil, ears ringing from the firefight, but the silence inside the vehicle was louder than the gunfire had been.
The rescued victims filled every inch of space—slumped against seats, curled on the floor, their breaths shallow but alive. Alive.
Hawk leaned his head back against the window, rifle propped across his lap, eyes half-shut but twitching like he was still in the fight.
Blade cleaned his knife with a rag, movements slow, deliberate, ritual.
Logan muttered under his breath, checking and re-checking his mags, as if he couldn’t stop.
Russ scribbled notes with a trembling hand, the lines of his face heavy with what we’d seen. Boone’s laptop glowed faintly in the back seat, the only light in the hush, his fingers stilled for once.
And Adam—
Adam drove; Logan drove the other vehicle. Adam’s knuckles were white on the wheel, gray-blue eyes locked on the road, unfurling black in front of us. But every so often, his thumb brushed mine where our hands were tangled together across the console. Steady. Fierce. Alive.
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time in weeks, the images behind my eyes weren’t straps, or needles, or shadows closing in.
They were Adam’s eyes.
His voice in the middle of fire, telling me I wasn’t alone.
His lips against mine, brief and fierce, like a vow.
My ribs ached with every breath, my muscles screamed for rest, but under all of it, something else pulsed.
Peace.
For one breath, one heartbeat, the war wasn’t everything.
Adam glanced at me then, just for a second, and the steel in his gaze softened. “We got them out,” he said quietly. Not to the team. Not even to himself. To me.
I squeezed his hand. “Together.”
The SUV rolled on through the night. And for the first time, I believed we might actually make it.