Chapter Thirteen
brONCO
The hangar comes into view like a nightmare I can’t wake from—wide open with lights blazing and the plane already powered up. Heat ripples off the tarmac as I skid to a stop, engine screaming beneath me as I cut the ignition and swing off the bike.
Voices echo inside. Orders being barked while boots shuffle across the concrete. They’re not rushing.
Frost doesn’t think he has to.
I move fast and silent, gun up, every instinct honed razor sharp. Camille stands near the base of the stairs, her back straight, her chin lifted like she’s already bracing for impact. Two men flank her.
Frost is just ahead, one hand on the rail, saying something to the pilot who stands in the open door.
Camille turns her head.
Our eyes lock across the cavernous space.
Relief, terror, and hope collide in her face all at once. She mouths my name like a lifeline.
I’m coming, princess.
The guard beside her shifts.
I duck behind a cargo carrier and slip to the other side, sticking to the shadows and counting bodies as I go. Five, plus Aiden, Camille, and the pilot. There may be another on board. I can’t discount that possibility.
I move swiftly, using all the training I have to sneak up behind three of the men and silently take them out.
Aiden climbs the remaining steps to the plane hatch, the men pushing Camille to follow.
I scan the area for backup.
Nothing moves in the shadows.
Fuck. Looks like I’m doing this alone.
I send up a silent prayer to anyone who’s listening that it doesn’t end like Afghanistan. That day, I followed orders, and everyone I was protecting died because of it.
Today, I followed my gut and found myself in the same goddamn spot.
I step out of the shadows.
“You’re done, Frost.” My weapon is trained on him. Steady.
Aiden turns. His chin lifts a notch as he stares me down.
I could end this now.
Camille would never have to fear him coming back for her. She wouldn’t have to go through a messy trial and endless hours of retelling the story in detail while crafty lawyers look for holes to get their client exonerated. I could spare her that pain.
My finger strokes lightly over the trigger.
The air around us drops another degree.
“You’re persistent. But then she brings out that trait in simple men like us, doesn’t she?” He grabs Camille’s arm and yanks her in front of him. “So lovely. Those icy eyes matching her heart.”
She swallows, eyes wide. Trusting.
“Maybe she’s only cold to you, Frost.” I let the suggestion linger in the air as I close the distance, maintaining an eye on the two remaining thugs.
A fissure cracks in his calm facade. He grips Camille’s chin and turns her head. “Did you spread your thighs for him?” he snarls.
“N-no,” she whispers. “I swear.”
The guard on Camille’s left goes for his gun. I’m faster. He drops.
The second fires as he retreats. His shot goes wide.
Mine doesn’t. He tumbles down the stairs in a broken heap.
I stalk forward, weapon trained on Frost.
The coward uses Camille as a shield.
She licks her lips, watching me advance. “Let him go, Aiden. I-I’ll go with you.”
“You will anyway, darling.” It’s a promise. A threat.
“She’s coming with me, Frost. She doesn’t want you.”
He scoffs. “And you think she wants you? What could you possibly give her that I can’t?”
“Freedom. The right to choose.”
Confusion flits across his face.
“Love,” Camille adds softly.
It’s the wrong thing to say.
His face darkens to a murderous red. “You brainwashed her,” he hisses.
Before I can act, he shoves her toward me with all his strength. Camille flies forward, tripping on the stairs. I jump to catch her.
Exactly as Frost anticipated.
Lights from the hanger glint off the weapon a second before he fires.
A bullet rips into me as I crash into Camille’s path, stopping her freefall. She hits me hard, and we bounce down the last four steps in a tangle of limbs and pain.
“Bronco!” She cries as she scrambles up, hands coated in my blood. “No! No no no. Don’t leave me.”
A second shot rings out.
I flinch, trying to reach for her to pull her down. But it’s not Camille who’s injured.
Behind her, Frost sinks to his knees, blood blooming on his shirt.
He slumps on the stairs and doesn’t get up.
I crane my neck, searching for the shooter.
A figure moves in the shadows above the rafters. Flame flickers to life, then winks out as if someone struck a lighter.
In that split second, my brother Dallas’s face is illuminated—and in his hands, the rifle he lives by.
Relief hits me harder than the bullet I took.
“Talk to me,” Camille begs, pressing her hands down on the wound.
I flinch but keep my eyes open.
Tires screech in the distance. I hear Gray curse.
Lone Star. Camille is safe. Finally.
I meet her eyes and lift my hand to trace her cheek. “I’m here, princess. Always.”
Tears flood her eyes, and she grips me tight, sobbing into my shirt. It’s the last thing I hear before darkness claims me.