Chapter 25
Jen braced one hand against the wall and let her head drop forward, lungs burning.
We did it.
They’d destroyed the docking platform. Akilov had lost his only viable route off Seven. Whatever else happened, the missiles weren’t going anywhere.
She lifted her head.
Wyatt was stripping out of his dive suit. As the neoprene peeled away from his scarred skin she remembered his voice in the dark. His confession. His hands steady on her shoulders when hers couldn’t stop shaking.
His gaze lifted and locked with hers. He’d risked everything to keep her alive. Adrenaline still buzzed in her veins, but it was nothing compared to the way his look anchored her. Like he saw her. Like she mattered.
“Jen—”
The dive-room door exploded inward.
Five armed men invaded the space, weapons raised.
Wyatt moved instantly. He got one man’s arm behind his back and drove him into a second before the remaining three swarmed him, slamming him into the wall with combined force.
“Nobody move.”
Jen lifted her hands. Caro mirrored her a heartbeat later with her uninjured hand. A rifle nudged Caro away from the controls, forcing her to Jen’s side. Two of the men turned to the panel, scanning for information.
The leader wiped blood from the burst lip Wyatt had given him. He stepped forward to where his men held Wyatt and slammed the butt of his handgun into Wyatt’s face.
The crack echoed off the tiles as Wyatt’s head snapped sideways. Blood opened above his eyebrow and ran down his temple.
Jen stifled a sob.
Wyatt didn’t cry out. He just lifted his head and looked straight at the man.
It didn’t take long for the men at the console to realize the situation wasn’t retrievable.
“Topside,” one barked. “Now.”
Hands grabbed Jen, hauling her forward. She stumbled in her wetsuit, shoved out into the corridor. Caro followed. Then Wyatt—dragged, bleeding, but still fighting every step.
They’d won.
But winning didn’t mean surviving.
Rain lashed her face as they were forced back onto Seven’s deck. Wind tore at her hair, freezing against her exposed skin. She zipped her wetsuit back up to the throat. The cargo ship pitched in the distance, too far out now to matter.
Satisfaction curled tight in her gut. Their cargo ship was useless.
On the helipad, a man waited, flanked by guards.
Akilov.
He looked almost ordinary—a neatly groomed beard, composed expression. Like an accountant. Except for his eyes. His eyes were cataloguing them the way Wyatt catalogued targets—measuring distance, calculating value, deciding who to spend first.
His gaze slid to her. “Chief Engineer James.”
He walked to the rail, stared down at the black water where the docking platform should have been.
When he turned back, his expression seethed with contained fury. "You've cost me everything." His gaze swept over her—soaked, bleeding, still standing. "Quite the rebel, Chief Engineer."
“The missiles stay here.” Her chin lifted despite the tremor locking her limbs. This was it. She’d kept the missiles safe. But what now?
Akilov smiled faintly. “Yes. They do. A helicopter is inbound. You will come with me.” His smile sharpened. “Or I'll kill him. Then her.” A glance toward Caro. “And every hostage on this rig.”
The distant thud of rotor blades rose above the storm.
Akilov directed a clipped nod at his men. Two of them forced Wyatt to his knees. Sleet clung to his bare shoulders and chest. One pressed a gun to the back of his skull. He didn’t fight or struggle. Instead, he lifted his head and looked straight at Jen.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
No.
“She’s not coming with you.” Wyatt’s voice was level.
No. No. “Wyatt—”
He gave a shake of his head. “I am.”
The words knocked the air from her lungs. The man who’d held her face in the dark. Who’d confessed his worst secret to bring her back. Who’d promised her coffee.
He was trading himself.
For her.
Akilov studied him with open curiosity. “You volunteer?”
Wyatt didn’t look at Akilov. His eyes stayed on Jen. “This ends here. You let them go. You take me.”
Her chest seized. “No. You don’t get to do this.” Jen fought against the men holding her.
“Already did.” His eyes never left hers.
Akilov smiled as if the outcome still belonged to him. “How noble. And how very unnecessary.”
He raised his hand. “Kill him.”
Crack.
The guard restraining Wyatt jerked violently, then collapsed, blood streaking through his hair.
Akilov spun. “What the—”
“Contact! Contact!”
Gunfire erupted.
Another guard on the helipad jerked, crumpled.
Men clad head to toe in black surged onto the deck from multiple access points, moving with lethal precision. They didn’t fire wildly—tight pairs, clean angles, covering each other as they advanced.
Jen’s gaze snapped back to Wyatt.
Not Akilov’s men.
Wyatt was back on his feet, lifting the gun that had been at his head seconds before.
SEALs. And they were early.
Akilov’s people broke, releasing her—returning fire, scrambling for cover—as the newcomers cut through them with surgical efficiency.
Wyatt fired low into the deck around Akilov’s men, sparks and ricochets forcing them back.
“Jen! Move!”
Jen took Caro’s good hand and sprinted, feet skidding as gunfire cracked overhead. She hit the ladder and slid down fast, hands barely catching each rung as adrenaline turned her limbs to water.
Gunfire ricocheted overhead like fireworks. She clenched her jaw and kept moving.
She hit the deck, spun, searching for an exit. “Where—”
Caro jumped the last foot to beside her. “Oh God. Oh God. This is fine. Totally fine. Definitely dying.”
Wyatt vaulted off the helipad, sliding down the ladder rails to keep weight off his injured leg. He landed with a grunt, stumbling for a second before righting himself and jabbing a direction with his weapon. “Take cover. The lifeboats.”
He turned, placing himself between them and the terrorists.
Jen ran with Caro to the orange capsules tilted toward the ocean. She wrenched the nearest hatch open, hustled Caro inside, then ducked down behind the door as bullets gouged holes.
Wyatt checked the angles once, then ran toward them and dropped into a controlled slide.
“Inside,” he screamed, as he grabbed hold of the door, using it as a shield as she scrambled inside the armored hull.
“Stay down!” he shouted, crouching at the base of the lifeboat, automatic gun braced.
Jen propped herself against the nearest seat, Caro huddled in her arms.
Caro clung to her. “We’re in a tin can.” Her voice fractured. “We’re literally in a fucking tin can.”
Smoke and rain merged into a thick cloud, reducing visibility through the doorway. Wyatt stopped firing and lifted his head from the sight of the gun.
He turned to face her. “Jen—”
Smoke drifted across the deck, thinning.
A figure moved inside it.
As the haze cleared, Akilov came into view.
His jacket was torn. Blood streaked one sleeve. But he was upright.
He met Jen’s gaze through the clearing smoke and smiled.
He wasn’t done.