Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Raven
My gun is in my hand, thumb on the safety, and Dario has his out too. Kurt is ahead, running for an unmarked door in a wall between two washrooms, male on one side, female on the other. I shake my head at how unimportant that is; I seem to be noting everything.
I’m following him, looking over my shoulder as I run.
Where’s Declan?
Then I see them.
He and Cole are running through the office over to our left, both jinking and using the desks as cover. He doesn’t look hurt, and my chest eases just a fraction.
There’s a glimpse of security in navy-blue uniforms before a pillar blocks my line of sight.
Shots fire behind us, and with a crack, a bullet hits a pillar only a dozen feet from me. Plaster breaks off, then I’m past, keeping my head down.
Where are Declan and Cole? I can’t see them anymore. Have they been hit?
Kurt slams through the exit, a green sign illuminated above it. A flight of metal steps beyond, but he doesn’t take them, instead holding the door as Dario races past.
“Come on, Genesis!” Kurt says, and I realize I’ve slowed to look back. I sprint for the door, going through without stopping, following Dario up the stairs. “Declan?”
“Five guards. Down to three now; Cole winged one and I wounded another. Twenty seconds.”
Thank fuck. They’re still fine.
For now.
Dario is already a level ahead. I glance up. Sixty feet and more to the roof, steps all the way. Kurt’s on my heels, his gun in his hand. I’m on the third flight when Declan and Cole burst through below, but my relief is short-lived as gunshots slam into the door behind them.
They’re thirty seconds beneath us. Far too long, far too exposed.
“Keep going!” Kurt orders, right behind me.
Two flights above, Dario has the outside door open, and a moment later we spill onto the roof.
It’s roughly two hundred feet square, nearly all in deep shadow, but a red aviation light pulses ominously, picking out the edge in the dark.
A small parapet wall runs the perimeter—that will make our jump easier.
If we all get there.
Dario’s stopped to pull his ’chute on, just to the side of the exit. Kurt follows me out, then drops to one knee, pistol raised, covering the door.
Declan and Cole are racing up the stairs, but more gunshots fire. I check my ’chute, ensuring I’m ready, not wanting to keep anyone waiting. My hands are steady; the rest of me isn’t.
Cole bursts out a moment later, Declan on his heels. Bullets clang into the stairs and walls behind them, ricocheting God-knows-where. Too damn close.
I stare at Declan, and swallow hard. Even though I can see he’s fine, I want to run my hands all over him, confirm for myself he hasn’t been shot.
Cole slams the door closed. “Give me something to wedge this.”
I pat my pockets, but I have nothing. We’re down to our ’chutes and guns, and the gap around the door is barely a finger’s width.
Dario presses something into Cole’s hand, and Cole does a double-take before jamming it against the frame, takes a pace back, then kicks it hard, wedging it into place. Red light gleams off the gold bar.
“Most expensive door jamb in the world,” Dario mutters.
“That only buys us seconds,” Kurt says, standing and shoving his gun away. “Let’s go.”
Cole points toward the ocean and we all run to the west parapet wall, checking our straps. “Into the wind. Raven, you’re first, turn south only after your ’chute’s open. Declan, north.”
“Got it.”
Behind us, someone hits the door. I don’t look around, staring instead at the city nine hundred feet beneath us. Lights and people, cars in the night, so many goddamn buildings to avoid.
“On my count,” Cole says. “Raven.”
I don’t have time to think, just leap. The wind rushes past me, and it feels so different from jumping out of a helicopter. It’s wrong, on so many levels, my instincts screaming at me. The street races up as I focus on getting my body position right, pulling my cord as soon as I can.
“Declan.”
I barely hear Cole’s voice in my ear, but then my canopy opens, catching the wind with a snap, and I’m jerked in my straps. Immediately, I reach for the toggles, turning left, crosswind. The building is awfully close, windows flashing past.
“Kurt.”
There are barely seconds between us. I should be focusing on my direction, but I twist, trying to see that the others have clean opens. Declan’s canopy is good. Kurt’s goes up.
“Dario.”
I can’t look anymore; my direction’s taking me away from them. I’ve already drifted a block, but I’m falling fast. The street beneath me is wide and open… save for the cars driving down it. Almost ten p.m. on a Sunday night; not as busy as it could be. Busier than I would like.
Someone grunts over the mic, and it’s pained.
“Cole?” Kurt checks.
There’s no answer for the longest three seconds of my life.
“I’m shot,” Cole gasps back eventually. “They came through as I jumped.”
“How bad?”
“My back. They hit the ’chute.” A hiss of pain loud enough to be heard. “Checking.” Another long silence. “Missed the suspension lines,” he grunts out. “Holes in the canopy. Falling fast, not going to reach my LZ.”
“We have you, Cole.” Cammy’s voice. “Go straight west. We’ll pick you up.”
The street is coming up rapidly. I’m supposed to hit the intersection, find a safe place to touch down, then run for my bike. But the cross wind is stronger than I thought, and I’ve already overflown it.
At the last moment, I flare the canopy and turn sharply, landing on a sedan parked right beneath me. I dent its hood, stumble forward, then fall off it onto my knees, grunting at the impact. The canopy hits the wall, snagging, pulling at my straps, and I struggle to get the buckles undone.
“Down and safe,” I gasp out.
“Down and safe,” Declan echoes a second later.
“Raven, move it.” Cammy’s voice. “You have security after you. They’re two blocks away. SUV.”
Shit. “Roger.”
“Do you need help?” Declan asks, tone urgent.
Idiot. What’s he going to do?
“Stay on task, Declan,” Kurt’s voice cracks out. “Down and safe, but short of my LZ. Wind too strong.”
“Down and safe,” Dario adds, with a grunt. “Fucking streetlight.”
I can’t shift one of my buckles, but pull the other strap off, wriggling out of my harness. I abandon the ’chute, draped on the side of the building, and run back up to the intersection I should’ve landed at, ignoring the open-mouthed stare of an elderly couple on the sidewalk.
“We’ve reached Cole,” Cammy says. “He’s down and safe, Tasha is getting him. Declan, you have an SUV your way too. Raven, there’re two bikes heading south.”
“I’m on foot.” Kurt’s voice comes through breaths of exertion. “Security behind me.”
I hit the intersection, taking the corner at a run. Time enough to glance back toward the building I just leaped from, towering into the sky, and to see the SUV racing down the street toward me.
Then I’m running as fast as I can toward where I parked my bike, hoping to God it’s still there.
Taking a side street, behind the back of a building.
And my beautiful Ducati is sitting where I left her, my helmet chained to the seat.
I slide the tumblers of the lock with trembling fingers, then pull my lid on, sitting astride my bike as I work my hands into my gloves.
“Intercepted here, going dark.” Kurt’s voice is crackling in my ear, too many buildings distorting the signal. My heartrate jumps. That means he’s torn his mic and ear piece off, maybe throwing his gun away, and he’d only do that if there was no other option.
“Cammy? What’s happened? Can you see him?”
“Negative. We have Cole, but he’s bleeding badly. Heading over now, but we have our own problems.”
“I saw him,” Dario replies. “He was met by four suits getting out of a black sedan.”
“Dario, can you reach him?” That’s Tasha’s voice, with a bite to it I rarely hear.
“Negative. They’re putting him in the car.”
Fuck.
“Declan? Where are you?”
“On my bike,” he replies, the distortion so bad I can barely hear him. “Heading out now.”
“At mine in ten seconds,” Dario adds. “That sedan… Kurt’s gone.”
It’s a reminder that I’m carrying everything that matters to him. I slap my visor down, starting my bike, just as the security SUV drives into the street.
Shit. They must’ve seen me.
I accelerate away as the engine of the SUV roars. On an open road, I can leave this thing in the dust, but here, I don’t have the space. I have to slow for sharp corners, and it’s almost on my rear tire as I jink a quick left-right, back onto the main street.
Just in time to see two bikes tearing down the road toward me. A single glance tells me they’re not sportbikes but street bikes, more maneuverable than mine through the city, but slower on the open road.
Assuming I can reach the open road with these things chasing me.
But while we might be in the city, it’s so late at night that the cars are few and far between.
I open the throttle, burning south, picking up Market Street at the bottom.
It’s a long, straight road running southwest, bus lanes in the center, and I tear down it.
I don’t even have to slow for the lights; even if there’s traffic crossing, if it’s not already there, it won’t hit me at the speed I’m going.
My bike tops a hundred, and the SUV’s so far back I can’t even see it in my mirror.
I zip past a late-running streetcar that takes up way too much damn space, ignoring the honk of horns and the occasional shout from the few people on the sidewalks.
“Anyone hear me?”
No answer. I’m out of range, the buildings blocking the signal.