Chapter 97 Carter
Carter
The ridge was quiet, too quiet. The kind of quiet that only came before the storm.
I crouched low behind a jagged outcrop, rifle pressed to my shoulder, eyes locked on the treeline below. The valley stretched wide, a funnel that worked against us, but the ridge gave us height. Advantage. If we were going to hold, this was the place.
Cyclone knelt ten yards to my left, rifle steady, his frame rigid as stone. River was on the far side, calm as ever, scanning the approach with lethal patience. Gideon worked behind us, muttering under his breath, fingers flying across the laptop, triangulating any signal Redwood might use.
And Sable—he sat bound and bleeding, slouched against the boulder, his smirk still clinging like a mask. But his eyes betrayed him now, sharp and restless, flicking to the trees every few seconds. He knew Redwood was close. He just didn’t know how close.
A bird startled from the branches below. My finger tightened on the trigger.
Then I heard it—the low rumble of engines.
I ground my teeth, leaning into the scope. Black SUVs crawled along the valley road like predators on the hunt. Doors cracked open, silhouettes spilling out. Too many.
“They’re here,” I muttered.
River’s reply was calm, clipped. “Hold your fire until they’re inside the kill zone.”
The mercs spread into the trees, moving uphill, rifles raised. Professional. Coordinated. Not a smash-and-grab crew—this was Redwood’s trained muscle.
I steadied my breath, my world narrowing to the space between crosshairs and heartbeat.
One step closer. Two. They entered the open stretch halfway up the slope.
“Now,” River barked.
The ridge exploded with gunfire. My first round dropped the lead man clean, his body tumbling backward. Cyclone’s rifle thundered, shredding the line. River’s bursts stitched fire across the flank, cutting three down before they’d even raised their rifles.
Shouts echoed, return fire rattling the rocks around us. Splinters and stone chips flew.
I didn’t flinch. I didn’t hesitate.
Because this wasn’t just a fight for survival. This was the war standing between me and Harper. And I wasn’t losing. Not today. Not ever.
I chambered another round, sighted center mass, and pulled the trigger.
The ridge would hold. Because I would hold.
For her. Always for her.