Chapter Four #2
The guy did. He came at Gage again, wild now, swinging heavy and fast. Gage ducked the first blow, but the second caught him across the side of the head, hard enough to make his vision spark white. He stumbled back, boots slipping in something spilled on the floor.
The bastard didn’t let up. Another punch drove into Gage’s ribs, then another.
Pain roared through his side, stealing his breath.
He dropped low, muscles screaming, and rammed his shoulder, his bad one, into the man’s gut.
The jolt nearly blinded him, but it worked.
The attacker grunted, staggered, and Gage surged upward with everything he had left.
They hit the floor again. Gage rolled first this time, adrenaline overriding pain. His hand brushed cold metal. The fallen rifle. He grabbed it, swung it around, and pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked, sharp and final. The man jerked once, then went still.
Gage stayed crouched, breathing hard, the world narrowing to ringing ears and the smell of gunpowder. His body was shaking, way too many parts of him hurting like hell, but he turned immediately, scanning for Rena.
She was ten feet away, down on one knee, her attacker still on her. The man tried to press her down again, snarling something guttural, but Rena wasn’t losing.
Her steel-toed boot shot up between his legs, hard enough that Gage winced just watching it. The guy folded with a strangled grunt, and before he could recover, Rena snatched her Glock from the floor and fired point-blank.
The shot cracked through the smoke. The attacker dropped, motionless.
Rena stayed frozen for a second, her chest rising and falling fast, the faint tremor of adrenaline running through her arms. Then she looked over at Gage, eyes meeting his through the haze. Steady, fierce, alive.
“Nice timing,” he rasped, wiping blood from his mouth.
“Could say the same,” she shot back.
Gunfire still rumbled from the far end of the hangar, but for a heartbeat, the two of them just breathed, surrounded by the wreckage, alive when they shouldn’t be.
Footsteps.
Dozens of them, closing fast, steady, and coordinated. Gage spun toward the sound, pulse slamming against his ribs. The echoes bounced off the hangar walls, overlapping until it was impossible to count how many, but he knew. At least a dozen. Maybe more.
He caught movement through the haze, a smaller figure scrambling from cover near the stacked crates. One of the kids. Gage’s gut turned to ice. A gunman broke from the shadows, raising his rifle, closing the distance.
Son of a bitch.
Gage didn’t think. He dropped to one knee, braced his rifle and fired. The shot hit center mass, jerking the man back in a spray of sparks and smoke. The kid bolted the other way, disappearing behind the debris.
Then, the world exploded in pain.
A round caught Gage’s arm, spinning him sideways. The burn was instant and vicious like a hot wire shoved straight through muscle. He stumbled, nearly losing his grip on the rifle, vision blurring.
Rena shouted his name somewhere behind him, her voice muffled by the ringing in his ears.
He ducked behind a support beam, pressing his back against the cold steel. Blood ran warm and slick down his forearm, dripping from his fingers. He clenched his teeth, forced his breathing steady. Not a through-and-through, but damn close.
The attackers fanned out, shouting to each other, boots pounding across the concrete. The gunfire started again, short, controlled bursts hammering the crates around him.
He looked up through the smoke and caught Rena’s eyes across the floor. She had her Glock up, steady despite the blood streaking her arm.
They were both hurt. Outnumbered. Running low on options.
But neither of them was done.
The air felt thicker with every breath, heavy with gun smoke and the reek of burning rubber.
Gage’s wounded arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat.
Every time he moved it, fire lanced through the muscle.
He pressed his back to a crate, chambered another round with his good hand, and tried not to think about how bad their odds had just gotten.
They were boxed in. Outnumbered. Half the hangar was in flames, and the rest was crawling with men who looked like they’d been bred for this kind of chaos.
Rena crouched a few feet away, blood drying dark against her sleeve, her face pale but steady. She met his eyes, and for a moment, he didn’t have to say what they both knew. This was a battle they might not win.
Then, the world went white.
Light, brilliant and blinding, flared across the hangar as the overheads roared to life.
Every gunman froze, caught off guard, their night-vision goggles turning the sudden brightness into agony.
Shouts went up, confused, angry. And in the doorway that connected to headquarters, the reinforced door hissed open.
Ruby Maverick stepped through.
She looked like vengeance in motion. Full body armor, black tactical gear, and goggles gleaming under the harsh light.
A carbine rifle hung from her shoulder, a sidearm strapped to her thigh, and a bandolier of grenades crossed her chest. The calm, composed woman Gage had met earlier was gone.
What stood there now was pure warrior from hell.
“Showtime,” he heard Owen mutter, and Gage didn’t miss the pride in the man’s voice.
Ruby didn’t hesitate. She yanked a smoke canister from her vest, thumbed the pin, and with the precision of a pro quarterback, she hurled it straight into the cluster of thugs near the center of the hangar.
The grenade hit the floor, rolled once, and erupted, filling the air with a thick, choking wall of smoke.
And just like that, the hunters became the hunted.