Chapter 6
Sean
The moment happens in slow motion. My own personal Lingchi, a blade for every man hidden in the manicured tropical landscaping of the airport building slices into my chest.
Louhi doesn’t see the small platoon until it’s too late. There’s no time to shout, no warning I can blare, no smoke signal I can send up. I’m simply forced to watch as the hidden uniformed men, tucked out of sight, fire at the piece of my heart walking outside of my body.
Fuck.
Impressively—through skill or luck, I don’t know—Lou dodges the first spray of gunfire, spinning out of the way.
She has the Glock in her hand in less than a handful of seconds, pulling the trigger in under fifteen.
Three shots later, an equal number of men are already down, blood leaking from their bodies.
Without any cover, this is a dangerous situation.
She’s in the line of fire, and she shouldn’t be there alone.
Drawing my own handgun, I stalk closer to her, firing two rounds at the closest member of the team I fought for only yesterday.
These men were my friends, my brothers, but they’ve threatened Lou’s safety.
I understand that they’re simply following orders, but the orders are flawed.
Scanning the group, I ensure that I don’t see Jace, and when I don’t spot his build or honey-hued eyes, I pull the trigger four more times. While I want to, I don’t bother shielding Louhi since she’d shove me out of the way. Hiding isn’t her style.
We manage to eliminate the dozen or so men unscathed. My mind goes blank and hazy, white noise filling my head as I lose myself in the fight.
“I only have three rounds left,” Lou announces in a clipped, strained tone, her voice breaking into my thoughtless actions.
I open my mouth to reply, but the rattle of an older vehicle interrupts our conversation.
We both turn in time to find a Humvee loaded down with more men entering through the gate, heading straight for us.
Double fuck.
The rapid, telltale pops of an automatic rifle fill the air behind us like too-loud popcorn kernels bursting to life.
I glance over my shoulder to find the door to the plane open and a man clad in a dark, tailored suit standing halfway down the stairs.
His styled blond hair catches the sunshine, and the black metal AK-19—the modern version of an AK-47—in his hands glints like onyx.
He sprays gunfire at the approaching military vehicle with the kind of easy confidence that accompanies years of intimately handling weapons.
This must be the infamous Viktor Novikov.
At the mouth of the plane, two dark-gray wolf hybrids sit sentry.
I recognize the breed immediately, having seen a documentary about them once, but I’ll admit that seeing them this close and in-person is far more intimidating.
They’re easily more wolf than dog, with paws that could shred a man to pieces in a nanosecond, and I must stare too long because the predator on the left meets my eye, baring its teeth.
The other wolfdog points its nose in the air, sniffing the spilled blood that’s drifted to him on a silent breeze.
I force back the shudder that threatens to consume me.
I can handle dying, but being mauled to death would be low on my list of ways to go out.
Why couldn’t we get some wolfdogs at Ex-I? All we had were venomous scorpions.
Still, the dogs seem like the lesser of two evils when compared to the Humvee.
The man on the plane’s stairs shouts something in Russian, and Louhi titters, amusement flittering over her face as she grips my wrist, beginning to run in the direction of the plane.
My thighs burn with the effort as I push myself harder and faster, but speed isn’t exactly my ally. I’ve always been more of a brute strength guy. Louhi, on the other hand, is faster than light as she pulls me along, and I forcefully inject a swiftness into my gait that I’ve never known before.
When a second Humvee approaches, it becomes painfully clear just how outnumbered we are. Men spill from the utility vehicle like a colony of ants fleeing a disturbed mound.
The men are right on our heels, guns drawn, and Louhi shrieks as she’s physically jerked backwards.
With my pulse pounding in my ears, I twist enough to get a shot off.
Right between the eyes. He releases her as he crumples to the ground.
Thank fuck, he didn’t choose to use his service weapon. Do they want us alive?
It’s then that the full weight of this situation settles over me. Between the foot soldiers and the Humvee, we won’t make it to that plane. Not without serious bodily harm or death. But she can.
Clenching my jaw, I order the spitfire at my side, “Go. I’ll cover you.”
She blinks, then squints as her face whips in my direction, her full lips parting, but she never gets to say what she wants because a bullet whizzes between our heads.
“Go,” I insist. My mission is to get Louhi to safety.
The idling plane is close, yet not close enough, but I can—and will—give her this gift of freedom.
Studying her beautiful face, I paint my mind with the most incredible mural as I memorize the stray strands of her sable hair that flutter in the wind, her sharp, defined bone structure, and her hardened chocolate gaze that seems to melt for me.
My chest twists, as if the beast inside me is snarling to get to her as I reluctantly shift my attention back to the other men before firing two more shots.
Edging closer to her, I urgently command Viktor, “Take her.” I don’t know if he speaks English, but I pray he understands what I’m saying.
More gunfire cracks behind me, followed by a high-pitched shriek as her Russian friend presumably does as I requested. I duck to dodge the latest spray of bullets.
I don’t look at her, though. I can’t. Her expression would break me.
“Sean.”
I grit my teeth, turning fully and firing round after round to protect her. I don’t bother tallying the shots I fire because there’s no use counting down to my tribulation.
My heart lurches when I hear the empty click as I pull the trigger.
Louhi’s answering scream bands around my insides as hands descend upon me, and I stare into the dozens of masked faces.
Only then do I dare look at the woman on the steps of the plane.
Viktor’s arms are around her middle as she kicks and claws at him in an attempt to free herself.
When her gaze slams into mine like stars colliding in the cosmos, she goes utterly still.
An expression that can only be labeled as raw terror strikes her face like a bolt of white-hot lightning.
As rapidly as the fear hits her, it’s replaced with something akin to an angry cyclone of lethal vengeance.
Without a single spoken word, I’m assured she’s going to come for me. I just need to stay alive.
A hood is shoved roughly over my head as a syringe is depressed into my neck. In no time at all, my freedom is ripped away, and my world is reduced to caliginous darkness.