Chapter Thirty-Two
“Fuck,” Tatum muttered.
Dave glanced back at the sound—just in time to see dust rising before Tatum shoved him forward.
“Move faster!” Tatum snarled, the barrel digging into his back.
Dave broke into a run, vaulting rocks and sliding down a small ridge into the gully. Tatum stayed right on his heels.
When the ground sloped, Dave dropped into a forward roll—some things you never forget from your military days.
Tatum lost his footing and slammed into him. Dave came up fast, striking his gun hand—hard and precise, enough to numb it.
Tatum cursed as the gun went flying. Dave kicked for his head, missed, and caught his shoulder instead. Didn’t matter—the weapon was gone, buried somewhere in the brush.
While Tatum scrambled after it, Dave bolted up the gully, crested the far side, and cut right toward the taller rock formation he’d spotted earlier.
Tatum found the gun faster than Dave had hoped.
“Son of a bitch!” Tatum shouted, gunfire cracking across the desert.
Curse all you want, motherfucker. You’re not getting another shot at me.
Dave stayed low, running crouched, then slid in behind the rocks.
The moment he was out of sight, he went at the ropes with his teeth until they gave. He didn’t toss them—kept the line coiled in his fist. Might come in handy around Tatum’s neck.
Dave crawled on hands and knees, keeping low behind the shrub until he found another gully a short distance away.
Heart pounding, he dropped into it and went still, drawing deep breaths that burned his lungs.
Not now. He rubbed at his chest and forced himself to stay put, to calm the hell down, even as every instinct screamed to get to his team.
From somewhere above, Tatum’s curses broke the quiet, footsteps tearing through the brush.
When the sounds of Tatum faded, Dave came up in a crouch and moved—low, fast, toward the east.
Toward the dust.
Toward Stone.
The gunshot ripped the air, and every muscle in Stone locked. Cold shot through him, sharper than the desert wind.
He was moving before thought caught up—weapon raised, eyes on the horizon.
Then he saw him.
Dave. Rope hanging loose from his hand, running straight toward him.
“Cover us!” Stone shouted. Genesis reacted instantly, rifles up, scanning the line behind.
Stone didn’t slow. He knew the risk, knew the protocol.
He also knew there was no world where he didn’t run to him.
Stone’s breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning. He wasn’t getting air—wouldn’t, not until Dave was in his arms.
Then Dave hit him, full force, solid, alive.
Stone caught him, crushed him close, and dragged them both to their knees behind a line of rock—out of sight, out of the kill zone.
Law, Rip, and Boston surged past, sweeping the perimeter. Viper and Sage held position, weapons up, eyes scanning for movement.
Real, Crow, Rebel, Black, and Winter were among the Genesis team that had come in on another helicopter and were now forming a tight ring nearby, weapons trained outward.
Stone’s focus stayed on the man in his arms. Dave’s heart slammed against his chest, breath rough and rasping until finally, he drew one deep, steady breath and lifted his gaze to Stone.
Dave gave him a crooked smile through the dirt streaking his face, and Stone caught the dark bruise forming along his jaw. His own clenched, but he said nothing—just pulled Dave to his feet.
Viper passed over a canteen. Dave took several grateful swallows, then handed it back.
When Dave raked his fingers through his hair, Stone had to fight the urge to kiss him.
Instead, he reached for the Sig Sauer at his waistband and held it out.
The whole ordeal had shaved years off Stone’s life. He wanted nothing more than to get Dave back to the ranch, make sure he was in one piece—but the mission wasn’t over.
Dave checked the pistol, hand out. Stone dropped a spare mag into it. Rip moved in next, passing him a sand-colored shirt and vest.
While Dave pulled the shirt on, Stone’s hands swept over him—arms, ribs, legs, cataloging every hit. Dave hissed when Stone’s palm brushed a raw patch along his side.
Jaw and ribs. He could live with that.
“How’s your breathing?” Stone asked, his fingers skimming lightly over Dave’s ribs.
“Don’t make me laugh, and we’re good.” Dave’s hand brushed his cheek—just a fleeting touch—and Stone’s eyes closed for a beat.
“And this?” he asked quietly, opening them again as his palm settled over Dave’s chest, just above his heart.
“Not slowing me down today.”
Stone gave a short nod. Dave pulled on the vest, and Stone tightened the straps himself, making sure they were secure.
“I’m running point. You got my flank?” Stone asked.
It came out like a question, but Dave heard what it was—an order.
He could override it, technically. But they both knew the team would bench him by force if it came to that.
Stone braced for the fight that never came.
“Always,” Dave said, slipping an extra clip into his vest.
“Time’s a-wastin’,” Law drawled from behind them.
“Ready?” Stone’s voice came out rougher than he meant.
Dave moved in close and kissed him, firm and unapologetic—in front of the team, the desert, the world. Then he pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s get this bastard.”
Law chuckled. Viper smirked. Sage snorted and jogged off toward Boston.
The rumble hit next—a single Chinook sweeping in low, rotor wash tearing up the ground. It didn’t hover; it landed hard. Soldiers poured out, weapons up, forming ranks.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Viper said, stepping forward.
A tall man dropped from the lead bird, uniform sharp, posture pure command. Stone squinted.
“It’s Will,” Dave murmured and started toward him.
William Caldwell moved like a man who’d never had to raise his voice to be obeyed.
“Will, glad to have you here,” Dave approached, hand out.
“I wouldn’t miss it. I came for a debrief and heard you were missing.” Will took the outstretched hand, looking Dave over.
Dave gave a faint, wry smile. “Yeah, well—couldn’t let Tatum have all the fun.”
The air still churned with rotor wash, the scent of fuel and dust thick around them. Stone’s gaze tracked west, where the horizon shimmered under the heat and silence.
They still had a camp to burn down.