Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN_
DECAF
“Passports,” the border crossing guy says to Rogue.
Rogue’s driving, Iris is in the passenger seat, and I’m in the back. Why we had to split up into our groups for this when we’re going to the same place, I don’t know, but I hate that I can’t be with Haz already. Next to him. Protecting him.
I let out a loud sigh because today’s only starting, and I’m already tired. My body wants to sleep, my brain wants coffee, and my heart wants to escape through my throat.
So much could go wrong, and this is supposed to be the easy part.
Rogue hands our passports over—our real fucking passports—and then comes the moment of truth.
Whether or not we’ve been flagged in the system.
Whether the government has eyes on us already.
If we’re even going to be allowed to cross the border, or if they’ll detain us right here and then send someone to kill us while in custody.
“Reason for visit?”
“It’s my bachelor party!” Iris yells and cheers a high-pitched “Woo!”
“Are you carrying any firearms or weapons?”
Only a shit ton of them concealed within the car, along with some C4, TNT, and Iris’s fucking RPG, but other than that—
“No, sir,” Rogue says. “I don’t even have my service weapon on me.” He holds out his DEA badge.
“The car behind us is with us too,” Iris says. “We’re going to paaaarty.”
Iris knows his role, and he knows it well. If I had a dollar for every time he had to play dumb party guy or oblivious dude, I’d be Trav rich. Buying my own damn island where I could take Haz to and never leave.
“Hope you have fun,” the agent says. “Where will you be having this party?”
“On a boat!” Iris yells. “Isn’t that cool? We’re going to be drinking and fishing and drinking.”
Like everyone else in the fucking world, Agent Zell—according to his name badge—finds Iris’s annoying charm … well, charming. He smiles and hands back our passports. “Have a good trip, boys.”
We’re let through, and the second we cross over into Canada, I turn to watch as our second car pulls up next.
Agent Zell takes their passports and no doubt asks the same questions he asked us. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but as they get smaller and smaller as we get farther away, the more I begin to worry something’s wrong. They’re going to be stopped. They’re not going to—
Just before I can panic out loud, they’re let through.
Phase one of our objective is complete. Now for the real dangerous part. The part I don’t want to do. The part that has to go completely right. No mistakes.
“We’ve got this,” Iris says, looking in the passenger-side mirror and seeing the other car catching up to us.
Rogue looks about as confident as I feel, but he still says, “Yep.”
We drive the forty or so miles to Vancouver Harbour and park next to each other.
It’s been over an hour since we crossed into Canada, and I can’t help but wonder if we’re already being tracked.
If so, how close behind are they? Will we get out of here before they catch up? Before we’re ready to take them on?
We start unpacking the cars, moving the concealed weapons and protective gear from their hidden compartments into oversized duffel bags, while Trav and Rogue keep watch.
That’s the annoying thing about this plan and the main reason I hate it. We need to lure them to us, draw them out, but it needs to be timed perfectly, or this won’t work. We can’t rely on average response times and past data because each situation is unique.
Whoever they’ve got coming after us, they could have been tracking us from the cabin.
Or Reno. They might have only now been tipped off, which means it will be hours before they get here.
Or they very well could be on our fucking tails and about to come speeding in here at any moment, ready to shoot us dead right here in this parking lot.
We have to move quickly so we’re prepared for when they do catch up to us, but not so quickly that they’ll miss us.
The boat we’re heading out on was bought via wire transfer that Trav knew would take a few days for them to track back to Trav, and we’ve timed this out as closely as we can, but there are no guarantees.
My gaze meets Hazard’s as we pull duffel bags from the cars at the same time and throw them over our shoulders.
He gives me a tight smile, and all I want to do is take him in my arms and drag him out of here.
Run away. We could live on edge for the rest of our lives, living exactly …
Okay, no. I couldn’t live exactly how I feel now because it would mean we’d never stop running.
We’d never stop feeling like this. I know that, but it still doesn’t stop me wanting to run.
Haz steps toward me, and my stomach flips. The nerves and anxiety around getting out of here dim. Even if I’m freaking the fuck out, all it takes is one look from him to be all in again.
Not only with this mission but with him.
I want to spend my life with him and figure out our future together.
My feelings toward him have been confusing from the beginning, unsure if liking him was because I saw him as a chance to replace Jesse or if we were genuinely connected.
But my love for him is certain now. And I can’t lose him.
“Remember,” he says, his voice low. “We’ve got this, and we’re meeting up on the other side of it.”
I nod.
Haz leans in and kisses my cheek and goes to step back, but I don’t let him. I bring him back to me, wrapping my free arm around his back and slamming my mouth on his, kissing him like it could be the last time because for all we know, it could be.
It’s not until Trav says, “Incoming,” that I hear the whirring of helicopter blades in the distance.
The only thing tearing my mouth from Haz’s is reflex. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t stop kissing him. Not until this whole thing is over. Maybe not even then. But with fight or flight being our only options here and being extremely underprepared to fight this out on land, we have to flee.
“Get to the boat now,” Trav yells, and not a single one of us hesitates.
We each grab a bag and make a run for it, taking off with whatever weapons we can carry.
My weakened arm from lack of use twinges in pain, but I ignore it.
Our boots sound like rounds of gunfire as they hammer down on the upper wooden dock.
Trav leads the way, being the only one who knows what slip our boat is in.
The helicopter might not even be here for us. For all we know, it’s some tourist joy flight. All of that changes when it gets down low.
Without any hesitation, Trav pulls a flash-bang out from fuck knows where and sets it off, covering us in a cloud of smoke that makes it hard to breathe but at least blocks the helo’s view of us. Mostly.
Any remaining hope that we’re not the helo’s target disappears as a bullet flies by my head, landing in the water behind me.
We should’ve worn the Kevlar instead of packing it in a bag, but we weren’t certain how close behind us they were.
We should’ve known they would somehow be on top of us.
They trailed us to that rinky-dink flower market.
Of course they’re going to have had eyes on us from the moment we crossed into Canada.
Haz is directly in front of me, and he slows down to turn toward me, but I push him forward.
“I’m not hit,” I yell.
More bullets fly toward us, the constant tinging and thunks off the surrounding boats and dock ringing in my ears. Considering how many there are of us, and how we’re in close quarters to each other, you’d think one of us would get hit, but—
“Fuck,” I hear behind me, followed by a loud, toppling thud.
I turn to find that Scout is down, the color red splattering through the smoke.
His silhouette on the ground is a motionless lump with boots.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen a fellow member of Mike Bravo get shot in my proximity, but unlike all the other times it’s happened, I don’t freeze up.
I don’t get a flashback of Jesse. I forget everything and everyone else and move in to save him.
But so does Haz.
“Get out of here,” I yell. “I got him.”
“You’re still injured! I’ve got him.”
Fuck. He’s right. My whole arm burns as if it’s been shot. This is what weeks of nothing does to muscle. It makes it weak as fuck.
But I can’t leave Haz to go save Scout alone. “Together?”
“Let’s do this.”
Trav appears at our side, weapon at the ready. “Go, go, go. Get him on the boat and wrap that fucking leg.”
I couldn’t see where Scout had been shot, but as Haz and I drag him up the dock, we leave a trail of blood in our wake. From his knee down, his leg is covered in blood, but I still can’t tell where it’s coming from.
Every muscle in my body aches, and my wrist feels as fragile as fucking glass as I try to grip on to Scout, my bag, everything tighter.
My vision blurs. From the pain, from the smoke, I can’t be sure. But it’s a fucking mission and a half just to get Scout to the boat.
This throws a wrench in our plans, especially if this damn helo’s going to follow us out to fucking sea.
Iris and Saint help us load Scout onto the boat, and once they’ve got him, I half stumble, half fall onto the floor of the midsize motor yacht.
Trav’s the last one to get on board. “Haz, get behind the wheel while I get these lines.”
Either the world has a fast-forward button, or I’m moving in slow motion because everything around me is going way too quickly. I try to get up to help Trav, but I get dizzy and have to sit back down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Iris and Saint frantically working on Scout, and in the next second, I’m thrust backward into the rear seat of the cabin as we take off.
My brain fog begins to clear as the pain racking my body eases. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be worried I’d been shot, but I haven’t. This is how I am now. Weak.
I fucking hate it.
Once I catch my breath and I’m able to focus, the sound of rapid fire hits my ears.
I’m able to hobble to my feet, the only reason I’m still stumbling being the power behind the boat and how fast we’re going.
Trav has taken over driving, and Iris calls for Haz and me to help with Scout. As soon as we jump in to assist, Iris is on his feet and rifling through the bags. He pulls out an M16 assault rifle.
“We can’t take them down too soon,” Trav yells. “Only when we’re in position.”
There’s too much going on, and I’m standing in the middle of the boat, open for attack, unsure of what to do.
“Decaf!” Saint snaps me out of it. “Apply pressure to the top of Scout’s leg just above the knee so we can move him into the cabin and out of the firing line.”
As I do what I’m told, I lock eyes with Haz, and I’m certain the same look of worry he has is on my face too. Not only for Scout, but for this whole mission.
The mission that had no room for error is FUBAR: Fucked up beyond recognition.