49. Maverick
MAVERICK
LEGENDS NEVER DIE
The moment Evans doubles over, clutching himself and letting out a strangled scream, I break free from Spencer and Cruz’s grip.
“Clara!” I shout, lunging forward as she bends forward in pain, wincing from the impact of her own strike. She attempts to get away from the bastard howling in agony, but she’s struggling—unsteady.
“Rhodes, wait—” Spencer calls out, but I’m already moving.
I reach Clara just as Evans starts to straighten up. I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her and pull her behind me in one fluid motion.
“Stay behind me,” I order, training my gun on Evans while positioning myself as a shield between them.
I’ll gladly give my life for hers if it means this asshole never touches her again.
Evans sways on his feet, still clutching his groin with one hand, but his grip on the knife doesn’t waver. His eyes are feral—animalistic—locked on Clara like she’s the only thing that exists in this fucking world.
“She’s ours!” he roars, taking another unsteady step forward. “Ours!”
“Drop the knife, Evans!” Cruz shouts from my left, his gun aimed at Evans’ center mass.
But Evans doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s beyond reason now, beyond pain. All that seems to matter to him is getting to Clara.
Spencer moves to flank him from the right while Morrison circles behind. They’re trying to box him in now that there isn’t a knife to Clara’s throat. But I can see it in Evans’ eyes—he’s not going to surrender. He’s going to keep coming. He won’t stop until someone stops him.
“You’re not taking her from us again,” Evans gasps, blood trickling from where he must have bitten his tongue. “It’s us! No one else! No one!” He screams as he raises the knife and lunges forward with a roar of fury, aiming for the person standing in his way of what he wants. Me.
Gunshots explode through the cellar. Evans’ body jerks violently as the bullets tear through him, his manic expression remaining frozen.
The knife clatters to the dirt floor as he collapses.
His body hits the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling beneath him and spreading across the packed earth in dark rivulets.
The cellar falls silent except for the ringing in my ears and Clara’s ragged breathing behind me.
My gun never leaves Evans’ motionless form, finger hovering over the trigger. If he so much as twitches, I’m putting another bullet in him .
“Clear!” Morrison shouts, loud enough to echo off the stone walls and make my ears ring even more.
The wooden staircase trembles as the rest of the SWAT team floods into the cellar.
Their tactical gear and weapons sweep the small space, ensuring there are no other threats lurking in the shadows.
They must’ve been waiting at the top of the stairs until given the all clear.
I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened if Evans had seen an entire tactical unit thunder down the steps.
Morrison approaches Evans cautiously, his weapon still drawn, and kicks the knife farther away from the body. After checking for a pulse, he looks up and nods. “Target is down. No pulse.”
“Send the medics down!” Cruz calls up the stairs.
“Medic!” Spencer calls out, holstering his weapon and moving toward us. “We need a medic down here!”
I finally lower my gun, my hands shaking with residual adrenaline.
Clara is safe. Evans is dead. It’s over.
But when I turn to check on Clara, she’s already collapsing against me, her legs giving out as the shock and pain finally overwhelm her battered body.
“Sunshine,” I whisper in a cracked voice, catching her before she can fall. “I’ve got you, sunshine. I’ve got you.” Careful of her injuries, I lean down and press my lips to her forehead. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I couldn’t protect her, but I wasn’t too late to save her.