Chapter 39
There are moments in life when everything slows down, moving in slow motion like a cinematic war scene. This is very much not one of them.
The gunshot booms through the night, and my brain finally catches up to what my instincts have been screaming since the comms crackled in my ear.
Somewhere between the safe house and the hospital, between paranoia and confidence, we missed a tail.
Or while we were hiding, they’ve been waiting here for my Doc.
Fucking fantastic.
Gunnar is braced on the hood of the Jeep for stability, returning fire in short, controlled bursts.
The muzzle flash lights up his face for half a second—grim, focused, and pissed.
The look carved into his face is one that screams I’m real fucking tired of getting shot at.
Hawk shoves Zahra the rest of the way into the backseat of the lead Jeep as Damon slides behind the wheel, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.
It’s choreography—ugly, violent choreography—of a dance we have done far too many times.
Maryam moans as I set her down, pain contorting her face. Her body betrays her, and I grab her elbow before she spills from the backseat and crumples to the ground.
Blake waits beside the Jeep, the baby clutched firmly to her chest as she stands exposed—too exposed—to the danger literally flying through the air.
Her eyes are wide but focused, sharp with the kind of fear that enhances instead of paralyzes.
Twisting my body, I instinctually pull Blake between the Jeep and me to shield her tiny body with mine.
“We’ve gotta go,” Gunnar shouts, readying to leave his perch to climb behind the wheel.
The gunfire no longer sounds like cracks of thunder. Bullets are being exchanged in such voracity that it sounds like the fucking Fourth of July. Maryam clambers through the pain, sliding across the seat like her life depends on it. Because it does.
“Move,” I snap, shoving Blake into the backseat the moment there is enough space for her. I slam the door shut and vault into the passenger seat as Gunnar presses on the gas.
“Go!” I shout. As if he needed the encouragement. The Jeep lurches forward violently, tearing up the gravel and spraying it like shrapnel in our wake.
Quickly following Hawk and Damon, Gunnar throws us into a hard turn at too fast a speed. The ass-end of the jeep sways slightly before he regains control, the force jerking me into the door. “Seatbelt!” I shout, knowing that had to have bounced Blake around the backseat like a ragdoll.
Headlights bloom in the side mirror, then another set. Four cars. Five motorcycles. Of course there are bikes. There are always fucking bikes.
“Contact rear,” I bark into the comms. “Multiple vehicles.”
“Copy,” Hawk replies instantly, calm and steady. “Stay tight.”
We race through the streets, leaving a path of destruction in our wake. Late-night pedestrians scatter like cockroaches as horns blare and a speeding, gunfire-ridden caravan rips through their previously quiet night.
Shots erupt again, and the rear window spiderwebs before giving way entirely, glass spraying into the cabin.
“Get down,” I hastily command at Blake and Maryam, twisting in my seat.
Blake grabs the back of Maryam’s head and pulls her low, the two of them curling their bodies and creating a shield around the baby without hesitation.
God, she’s going to be an amazing mother.
Fuck, Jagg. Focus! With my weapon raised, I fire through the frame of the shattered window.
The recoil punches into my shoulder as we hit a pothole, and one of the motorcycles swerves violently when the rider loses control. Overcorrecting, the bike slams sideways into a shower of sparks.
“Fuck, that hurt,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder as I reload.
Gunnar lets out a sharp laugh that skirts the edge of hysteria. “You okay, little buddy? Do you need someone to kiss it and make it better?”
“If we’re talking about your lips, old man. I’ve got something they can kiss.”
Aegis… A dysfunctional-as-fuck, well-oiled machine.
The lead Jeep swerves hard left. We follow, barely missing a delivery truck that blares its horn like we’re trying to T-bone a twenty-ton wall. More gunfire rings out, and the side mirror on my side of the car explodes, plastic and glass flying everywhere.
Blake cries out in the back, a thin, broken sound that makes my jaw clench. Maryam screams too, high and terrified, cutting straight through the noise and lodging somewhere behind my ribs. Great… Add traumatized civilians to the list.
The city becomes a blur of lights and noise.
We blow through intersections, clip vendor stalls, and fishtail along narrow streets that were not designed for this kind of recklessness.
One of the trailing cars clips a taxi trying to get out of the way, spins out, and slams into a signage pole that is apparently very cemented in the ground.
One down.
The bikes weave through traffic heedlessly, gunmen firing one-handed, reckless and desperate. One pulls alongside us, too close, his face twisted with fury, mouth shouting something I can’t quite make out over the roar of both engines.
As he raises his gun, I yank at my door handle and shove it open. His bike jerks when I clip him. It wobbles, then careens into a concrete divider. The rider flies, hitting the pavement hard and sliding across it like it’s a sheet of ice.
“Airfield in two minutes,” Hawk gruffs over the comms. “Plane is hot.”
“Copy,” I reply. “We’ve still got a fuckton of company on our ass.”
“No shit,” Damon snarks.
“You guys aren’t the ones with bullets flying up your ass.”
Another car pulls alongside our Jeep and tries to ram us.
Gunnar counters instantly, slamming the brakes hard enough to throw off their timing.
Nudging toward them, he catches their back end, causing them to spin out.
Gunnar stomps on the accelerator, and the poor little engine screams so loudly, I’m certain we’re going to leave it behind.
The airfield lights loom in the distance, a bright beacon of hope, impossible to miss.
Enemy gunfire intensifies as desperation sets in. One of the remaining bikes loses control as he tries to follow us through a tight turn, his rear wheel throwing up gravel before he skids off the road.
That leaves one car and three bikes.
We burst through the perimeter gate, metal screeching as the Jeeps burst onto the tarmac. Immediately, the alarms start, red lights flashing and sirens blaring. The runway stretches out ahead, long and exposed. The Aegis jet waits at the far end, engines already spinning.
I’ve never been so happy to see that big, beautiful bitch knowing I’m about to take a twenty-six-hour flight.
“Go, go, go!” Hawk shouts as he accelerates toward the plane.
The remaining tails follow us onto the open concrete. There is no cover out here, just speed, gunfire, and fate. Bullets spark against the ground, ping off metal, and punch holes into this already beat-up Jeep.
Leaning out my window, I fire until the slide locks. I hit one of the bikers—center mass—and he goes down hard, spinning across the tarmac in a trail of sparks.
We all screech to a stop beside the jet. Hawk and Damon are out first, already pulling Zahra free, handling her like she’s made of glass. “Move!” Hawk roars, like the five of us are taking our time.
I throw my door open and immediately move to open Blake’s.
On the other side, Gunnar is grabbing Maryam.
He scoops her into his arms, ignoring the way she gasps and how tightly her fingers clutch at his sleeve.
Blake slides from the seat with Aliyah still nuzzled against her chest as gunfire erupts again.
“Go!” I shout at Gunnar. He runs toward the plane with Maryam, and I lay down suppressive fire as bullets spark around me.
My magazine empties, and I duck behind the Jeep for cover as I reload my final one. Blake is huddled beside me, her chest heaving. “I’ve got you,” I promise, like saying it out loud might make it true. “We’re getting out of here.”
The steps to the plane feel impossibly far away. After pulling Blake from her crouch, we run. I position myself between my girl and the gunfire without thinking. It’s training. Instinct. It’s the quiet, unspoken math of whose body matters most.
Our footsteps echo on the runway, until the jet—our salvation—is looming above us. We hit the base of the steps hard, our breaths ragged and adrenaline coursing through our veins. Taking the steps two at a time, I let myself think it. The one thing you never do until the mission is done.
We made it.