CHAPTER 32 #2
"Do not push your luck, Miss Hayes," Silas warns, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.
"Put it on speaker," I echo, my hand slowly sliding into the deep pocket of my winter coat, my fingers wrapping around the grip of the Sig Sauer.
Silas stares at me. He knows I am preparing to draw. He knows the moment the transfer is complete, the standoff ends in violence.
He presses a button on the phone, holding it out slightly.
"Confirm your position," Silas orders.
Static crackles over the speaker, followed by the heavy breathing of a man moving quickly.
"I’m off the roof, sir," the sniper’s voice says. "I’m in the stairwell. Targets are secure and unaware."
"Understood," Silas says, cutting the connection. He drops the phone back into his pocket. "The threat is neutralized. Transfer the money."
I look at Gemma.
She doesn't look at the laptop. She looks at me. Her dark eyes are wide, searching my face for the confirmation she needs.
I give her a single, sharp nod.
She reaches out with her right hand, her finger hovering over the keyboard.
"Transferring," she says.
She doesn't hit the Enter key.
She hits the Escape key.
The screen of the laptop flashes bright red, a massive error message populating the monitor before the entire system goes completely black.
"What did you do?" Silas snaps, taking a sudden step forward.
"I deleted the keys," Gemma says, her voice cold and absolute. "The money is gone."
Silas freezes. The realization that he just lost four billion dollars permanently hits him like a physical blow. The aristocratic composure shatters completely, replaced by pure, unadulterated rage.
"Kill them!" Silas screams, pointing at us.
I am already moving.
I draw the Sig Sauer from my pocket, dropping to one knee in the black sand, and fire two rapid shots.
The first bullet hits the mercenary on the far left, punching through the lens of his ballistic goggles. He drops instantly. The second bullet hits the mercenary next to him in the throat, sending him crashing backward against the armored SUV.
The remaining two mercenaries raise their rifles, opening fire.
The deafening roar of automatic gunfire rips across the beach.
I grab the heavy fabric of Gemma’s coat, pulling her down into the sand behind me. The bullets tear through the air where we were standing a fraction of a second earlier, kicking up massive plumes of black sand around us.
I return fire, my compact 9mm barking loudly over the roar of the rifles.
I hit the third mercenary in the shoulder. He stumbles, his rifle dropping, but he doesn't go down. The fourth mercenary adjusts his aim, the barrel of his weapon tracking directly toward Gemma’s huddled form on the ground.
I don't have an angle. I don't have cover.
I throw my body across hers, physically shielding her from the line of fire.
The impact hits me like a sledgehammer.
A heavy, burning agony tears through the left side of my chest, just below my collarbone. The force of the bullet spins me backward, slamming my shoulder into the black sand.
"Callum!" Gemma screams, her voice tearing through the chaos.
I gasp, the air completely knocked out of my lungs. I try to raise the Sig Sauer, but my left arm refuses to respond. The tactical vest stopped the penetration, but the kinetic force of the rifle round bruised my ribs to the bone and temporarily paralyzed the muscle.
The fourth mercenary steps forward, raising his rifle to finish the job.
Before he can pull the trigger, three sharp, deafening cracks echo across the beach.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The mercenary jerks violently, three dark holes appearing in the center of his tactical vest. He collapses face-first into the sand, his rifle clattering uselessly against the bumper of the SUV.
I force my head up, my vision blurring with pain.
Gemma is kneeling in the black sand.
She is holding the Glock 19 with both hands. Her arms are locked straight out in front of her, the barrel smoking slightly in the freezing air. She isn't shaking. She isn't hesitating.
She shifts her aim, the muzzle of the weapon tracking directly toward the twisted metal of the plane wreck.
Silas is standing in the doorway of the fuselage.
He has pulled a heavy, silver revolver from his overcoat. He is aiming it directly at my chest, his face twisted in a mask of absolute hatred.
He is fast. He is a professional.
But Gemma is faster.
She pulls the trigger.
The bullet hits Silas dead center in the chest. The impact throws him backward into the dark interior of the aluminum fuselage. He hits the metal floor with a heavy, echoing crash.
The beach falls completely silent, save for the howling wind.
Gemma doesn't lower the gun. She keeps it aimed at the dark opening of the plane wreck for three agonizing seconds, waiting for movement.
Nothing moves.
She drops the weapon into the sand and scrambles across the few feet separating us.
"Callum," she gasps, dropping to her knees beside me. Her hands are frantic, tearing at the heavy fabric of my winter coat, searching for the wound. "Callum, look at me."
I force my eyes to focus on her face. She is terrified, her dark hair plastered to her cheeks by the wind and the rain.
"I’m here," I manage to say, my voice a harsh, wet rasp.
"You’re shot," she cries, her fingers finding the massive dent in the ceramic plate of my tactical vest. She presses her hand against it, her breathing ragged. "Oh god, the plate stopped it. It didn't go through."
"I told you," I whisper, reaching up with my right hand to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. "I am not going to die."
She lets out a broken, breathless sob, collapsing forward against my uninjured shoulder. She buries her face in my neck, her arms wrapping tightly around me.
I close my eyes, wrapping my good arm around her waist, holding her against me in the freezing wind.
The sand is cold. My chest is burning. The bodies of the men who tried to take her from me are scattered across the beach.
I have spent eight years operating in the dark. I have killed more men than I can count. I have lived my entire life expecting it to end violently on a desolate stretch of dirt exactly like this one.
But as I lie in the black sand, holding the woman who just burned an empire to the ground to save my life, I realize the truth.
The ghost is finally dead.
And I am ready to live.