Chapter 95
Adam
The hallway was a warzone—smoke, blood, the crack of rifles tearing holes through the sterile white walls.
But all I saw was Raine.
She staggered under the weight of a half-conscious man, her ribs screaming, her jaw clenched, and still she kept moving. Every instinct in me wanted to drop my weapon, scoop her up, and carry her out of this hell myself.
Instead, I did the only thing I could.
I made sure no one got within ten feet of her.
My Glock barked steady, each shot controlled, each hostile dropping before they could angle on her. Hawk laid down cover fire like thunder, Blade’s knife flashed silver death in the strobe of muzzle flare, Logan moved with grim efficiency, the woman slung over his shoulder like she was weightless.
We were bleeding seconds.
“Russ!” I barked into comms.
“Vehicles ready! Boone’s holding the alley—don’t ask me how long!”
“Copy. We’re coming out hot.”
I grabbed Raine’s arm as she staggered past, steadying her just long enough to meet her eyes. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, blood smeared across her cheek, but her gaze burned—steady, fierce, unbreakable.
“Move with me,” I ordered, low and hard.
She nodded once, no hesitation. God, I’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Go!” I roared.
The team surged as one. Hawk’s rifle cracked a wall of lead, Blade covered our flank, Logan cleared the hall ahead, and Russ’s calm voice guided us like a lifeline.
We burst through the rear doors into the night. Boone was there, crouched behind the wheel of the SUV, an unlit cigar clamped between his teeth, his shotgun barking flames into the alley. “About damn time!”
“Load them!” I snapped.
Logan shoved the woman into the first vehicle, Hawk hauling his unconscious burden next. Raine and I dragged the man together, heaving him into the back seat while Blade slammed the doors shut behind us.
More shots cracked from the street. Reinforcements. Heavier weapons. We didn’t have minutes left—we had seconds.
“Go, go, go!” I roared.
Engines roared alive. Boone floored it, tires screaming against asphalt. Russ’s SUV followed tight, Hawk hanging half out the window to return fire.
The lab shrank behind us, muzzle flashes sparking in the dark, but I didn’t look back. Not once.
Because Raine was beside me, her chest heaving, her hand gripping mine like it was the only thing tethering her to the world.
And I swore to myself—whoever built this machine, whoever dared use human lives like cargo—had just made themselves my personal war.
And Adam Stoker didn’t lose wars.