by Joan Swan
“We’re here . . .” She drew a raspy breath. “To take you . . . home. It’s me, Cash. It’s . . . Keira.”
In the split second his mind stopped working, a gun found its way to his head. Then a male voice to his ears. “Drop the weapon.”
“Teague,” the woman said. “Turn on your flashlight.”
The man holding some type of handgun at Cash’s head flipped on a light, the beam pointed toward the floor. Cash assessed the scene quickly—two men, one woman, military camouflage, heavy-duty weaponry, night vision.
“Look at her.” The man tipped the light toward the woman’s chest, illuminating her face.
She flinched, turned her head to the side. “Teague,” she snapped. “Get that out of my eyes.”
Cash shifted to glance at her profile from his position behind her. The first thing he focused on was the freckles. A trail across her cheek, fading as they reached her cheekbone. Then that small nose. Those long black lashes.
A cold stream of shock trickled through his chest.
He ignored the weapon still pointed at him, lifted the rifle over her head, swiveled, and pushed her against the wall with the gun across her shoulders.
She lifted a hand to rub at her throat and cracked her lids, squinting against the light. Deep, smoky-blue irises peeked out.
“Oh, God,” Cash murmured. “Oh, my God.”
Keira. It really was Keira.
He released her, dropped the weapon, and stepped back, bumping into a hard body behind him.
“Wh-wh—?” What did he even want to ask? Where did he even start? “What—? When—? How—?”
Keira’s grin glimmered and that lopsided dimple appeared. “That’s a lot to answer at the moment. Can we get out of here first? I have the same questions for you.”
A sound grumbled out of his chest. Emotions mingled into an indescribable sensation. He swept her into his arms and held her as tight as the muscles in his arms allowed.
“Mateo,” he whispered into her hair. “My . . . my son . . .”
“He’s fine. And he’s safe.”
Gratitude swamped his throat. He swallowed hard and eased back. “There’s another man, a prisoner—”
“Q,” she said. “We know. The other half of our team is getting him.”
“Thank you.” He breathed a sigh of relief, turned, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “I’m sorry for everything,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”
She hugged him back, a quick, fierce squeeze, before prying him away. “Don’t you dare make me cry in front of all these guys. We have to move or we may not get out of here at—”
A shhh-thump sounded down the hall, coming toward them. Then a bouncing clink-clink-clink ending ten feet away. Then . . .
Ka-boom.
The grenade registered in Keira’s mind a millisecond before it exploded. Everything slowed to quarter-time.
Cash swiveled, putting his body between hers and the threat and shoved her toward the floor, then came down over her. “Grenaaaaaade!”
She hit the concrete hard. Knees and palms first, followed by her chest and belly. Cash on top of her. Before the brain-shattering roar had ceased, Cash was on his feet, dragging her up.
He jogged backward, pulling her down the hallway in retreat; Teague and Seth were already ahead of them. With the weapon still in one hand, her arm in the other, Cash fired in the direction the grenade had come from.
Teague turned a corner and waited until they caught up. He pulled an extra pair of night goggles from his fatigue jacket pocket and handed them to Cash, who pulled them on and adjusted them like a pro.
“Which way out?” Teague’s question sounded muffled to Keira’s still-ringing ears. He had his map out, shining his mini-flashlight on the maze.
“This way.” Cash took a step, but Keira pulled him back.
“No. We came in through tunnels that haven’t been used in decades.” She pulled out her own map and found her fingers numb and clumsy and handed it to Cash. “Here.”
While the men looked at the map, Keira tuned into her senses, but if any voices sounded in her ears they were drowned by the continuing ring.
Cash’s gaze skipped between the map and the hallways. “I thought these were a myth.”
“Mateo told us about them,” Keira said. “He’s the reason we have this map. The reason we got in. But that’s a story for the outside. Let’s get out of here before they decide to throw another grenade.”
“Uh . . .” Seth peered around the edge of the rock. “Too late.”
Shhhhhhh-thump-thump. The device bounced off the cement floor, hit the rock wall, and ricocheted. Clink-clink-clink-clink. It rolled to a stop at Cash’s feet.
A collective gasp seemed to draw the air from the passageway.
In a move worthy of a hockey pro, Cash smacked the explosive with the end of Keira’s M14. It zigzagged back down the hallway. Clink—against one wall. Click—against the opposite wall. Ka-boom. Several terrorized shouts followed the fireball.
“Bull’s-eye.” Cash grinned, and Keira turned five years old again. Same five-year-old flippy stomach, same five-year-old fluttering heart. This was her big brother.
“That’s a nice exiting remark,” Teague said, leading the way through the corridors, map in hand.
Boots and shouts echoed somewhere behind them.
“Pick up the pace.” Cash shoved Keira’s shoulder.
She pulled her Glock and glanced over her shoulder as she ran. Left, veer right, hard right, left. After that, Keira lost track. Had they come this far? If it weren’t Teague leading the way, she might question. But she’d walked through too many fires with this man. Trusted her life to him too many times to doubt now.
Footfalls came from the right as they approached another intersection. Teague ran through, but Seth didn’t make it. A body T-boned him from the other corridor. Keira skidded to a halt, anticipating followers. Another guard passed right in front of her. Before she could make any offensive move, Teague swung his M14 and hit a home run against the man’s neck. A loud snap, a grunt, and the guard pitched to the floor, face-first.
She followed the fight between Seth and the other guard. The men rolled on the cement, each with one arm extended overhead, battling for control of a handgun. Keira aimed at the pair. She was good with moving targets, but with this murky alien vision, both men in fatigues, both men wearing helmets with night vision, both men roughly the same size, she couldn’t tell who was who.
She concentrated, scanned the men for the smallest telltale sign. Then she saw it, the thigh holster. One man had it, one man didn’t. She aimed at the leg of the man without. Not as big a target as the chest, but she doubted her handgun would penetrate body armor.
“Drop it,” she yelled. “Drop your weapon!”
In the second she gave the enemy to respond, instead of ceasing his struggle, his free hand grappled for the nine-millimeter at Seth’s thigh and yanked it from its holster.
Keira fired. The man jerked, screamed, rolled off Seth. Lifted the handgun. Keira took aim at his head and squeezed her trigger. His head hit the cement. Arm fell to his side. Gun clattered against the concrete. Teague stepped in and swept up the weapon.
Peripherally, she registered Cash, standing off to the side, staring. Mixed emotions swirled from him like a hurricane. He wasn’t quite sure about all of them. All of this. Keira understood. Neither was she.
Keira dropped to one knee at Seth’s side. “Are you hit?”
“No.” He was breathing hard, his eyes wide and shining demon green in her night vision, his face splattered with blood. “No, I’m . . . okay.” He rolled to his feet. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
TWENTY
Luke’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest when he rounded the corner where he’d heard the last gunshots.
With his subgun up and scanning, he took in the murky green scene. The bodies on the ground. His heart iced over. “Ours or theirs?”
Not Keira. Please
not Keira.
“Theirs.” Teague’s voice.
A shallow breath puffed from his lungs. He didn’t lower the gun but relaxed his grip and scanned faces and body structure more closely. Cash’s civilian clothing registered, but Luke didn’t relax until he’d located Keira. In one piece. On her own two feet. Breathing.
Relief rolled up his throat.
“There’s more coming,” Kai said from behind him. “Let’s get out.”
“Keira—” Cash took hold of her arm. “What about Q?”
“He wasn’t in his cell,” Luke said. “And it had been tossed, like someone was looking for something.”
“Sonofabitch.” Cash dropped Keira’s arm; his gaze fell to the floor.
“Come on.” Luke stood to the side of the corridor to allow the others to pass, waving his gun. “Out. Go.” When Cash passed, Luke gripped his upper arm. “You, wait.”
He popped open his fatigue jacket, slid his arms out, jerked at the straps of his vest, and pulled it over his head.
Keira turned. “What are you doing?”
“He needs this more than I do.”
Her expression softened for an instant before solidifying again. She nodded once.
“I’m not taking his—” Cash started.
“Put it on, Cash.” Her voice took on an impatient bite.
He followed orders, scowling with discontent. Luke didn’t blame the guy. If the situation were reversed, he wouldn’t want to take another soldier’s vest, either.
Only ten yards away from the entrance to the tunnel, the familiar boot-beat sounded from both ahead and behind.
Trapped. Their only chance was to beat the guards to the entrance.
A group of four came into sight ahead of them, at equal distance to the exit as their team. Luke yelled, “Go, go, go!”
Fifty feet from the entrance, the enemy quad skidded to a stop. One of them counted, “One, two, three.” All four drew their arms back.
The future fast-forwarded through Luke’s mind—the toss, the explosion, the carnage.
His feet pushed, legs pumped. He opened his arms and slammed into Keira, Cash, and Seth. They, in turn, shoved Mitch, Teague, and Kai into the mouth of the final tunnel, and out of the direct line of fire.
Still, that wouldn’t be enough. Not near enough.
Shhh-thump . . . shhh-thump . . . shhh-thump . . . shhh-thump sounded nearly simultaneously. Then a rain of clink-clink-clink. . . clink-clink-clink . . .
Luke’s stomach went cold. “Run!”
He sprinted past the exit tunnel’s opening, past his team, scrambling for traction on the cement floor. He dropped his weapon, set his stance wide, and stretched his arms overhead until he was a human X blocking the corridor.
The blast hit him with the force of a hurricane. Heat seared with the intensity of an inferno. He might not burn, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel like his skin was being peeled off his bones. One inch at a time.
Luke turned his face from the brunt of the hit, gritted his teeth, and tensed every muscle to keep himself in place. White-hot fire flashed with each explosion, blinding him. The roar of combustion drove into his ears, spearing his brain like twin knives. Then he heard nothing but an incessant thunder rolling through his head. Every inch of his body screamed with pain. His blood boiled in every vessel, right down to the smallest capillary. He fisted his hands, let out a yowl that rumbled up from the soles of his feet.
The only thing keeping him holding on was the fact that not one spark made it past him. His team—his family, his friends, the love of his life—was safe.
When the explosion ebbed, the fire found nothing to gnaw but cement, and the flames quickly died. As quickly as Luke’s energy evaporated.
His legs gave. He dropped to the ground, landed on the cement knees-first with a painful crack, then fell forward, turning his head just in time to avoid smashing every front tooth. His cheek hit the concrete instead, and a snap sounded near his ear. Pain radiated through the side of his face. A telltale signal of a cracked cheekbone, temple, or jaw. Which also verified what his body was already telling him—his powers had been drained.
“Luke!” Despite the urgency in Keira’s voice, it seemed to be filtered through a pillow. “Pick up your weapon. Luke!”
Distantly, pops echoed in his ears. Gunshots? The cement vibrated beneath his cheek. Footsteps?
Luke! Please! Fight!
He couldn’t tell if she was projecting, if he was reaching, or if he was just hallucinating. But it didn’t matter.
Holding his breath against the pain, he pushed up on his hands, his eyes scanning for the M14. Six inches out of reach. Six inches that may as well have been six miles.
He gritted his teeth, made one final push, and lunged for the gun.
A kick to the chest knocked him back. The kick of a bullet. An explosion ripped through the left side of his body. Followed by fire. His breath stuck in his lungs. His teeth locked together. All he could do was writhe.
Keira’s voice dragged his eyes open again. He didn’t know how much later. Seconds? Minutes? Couldn’t have been long, because the Castle’s high ceiling blurred gray-green in his night vision goggles.
She was babbling. Yelling one minute. Coddling the next. Leaning over him with an expression of such agony he was sure he had to be dying.
“Breathe, you idiot.” Keira tapped the side of his face as if trying to get him to wake up.
It worked. His lungs inflated, swamping him with a searing pain that forced a growl from the pit of his stomach.
“Come on, baby, fight. Do it for me. I need you.” Keira’s hands scraped through his hair, holding his head tight as she pressed her cheek to his. Whispering in his ear. Babbling again. “. . . we can be together . . .” “. . . we can be a family, have a family . . .” “. . . I can’t lose you . . .” “. . . we’ll find a way, Luke . . .”
He couldn’t make sense of anything. His brain faded in and out. Pain shot nausea into his gut.
“Teague!” The nervous edge to her voice was not reassuring. She pressed her hand against the left side of his chest, and another stab of pain cinched his lungs.
Teague bent over him, face etched with worry. “We don’t have time for this shit, Luke.”
“He’s bleeding bad.” Her voice came out low, as if she were sharing a secret, but shaky with fear.
“I can hear you.” Luke kept his teeth clenched against the pain. “I’m right here.”
Teague took a deep, troubled breath. He curled and released the fingers of both hands several times. “Heat,” he said. “You’re going to feel lots of heat. I’m not going to heal you. No time, I’m just going to stop the bleeding.”
“I’ll . . . take what I . . . can get.”
Teague replaced Keira’s palm with his own. He rested on one knee at Luke’s side, head bent in concentration. Keira stood, her weapon scanning one end of the hall, then swinging to the opposite side.
Luke’s vision blurred with the onslaught of lava flowing through his chest. But instead of pain, the fiery sensation brought relief. Within twenty seconds, Luke was pushing Teague’s hands away and struggling to sit up.
“Guess you’re feeling better.” Teague stood, put out a hand, and dragged Luke up by his good arm. “But getting you up that ladder without using that arm will be . . . entertaining.”
He couldn’t say he was feeling better, only that his mind had come back from a wasteland, but it was still working like garbage.
Shouts channeled down the corridor and pushed them into action. Teague pulled Luke’s good arm around his shoulders, and Keira covered their backs as they headed for the ladder. Pain lanced Luke’s shoulder, chest, ribs. His whole damn upper body.
By the time they reached the end of the tunnel, Luke had the strength of a rag doll and faded in and out of consciousness. Urgent orders drifted through his clouded mind, but he didn’t understand them. Keira continued to touch him, whisper, but he couldn’t process.
H
e gave his head a hard shake, hoping to clear it. Kai started up the shaft toward the exit. Then Seth. Then Mitch.
At the top, Kai lifted the door an inch and peered out, then grunted as he pried the door up and groaned when he tried to flip it back.
“Get out of the way, lightweight,” Seth said. “You’re gonna get hurt.”
Within seconds, the hatch laid wide open, stars glittering in the midnight-blue sky beyond, beckoning like a dream. Luke yearned to let go of all the physical and mental pain and just float into that tranquility.
But when Keira crossed the strap of her M14 over her chest, threw the weapon over her back, and looked at both Teague and himself with that stern warrior gaze, Luke knew there would be no tranquility in the near future. She curled her fingers around the first cold metal rung and said, “Hustle, guys.”
“Easier said than done.” Teague secured Luke against him with an arm at his waist, leaving one arm free to climb. “You’re gonna have to help me out here, Luke. Push with your legs, or those guards are gonna be climbing up our asses in about sixty seconds.”
Luke fisted his hand in the shoulder of Teague’s fatigue jacket, kept his injured arm tight to his side, and pushed with all the strength he had left in his legs for the awkward, treacherous climb. How he would trek across the desert back to the vehicles after this, he couldn’t imagine. But he’d worry about that when the time came, because by the sound of footsteps coming up behind them, they were about to go another round with those fucking guards.
They were halfway to the top when gunfire split the air. Bullets pinged off the metal, blew chunks of slate off the wall.
Teague turned into a rocket, jetting up the remaining steps, dragging Luke with him. Pain shot the length of his torso. Cut off his air.
Return shots from overhead burst in Luke’s ears, followed by multiple grunts and the immediate cessation of enemy fire.
“Grab him,” Teague called to the team above.
Oh, God, no. Don’t.
A myriad of hands dove into the hole. Luke tried to brace for the pain, but it did no good. He felt as if his arms were being torn out of their sockets. As if his ribs were being peeled away one by one.