by J. M. Madden
Aiden looked around his area. He heard scuffling off to his left.
Everyone okay?
He felt positive responses from both men, even though they didn’t say anything. That was enough. Crouching low, he circled the train car.
The first bullet took him in the left calf, the second shaved a slice off his left ear. Fuck! Rolling, he slammed to the ground beneath the train car he’d been circling. His calf screamed in agony, but he thought the bullet had gone straight through. Fumbling on his vest he ripped open a pocket on his chest. Pulling the strip of cloth from the pocket, he twisted to tie the fabric around his lower leg. Yep, two separate wounds. Good. It would stop bleeding in a few minutes if he stayed still. Searching for another cloth he held it to his streaming ear. It stung like a son of a bitch.
Aiden!
He rolled, positive he was losing his mind. Angela?
There was no more response after that, but he made sure to keep his mind open. Surely he hadn’t heard her screaming in his mind like he thought he had?
He let his men know what had happened but that he was okay, then he scanned what he could see from beneath his cover. He couldn’t see jack shit from under here, not with all the other train cars around. Apparently they had decided to ramp up the aggression.
Gunfire erupted to the north, then to the west, behind him and he hated not being with his team.
Hang tight, American. We are good.
Then a heavier, deeper shot echoed. He knew the sound of that weapon. Aiden looked around frantically, trying to see what had been struck. If by chance it was a body, that body was no longer living.
A heavy weight landed in the gravel right outside his train car, and Aiden looked around. There, lying with eyes wide open, was one of the Silverstone operatives. There was a sniper rifle a few feet away. Had this been his shooter? But who had taken him out?
Had to be Angela.
Respect and pride filled his heart. If she was willing to kill for him, and what they were working for, she was more woman than he ever could have dared hope for.
He lifted his leg for a quick examination. Yup, the bleeding was done. Still hurt like a sonofabitch but he could roll with it. Crawling out from beneath the car, he looked for his next target.
Angela seriously wished they had some type of communications devices. The men could talk to each other, but she was out in the cold, so to speak, and it was pissing her off.
Fontana was apparently having the time of his life mixing it up with three guys to the east. They were doing fancy ju jitsu or some shit, their bodies spinning and kicking faster than her eyes could follow. Everyone seemed enhanced to her, moving faster than should have been possible.
Aiden was straight beneath her and several yards forward. It had been pure luck that she’d gotten the drop on the sniper that winged him. The man had been too impatient to make sure he’d secured his kill, and it had resulted in his own death. She felt no remorse at having taken his life.
Fontana’s group was moving too fast to try to take one of them out. She scanned the lot, looking for a target. The black SUVs kept pulling her attention back to them and she wasn’t sure why. They were completely blacked out inside and even through the night vision scope she couldn’t see anything, which was strange. Panning right, she looked for Wulfe.
The big German was nowhere to be seen. She panned back and forth several times, looking for targets, but none popped out at her. All of the fighting was close contact, too close for her to chance a shot.
It seemed like the men were trying to take Aiden’s group alive. Only the sniper had used his firearm so far.
She waited on her perch, trying to identify who was in the most danger. Right this second it seemed to be Fontana, because he had so many against him. Aiden must have sensed the danger his friend was in because he set off at a limping jog toward his teammate’s location. There were shouts and one of the men fighting Fontana turned to face Aiden’s assault. For a solid two minutes it was a flurry of punches and spinning kicks as the men tried to take each other out. Aiden moved faster than she’d ever seen a man move. Then the man fighting Aiden faltered. Within seconds Aiden shifted to his back, wrapped his arm around the man and snapped his neck.
Fontana took a heavy hit to the ribs with an iron pipe one of the mercenaries had found and it doubled him over. Then the second merc moved in, long Bowie knife flashing in the light. He took a swipe at Fontana and it hit true and blood went flying.
Angela tightened her grip on the gun as she saw Fontana go down, the merc on top of him. Again, there was no shot and Aiden had engaged with another mercenary. Why did they seem to be multiplying?
Swinging her scope around she looked at the SUVs. Fuck, where had the third one come from? Even as she watched a four man squad disembarked from the vehicle, as well as a woman in high heels. What the fuck? Was this the woman Aiden had talked about?
Without giving the men a chance to disappear she targeted the point man, expelled her breath and pulled the trigger. He went down, motionless. The other three men scattered but the woman didn’t seem concerned. She just stood there, as if daring Angela to take a shot. So she did.
The shot was true but it didn’t hit. The woman lifted a hand, then waved it away as if she were flinging water from her fingers. Angela was confused for a moment, then the situation clarified in her mind.
Oh fuck.
Aiden!!!
He heard the scream in his mind clearly and he got the picture, but it didn’t seem possible. He shared with the other two men and Fontana hesitated. The merc he was fighting took the advantage, shoving a knife through Fontana’s shoulder. The merc pushed it through with his body weight behind it. Fontana screamed.
Aiden pulled his Sig and shot the guy he was fighting, because the threat level had just jumped. Fuck worrying about being noisy. They were in a bad situation right here and it’d just gotten worse.
Fontana’s aggressor took two shots to go down, then Aiden added a third for good measure.
“Are you okay, buddy?”
Fontana nodded. “Get it out,” he gasped.
Aiden jerked the knife from his shoulder, then put pressure on the streaming blood.
Wulfe?
There was no response from the German. Maybe he was just busy, but Aiden wasn’t even receiving any visual feed.
Angel! He blasted, targeting her mind on a thin focus. Do you see Wulfe?
A picture came back to him, a little choppy, like a TV screen with static, of Wulfe engaged with three men. Then Wulfe going down under the sheer weight of the attack. He felt Angela fire another shot, but none of the men even moved. She hadn’t bluffed anyone.
The blood under his hand was slowing, but there was no way Fontana would recover enough to be usable within the next few minutes.
Angel! Get down here!
There was a final echoing rifle shot and he hoped, prayed that she heard him because he was going to need backup.
“Can you get up?”
Fontana rolled forward, groaning in pain. Sorry, buddy. Aiden wedged his left arm under Fontana’s good shoulder and got him vertical, leaving his gun hand free. Fontana sagged. Then seemed to level out as Aiden began guiding him toward the car. If he could get him to the car Angela could drive him out and he and Wulfe could distract the Collaborative.
Then suddenly, their world spun. Wulfe had gone down. Even as he continued to drag Fontana Aiden tried to feel Wulfe, but there was a gaping black void. There had been pain first, then everything had gone dark. He was still alive, though, even if he wasn’t responding.
Dodging train cars, Aiden tried to come up with a plan, but they were simply being overwhelmed. The other side had greater numbers, and they hadn’t even engaged with their heavy hitter yet. If it was indeed Priscilla Mattingly he’d seen in Angela’s vision, they were all fucked. The woman was a textbook psychopath, and she’d worked for the Collaborative for years. They’d gone missing on her watch, so Aiden was sure she had it out f
or his team.
They’d almost reached the car when he was tackled from the side. Fontana stayed down, but Aiden rolled to his feet, gun in hand. He fired three rounds center mass before his clip emptied, but it didn’t even seem to faze the giant coming at him. He’d seen this man before, at the camp, and knew he was one of the Bitch in Blue’s personal guards. And he was just as brutal as his mistress.
The merc came at him with hard-pounding fists. Aiden’s gut sense helped him to dodge most, but not all of the hits. Then one clipped him in the chin and the world spun. He went down hard, his ears ringing, but the hired gun didn’t even let him catch a breath. Aiden felt himself being jerked up, his weight seemingly nothing to the mercenary holding him. Kicking his right leg out Aiden connected with the man’s balls, and the grip loosened. He hit the ground hard, again, as a crash of sound hit his ears at the same time. Blood blossomed on the mercenary’s chest, in spite of the flak jacket he wore. Then a second blossom right next to it, then a third as Angela racked the bolt back and shot him again, this time in the forehead. The man crashed to the ground, unmoving.
Then Angela was right in front of him, her mouth moving but no sound coming out. She stabbed a finger at Fontana, staggering to his feet. Then she jerked on Aiden’s tactical vest and he figured out that she wanted him to move.
Getting his legs beneath him, Aiden blinked to clear his head, ringing now taking the place of silence between his ears. He reached out and grabbed Fontana then they dragged each other toward the car, Angela in front of them running point, her rifle ready to fire.
They were within feet of the car when she was tackled from the side. She didn’t even have a chance to swing her weapon around, the man had moved so fast. Faster than any man Aiden had ever seen. Angela crashed to the ground, her head smacking sharply against the gravel. Then she was still.
Aiden cried out and lunged toward her attacker. The man stood a few feet away, grinning at having taken her out so easily. With an unholy yell, he attacked the mercenary, motivated by desperation and fury rather than physical ability. His head was still swimming, but there was no way he was going to allow anyone to assault her that way.
The man seemed surprised that Aiden had rallied, and that was the only thing working for Aiden. Pulling a six inch knife from his boot, he slammed it into the man’s neck, literally going for the jugular. He hit the first time, but he knew if the merc had any healing ability at all, it needed to be a more complete injury. Something his body couldn’t fix before it bled out. Twisting the knife as he withdrew it, Aiden gathered his strength and slammed it in again. The mercenary was too busy trying to hold in his blood and made no move to avoid the strike, or the twisting retreat. Aiden drew back a third time, and tried to slam the knife through the opposite side of the man’s neck.
He was dead when he hit the ground, he just didn’t know it yet.
Two down and maybe three or four more, if he was keeping his numbers straight.
He went down on his knees next to Angela. She was blinking up into the night, obviously trying to get her bearings. Blood pooled beneath her, but he thought it was a scalp wound, which always bled excessively. “You okay, Angel?”
She blinked and opened her mouth. “Thin’ so. He came out of nowhere.”
“Yeah, enhanced speed. He was a blur. You took that tackle like a champ, though.”
She made a noise in her throat, kind of a snort, then held her hand out. Gripping it he pulled her vertical into a sitting position. She swayed a bit but shook it off. “I’m good. Pull me up.”
Though he wasn’t especially steady on his own feet, he did as she requested. Fontana was leaning against a train car, looking like death warmed over. His blond hair was mussed and wild, and he held his injured arm with his good arm.
Our team isn’t doing real great, Will. We’re all sporting injuries and we know there are at least two or three more mercs before we even see Mattingly.
All things he knew, but there was nothing else to do. I think they have Wulfe.
Fontana looked toward the east and nodded.
We don’t leave men behind.
Fontana nodded again and pushed vertical. It was a Navy creed not to leave men behind and even if they had to die trying they would do their best to get Wulfe back. Aiden palmed one of his guns and drew in three heavy breaths, then nodded.
Angela moved away to pick up her rifle. The scope was shattered, but everything else seemed fine. She chambered a round and held it low and ready. Just a small lift would bring it horizontal.
When they were ready, Aiden gave another nod. They moved toward where Angela had parked the car, but she halted them before they got there. With hand motions she let him know that the targets were approximately thirty feet north.
Aiden knew they were in a dire situation. None of them were a hundred percent. He looked at Angela, her blue eyes calm as she waited for direction. Fontana had stopped to lean against another train car. Aiden knew the man was hurting. He could feel the waves of pain battering at his shields.
He motioned to the ladder on the side of the train car to Angela and she nodded. Slinging the weapon over her shoulder she climbed, and he hoped she had a decent sightline. Aiden gave her a few seconds to get settled before he began to creep around the end of the car. Fontana brought up the rear and they made steady progress until they had a view of the big black SUVs. Aiden motioned Fontana down and they surveyed the area. They couldn’t see anything.
Wulfe!
No response. He was still unconscious.
“Why don’t you rats just come out and make my life easier?”
Chapter Twenty
Chills chased down Aiden’s spine at the sound of the woman’s voice, and he was almost immediately struck with a vision. Wulfe was lying in front of her, blood covering his face, and she was leaning over him running a finger across his cheek, making a swirling pattern in the red. It was disgusting and so typical of her. Was she broadcasting that?
His gaze connected with Fontana’s and the other man shook his head.
Right now we have a chance. No surrender.
Fontana was right. If Angela could get off a good shot or two, and they could take out the leftover mercs, there was a slim chance they’d make it out of this alive.
“This one’s not doing well, I’m afraid.”
She broadcast another vision, this time of a slim stiletto knife slicing down Wulfe’s cheek.
The heavy reverberation of a rifle blast echoed through the train yard. Because he was still connected to her he could see the bullet on a direct trajectory for her head, but time seemed to slow and she held up a hand in front of the bullet.
It stopped. Then fell harmlessly to the ground.
Icy fear chilled his heart as he saw the ease of her power. Had she seriously just stopped a bullet?
“The longer you take the more holes he’s going to have…” the woman said in a dreamy, singsong tone.
She began cutting down his other cheek. Aiden knew that Wulfe would recover, given time, but it burned his balls that he couldn’t do anything for him. He wracked his brain, trying to come up with a way to get them out of the situation. Even if Fontana got pissed enough to blow every light, and he was able to strike her mental shields, he doubted it would be enough to deter her. Bullets weren’t working. Maybe if Fontana and Angela worked in concert it would be enough to take her out.
Then one of the mercenaries he hadn’t accounted for entered Mattingly’s line of vision. He held Angela in his arms with a knife at her slender neck.
“Oh, isn’t this interesting,” Priscilla murmured just loud enough for him to hear. “Detective Holloway, what a pleasure.”
Aiden could have thrown up. The blood froze in his veins at the words he had feared most. How had she been taken? She’d been yards behind them and on top of one of the cars.
It was one thing to attack he and his men. Angela didn’t deserve this. Fury began to build in his gut.
He glanced at Fontan
a. The former SEAL had a resigned look on his face, as if he understood that the game had damn near been lost, but he nodded his head. Whatever Aiden planned to do he would have backup.
“Maybe now the rats will come out of hiding. Come on, boys, let’s see your faces.”
Aiden gritted his teeth at taking an order from her, but he set his distaste aside and walked forward.
The woman’s voice had come from their left, so he headed in that direction. Within just a few yards, he saw her. And his blood began to boil.
Angela was on her knees, the mercenary’s hand fisted in her glorious hair, her body arched back, a knife at her throat. Her weapon was nowhere to be seen. There was blood flowing from a nasty cut on her eyebrow, and it was swelling with a bruise. She also had a split lip, but there was fury in her glittering eyes, and he knew if she got the chance to do something she would do it. The merc’s black-bladed knife never wavered, though, and he had no doubt she would die in a nanosecond if Priscilla ordered it.
Even from across the dim lot he could see Mattingly’s cold blue eyes glittering feverishly. “Ah, there you are. And where’s the other one?”
Aiden felt Fontana join him. Two mercenaries in black moved up beside them and took their weapons.
For a moment the woman’s eyes hardened. “Do you have any idea of the magnitude of difficulty you brought down on my head when you escaped?”
Aiden thought it was a rhetorical question until she lifted a brow at him. “No, ma’am.”
“No, ma’am,” she repeated. “I was in that damn jungle for weeks trying to track you down. I’ve never lost any subjects. You put a huge blemish on my record.”