by Kaylea Cross
She was silent a moment as she absorbed that. “What about the others?”
“Tom’s on his way, and the other two guys on the team should be here any minute.” Fuckload of good any of them would do Hunt and Khalia though.
“What can I do?” she asked, steel in her voice.
After the way she’d dropped him like a live grenade six months ago the offer shouldn’t have meant much to him. Except it did, and more than he’d ever let her know. “Alert me if you get any Intel that might be of use?”
“I’m on it.”
And damned if those three little words didn’t make him feel better even under these supremely shitty circumstances. When Claire sank her teeth into something she was like a bulldog, wouldn’t let go until she’d got what she wanted. Knowing she was on this took an invisible weight off his shoulders. “Thanks.”
“Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
A wry smile tugged at his mouth. “So you do still care.”
A huffing sound, and he had no trouble imagining the annoyed expression he knew was on her face. “Gage, I mean it. No bullshit heroics or anything.”
Ellis and Dunphy’s SUV came into view down the street near where the police had blocked off traffic. He stuck out an arm to flag them down. “Gotta do what I can.”
“Gage—”
“Have to go now. Talk to you later.”
“Gage, wait, there’s—!”
Ignoring the urgency in her voice he disconnected as the boys pulled up behind his vehicle. Ellis stepped out of the passenger seat and pulled off his Oakleys, taking in the scene with a single glance. “Shit, it’s like Mumbai all over again.”
“No, it’s worse,” Gage corrected. “More shooters this time and so far they’re better organized.” How the fuck had they found Khalia in so short a time? He and Hunt had been careful last night. Nobody had followed them, Gage was positive.
Tom’s vehicle passed through the police barricade and sped toward them, stopping behind the second SUV with a screech of tires. The driver’s side door popped open and Tom jumped out. He ripped off his shades and stared at the burning spectacle before him. “Fuck me,” he muttered. His hazel gaze shifted to Gage. “Nothing further?”
“Nope.”
Tom set his hands on his hips and shook his head as he stared at the burning hotel. “I can’t goddamn believe this. Shit, it’s gotta be hell on Hunt. Especially this soon after Scottie…”
“Yeah.” Tom had said what they were all thinking, but the back of Gage’s neck prickled at the thought of being trapped in that burning building with active shooters hunting him yet again.
They were all quiet a moment as the gravity of the situation sunk in. This shit was fucked up, any way you looked at it. The ground floor exits were eerily inactive now. “No one’s come out of there for the past few minutes,” Gage said finally, his gut sinking.
Tom flashed him a sharp look and narrowed his eyes. “Hunt’ll get out.”
Well if anyone could get out of that deathtrap, it was Hunter. And Gage hoped like hell his friend and Khalia found a way.
With a nod he turned to Ellis and Dunphy. “Grab your weapons and med kits. We’ll get in position and each take an exit so we’re ready for them when they come out.”
Up on the fifth floor Hunter burst through the hotel room’s door into the hallway—
And crawled straight into hell.
Through the artificial darkness cast by the choking smoke he could just make out the orange glow of flames at the end of the hallway to the left. The sights, sounds and smells instantly transported him back to that burning ministry building in Quetta.
For a brief moment he was trapped in that memory as he and Scottie fought their way toward the staircase that led to the roof. Images flashed through his mind at high speed. The sound of the mob outside the building walls. The desperate run to safety with no backup in sight. The rest of the team herding the diplomats up to the roof. Scottie slumped on the floor in a pool of blood. Him hauling his buddy over his shoulder and pounding up the steps to the rooftop, praying the evac would be in time, that Scottie would make it if Hunter could just get him out fast enough.
A hand on his lower leg snapped him back to the present, unfreezing him. Khalia.
Move, asshole. With the wet cloth pressed over his mouth and nose, he laid flat on the debris-strewn carpet and took stock of their options. He was on his belly, braced on his forearms and she was right behind him. He couldn’t risk trying to run the gauntlet of flames on the left, even though it meant the only remaining exit probably had shooters waiting for them. No telling how fast and where the flames were spreading to, and they had less than a minute to get out of here before the smoke suffocated them both.
Over the shriek of the fire alarm and the pounding of his heart he heard Khalia coughing, felt the convulsive grip of her hand around his right ankle, and made a snap decision. He turned right and began to belly-crawl down the hallway. Nobody came at them and he didn’t see or sense anyone else in the corridor. His eyes were streaming so much that he had to grope his way along, using the wall to orient himself.
Khalia stayed right with him. Steeling himself against the sounds of her gasping coughs he kept crawling forward, intent on getting to the exit. Only another thirty yards or so, though it seemed like a thousand. Another ten yards and a few choked breaths later, the smoke got to him too. Deep, wracking coughs took hold as the toxic fumes clogged his lungs. Blind, gasping, he forced himself to crawl faster, prepared to bodily drag Khalia out of there if necessary. He’d already lost Scottie despite his best efforts to save him. He wasn’t losing Khalia too.
His right hand felt along the wall as he moved closer to that unseen exit, hoping like hell it was clear. Already he was lightheaded, his brain setting off its low oxygen alarm. His lungs burned, the exertion sapping his muscles of strength. He was running on full auto mode now, nothing but survival instinct propelling him forward. Then Khalia faltered. He felt her hand drop from his leg. Hunter swept one arm back and managed to snag her forearm. She gripped him like a lifeline, quickly transferring her grip to his ankle as he kept going.
He couldn’t see shit. The exit had to be close now. He stretched his arm out to feel for the door, hit empty air. Pushing his trembling muscles onward, he made another sweep. Nothing. Fucking hell, where was that goddamn door?
Debris on the carpet dug into his elbows and belly. Khalia’s hand remained firm around his ankle, a constant reminder that she was counting on him to find a way out. He flung his right arm out again and this time his fingertips met the plaster of the end wall. Forcing his eyes open to slits in the dense smoke he reached up and found the metal latch on the door. God only knew what was waiting for them on the other side, but he couldn’t afford to hesitate. He was almost out of air.
Dropping the damp cloth that was doing jack all at this point, he yanked his pistol from the waistband at the small of his back as he turned the handle and shoved the door open with a grunt.
It swung open easily. A wash of cool, comparatively clean air hit him. When no one shot at them he reached back for Khalia, grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her through the opening. The moment she cleared the jambs he dragged her sideways to lie behind him and slammed the heavy door shut with one foot. They collapsed together there in the stairwell, heaving and coughing like a couple of drowning victims.
Hunter forced his head up, wiped at his watering eyes to see what the hell they were facing. No flames below in the stairwell as far as he could tell from this angle, and the smoke was much thinner here, curling in a thick layer that hugged the ceiling and left the bottom foot or so near the floor relatively clear.
He rolled onto his side to get a look at Khalia. “Okay?” he wheezed.
She dropped the soot-stained washcloth she was holding and kept coughing, managed a nod. Her face was streaked with grime and blood oozed from little cuts in her forearms, but otherwise she didn’t seem hurt besides the smo
ke inhalation.
“Keep low,” he told her, stopped to hack a few times to clear his lungs. “Smoke’s still bad enough to do damage here.” Flipping back onto his hands and knees, he gripped his weapon and started for the edge of the stairs. Other than the fire alarm, he didn’t hear anything. No shouts, no pounding of feet. Didn’t bode well. There should’ve been plenty of other people scrambling to get out of the building.
He’d just started down the first set of stairs when he heard running footsteps. An instant later a spray of bullets gave him his answer. He jerked back a split second before they slammed into the concrete wall less than a foot from his head. With a mental curse he reared back to shove Khalia into the corner between the wall and emergency exit door. She grabbed hold of his sides and froze with a blurted, “Oh, shit.”
A chilling stillness followed the shots. He could feel her tensed up against his back but she reached behind her and withdrew the semi-auto Hunter had given her, aimed it with both hands over his shoulder. Ready to fight her way out and kill if necessary. A surge of pride swept through him because he knew just how foreign a concept it was to her.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, still sprawled out on the cold concrete. They couldn’t stay here in the stairwell with the smoke thickening and the fire encroaching on their position. Khalia didn’t have the training to help him eliminate the shooters and they certainly couldn’t go back through the emergency door into that deathtrap of a hallway.
That left him the only option of clearing this goddamn stairwell to give him and Khalia a fighting chance at escape. “Stay put. I’ll yell once it’s safe. When you move, hug the ground and keep your head down.”
“Ok-kay,” she stammered. “Please be careful.”
Since there was nothing he could say to reassure her, he didn’t answer. Squeezing her leg once in a gesture meant to give her encouragement, he hugged the wall and inched forward. He was willing to bet the shooters weren’t trained in taking a stairwell the way he was, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. Unfortunately, fuckwads like them seemed to have a knack for getting lucky in close quarters.
Creeping low and slow, he peered over the lip of the staircase to check the place where the lower landing made a ninety degree turn and disappeared from view. No one there. He eased forward with his weapon up and ready, wishing he had a rifle instead. Thankfully Khalia stayed where he’d left her, giving him one less thing to worry about.
At last he reached the bottom of the first staircase. The air here was clearer than at the top. He drew in a full breath, stifled a cough as his lungs attempted to expel more smoke. The minimal sound that emerged triggered an immediate response. A burst of bullets smacked into the wall below him and pinged off the metal railing. Hunter swore and readied himself, bracing for the attack he knew was coming. He heard the shuffle of feet, caught sight of the muzzle end of the rifle as it appeared around the corner.
The second the man’s head came into view, Hunter opened fire. His shot hit the guy in the side of the head and dropped him like a sack of sand. The rifle clattered to the ground.
“Safir? Safir!” The frantic shout rose up from below.
Hunter shifted his attention to the AK, lying there for the taking in its dead owner’s hands. Only twelve stairs separated him from increased firepower and his best shot at evening the odds. If he was quick enough he might be able to get it. He leaned forward to make a lunge for it and heard the heavy footfalls racing up the steps below him. At least two men, maybe more.
Shit.
He snapped up into a better firing position and took a slow, deep breath. This time the shooters didn’t wait for visual contact to start shooting. Their weapons barked, a hail of bullets sprayed the lower stairwell. Bits of concrete and plaster exploded in a hail of white around him. He bit the inside of his cheek and covered a grunt when he felt a hot sting in the back of his left calf. A cold, deadly resolve came over him.
Fuck. This. He was not going down like this. Not with Khalia waiting helpless behind him.
Blood pumping fast, he stayed in position and rode out the initial barrage, forcing himself not to move and maintain the pitiful cover the bend in the stairs and metal railing provided him. Time screeched to a halt. The men were still coming; he could feel the subtle vibrations of their boots on the steps. They were still firing, rushing at him headlong when the first one appeared below. Hunter took aim and hit him twice in the chest. The guy fell back but didn’t stay down, and Hunter realized the assholes were wearing ballistic vests.
He eased forward a couple of inches to get a better line of sight and fired again with a head shot. This time the round plowed into the first shooter’s forehead. The guy’s upper body dropped back where he lay, unmoving. A split second later an enraged cry split the relative quiet and another explosion of gunfire ripped into the stairs where Hunter waited. Wickedly sharp bits of concrete peppered his arms and legs, then he felt a heavy thud and couldn’t hold back the curse as one of the rounds buried itself in the back of his upper arm. Pissed off beyond belief, fighting through the pain, Hunter kept his sidearm raised with his good arm and started firing as soon as he detected motion below him.
One round hit the second attacker in the shoulder. He spun back out of sight and the muzzle of his weapon dropped. Hunter lunged forward, exploding down the stairs. Asswipe number two was picking himself off the floor, blood pouring from the wound in his shoulder. His head snapped around when he saw Hunter coming. In slow motion he started to raise the barrel of the AK, his eyes fixed on Hunter. Hunter let fly with a double tap, grazing the man’s temple. He hit the floor and Hunter didn’t hesitate. He sent a final round through the fucker’s brain and snatched up both fallen AKs, tossing his near empty pistol aside.
In the wake of the initial rush, the tide of adrenaline flooding his body died down a little, enough for him to become aware of the burn of the shrapnel and bullet wounds. Blood flowed down the back of his left arm and calf, warm and sticky. They burned like fucking hell. But he was still mobile, still in the fight. For the moment nobody else was coming at them and they had to keep moving.
Without taking his eyes off the next portion of the stairwell, he called up to Khalia. “We’re clear for now. Come quick but stay a few yards behind me, and keep down.” Because they had a lot of stairs left to take before they reached the ground floor and he had a gut feeling they weren’t in the clear yet.
Chapter Twenty
At the sound of Hunter’s voice Khalia closed her eyes for a second and sent up a silent prayer of thanks. She had no idea how he’d survived all that gunfire, or how she’d remained unscathed with all those bullets flying around. Pushing to her feet, she threw out a hand to steady herself when her legs wobbled. The inside of her chest burned from the smoke and her coughing had done little to clear her lungs. Her left hand gripped the railing, her right holding fast to the pistol. It felt strange against her palm but she wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger if she had to, lack of training or not.
A few unsteady steps down and she craned her head around to see Hunter and the two men lying crumpled on the floor. Bile rose in her throat. Her gaze swung from the bodies to Hunter, taking in the rifles and—
Hunter was bleeding.
“You were shot!” She rushed down the remaining steps, ignoring his muttered dismissal, her attention on the blood spilling down his upper arm and the back of his leg in scarlet rivulets.
“Don’t worry about it now, I’m fine,” he said gruffly, blocking her hand as she reached out to staunch the bleeding in his upper arm. “We’ve gotta move fast. Same drill, stay back and stay low. Come on.” He turned away from her and limped down the stairs, trailing blood behind him.
A door slammed open somewhere below them. Hunter dropped to one knee on the stairs and Khalia did the same. Heart in her throat, she waited there for a few tense seconds before she heard it. People coughing, a woman crying. Then shouting. More screams. The primal fear in them caused a visceral re
action deep inside her—an automatic and uncontrollable curling in her guts. Chills broke out across her cold skin, the hair on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end.
The clatter of panicked feet further down the stairwell had barely registered when the door banged open again and another gun opened fire. Hunter remained frozen in place ahead of her, his full attention riveted to the lower stairwell. Then he shifted slightly, the muscles across his back and shoulders tensing, and Khalia knew the assault was coming. She gripped the pistol in both hands and started to bring it upward when Hunter suddenly fired the rifle. Precise, controlled bursts of a few rounds each. A cold trickle of sweat rolled down her spine. She had to remind herself to breathe.
Hunter rose slightly from his crouch and went down a few steps to the landing, paused. Without looking back or giving any sort of signal he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Khalia forced herself to follow at a distance, the weight of the gun still a foreign sensation in her hands. Her left foot had just landed on the bottom step when Hunter yelled out.
“Khalia, get down!”
She dove onto the landing before the last syllable was out. Raising her eyes, she stared in horror at the carnage revealed before her. Blood everywhere. Splattered on the walls and the stairs and the floor. Bodies lay crumpled in the narrow stairwell. An elderly couple was curled around each other, the man on top of the woman as though he’d attempted to shield her in their final moments. Their eyes were still open, staring at each other in terror even in death.
The roar of gunfire jerked Khalia’s attention to Hunter. It drowned out the shouts and screams of the victims as the gunmen mowed down anyone left moving. Hunter returned fire.