Going In Blind_Brotherhood Protectors World

by Kris Norris

Fuck that.

  She’d never given up before, and she’d be damned if she’d give up, now. Whoever was in the room with her, obviously wanted to draw it out. Otherwise, she’d be dead. Lying on the floor beside Kent. Which meant there was still time. She couldn’t outmaneuver her opponent, but she had other abilities. If she could get them to talk, maybe distract them long enough, she could do…

  What?

  A smug chuckle. Right in front of her. She hadn’t even felt the air move, which meant the person wasn’t large. Surely not like Cannon or Hank or Russel. Even Sam, though slightly shorter, not quite as thick, registered whenever he’d moved around her. This person… It was as if they weren’t there, but not in a Special Forces kind of way. They were…small. Like her.

  Kill her, too... The whole place is gonna blow...

  It started as it usually did. The voices—Paul. Shawn. Voices she now recognized. Will was above her, pleading with her to stay with him. Stemming the bleeding. Then, he was falling—covering her body. Blocking out everything beyond his shoulder, but the flash of a hood. The hint of a smile. The glint of a gun. It wavered above her, muzzle pointed at her head, until flashes went off the in background. Streaks of yellow and white and orange as flames shot into the air.

  This is where it ended. Where her memories faded just like Kent’s life was fading. Only, this time, it continued. Someone was yelling—Paul, again. To get out. To leave them. That hooded face turned one last time—chestnut hair falling out from the edge. A flash of red lips and brown eyes. Of manicured nails—one just inside the trigger guard.

  Then, it was gone. Just the lingering scent of smoke. Of burning flesh and chemicals. A sweet fragrance that didn’t fit in.

  Addison inhaled, coming back to herself as she slumped against the wall. Somehow, she’d managed to stay on her feet. Brace herself as the flashback took hold. Given herself one last chance to fight. If she’d been on her knees or passed out, like she often was, she’d be dead. A bullet cracked through her skull. But she was standing. Not straight, but upright. Strong.

  The air moved next to her. How had she missed it before? It wasn’t much, but it was there. The whisper of breath. The rustle of fabric. The scent of something fruity—just like in her flashbacks…

  Perfume.

  It all made sense. Why she’d blocked it out. Why she’d assumed it had been one of the three men who’d pulled the trigger. She hadn’t wanted to believe it was true. That anyone could be that ruthless. Betray a person they cared about to that degree.

  But there it was. Staring her in the face. So bright and strong, even she couldn’t ignore it. See it through the curtain of darkness around her.

  Addison straightened—turned to face the person she knew was standing just off to her right. Anger burned across her skin, beading it with goosebumps. Will was dead. Her partner. Her best friend, and all because of the bitch standing behind her. The one who’d shot Kent. The love of her life. The only man who’d ever hold her heart. Ever feel like the other half of her soul.

  She was going to pay, even if it killed Addison.

  Addy kept her left hand curled around the rim of the small side table, her right on the wall for balance. “Hello, Grace.”

  A gasp. Yeah, she’d surprised the bitch. No doubt about it. Addison heard the woman exhale, take an involuntary step back, the slide of her arm lowering ever so slightly down her side.

  That’s all the opening Addy needed. All she knew she’d get. She swung her arm, taking the table with her. It connected with something hard—Grace’s body—then crashed to the ground. But beneath the clatter of wood splintering, of something breaking—she heard the unmissable thud of flesh hitting the floor.

  Grace was down.

  Addy took off. She didn’t remember much, but she remembered where the door was. That it had taken Kent two steps to reach it from the stairs. Three stairs, she thought he’d called out, though she wasn’t certain. She bounced off the doorframe then out of the cabin, taking three of her steps before leaping forward. She hit the ground hard, slightly lower than she’d anticipated, and nearly tripped. But she caught herself—managed to limp to her left then head for the side of the house. It was dark. She knew that much. Which evened the odds marginally. Grace could still see—might even have NVGs, or some kind of night vision scope—but at least the other woman wouldn’t be able to follow Addy without the aid of something.

  God, she hoped Kent hadn’t rigged a bunch of lights to switch on if someone ran down the side of his place. That she wasn’t making all these assumptions only to get picked off because she was never truly hidden.

  She couldn’t think about that, now. Couldn’t do anything other than concentrate on reaching the corner before the other woman made it out of the cabin. If she saw which way Addison had gone, there’d be little hope of escaping. Of helping Kent.

  And she needed to help him. Needed to believe he wasn’t dead. That there was still time. Time that was quickly ticking away as she finally reached the edge of the house, slipping quietly into some bushes as boots sounded on the porch. Pounded across the short space then down the stairs—there had been three—then stopped.

  Grace was trying to determine which way Addy had gone. Had she left evidence? Footprints? Broken branches. Couldn’t Spec Op soldiers tell if the grass had been touched? Something about dew patterns or pressure spots?

  But Grace wasn’t a Spec Op soldier. She was DEA. A fucking traitor. And for what? Money? Power? She’d killed her own lover without hesitation. That made her worse than any drug dealer Addison had busted.

  But—Grace could see. Sure, it was night—thankfully a new moon, according to Kent—so there wouldn’t be much ambient light. And if there was any kind of Karma at all, it would be overcast. Addy had heard distant rolls of thunder, but that didn’t mean it was cloudy, here. The mountains were notorious for unpredictable weather. It could be clear skies and a thousand stars above her, and she’d never know. But Grace would eventually adjust to the darkness. Overcome it. Addy could, too. She’d been living in the dark for eighteen months. Was intimately connected to it—if she’d had her cane. If she knew even a fraction of the layout.

  She stilled. She didn’t know the layout, but she knew Kent. Knew he’d have the place wired. That Grace had probably gotten lucky—bypassed a few easier security measures on the doors. But she had no idea his yard would be riddled with explosives and trip wires. Even if they didn’t kill her, they’d be enough to give Addy the upper hand. To get close enough to fight the woman hand to hand. And she’d bet her desire to save Kent outweighed Grace’s desire to kill her. All Addy had to do was make her way through the traps. Get someplace she could hide until she could take the other woman by surprise when she undoubtedly went down.

  Right. A blind woman walking through a minefield. Even with her cane, she wouldn’t be able to traverse it without setting something off. Kent would have been too thorough. No question.

  A curse, then footsteps…going away. Around to the other side. Addison released the breath she’d been holding when something went thump. Shit. Was there someone else? A backup? Maybe one of Stevens’ men or another dirty agent?

  She listened carefully, straining to pick up on any hint of sound. Or an unfamiliar fragrance. An overpowering energy.

  Something cold nudged her hand, and she barely held back the scream clawing at her throat. She whipped her head down—not that she’d see what it was, but it made her feel as if she had control.

  A lick this time, followed by a low growl.

  Blade.

  Against all odds, he’d jumped down out of the truck—made his way over. Found her. She wasn’t sure how he was standing. Christ, it had only been a few days, and he’d lost so much blood. He’d been so deathly still when she’d first visited him. Sure, he seemed better today, more energetic. Had been able to walk. And the vet had let him come with them—though she suspected Kent had used some MARSOC intimidation technique on the guy. Convinced him it was in his best i
nterest to let him and Russel look after Blade. And all because it made her happy.

  And now Kent was…somewhere. Close to the house. Bleeding. Maybe dead, already.

  Blade growled, again. Low. Throaty. Like at the foundation, only as if he knew he shouldn’t make much noise.

  Addy knelt down, hugged him, then wrapped her fingers around his collar. She wasn’t sure how it would work without the harness, but damn it, they weren’t going down without a fight.

  She nudged him toward the rear of the property, and he started forward. Not fast. In fact, it felt painfully slow. But Blade kept moving, stopping occasionally as if deciding whether it was safe. She didn’t question his judgment. He’d already proven he was far more than a guide dog. He was a soldier at heart. One that took protecting his handler to the extreme. He’d already bled for her, and she knew he’d do it, again. That he’d instinctively avoid Grace Sanchez without being told she was the enemy.

  They walked for about thirty feet before he veered them to the right. Away from the house. She stumbled along beside him, wondering if they were in full view. If Grace would pop out at any moment and fire.

  Was Blade limping?

  It was impossible to tell. Maybe it was the ground. It felt uneven beneath her boots. Definitely Kent’s yard. Or the forest. She didn’t know. Blade seemed confident until he stopped.

  He sniffed something. She heard it. Soft, fast pants as his head dipped toward the ground. Then, he was off, again, angling her to the left, then right. Zigzagging their way to god knew where.

  The charges.

  That’s why he was weaving. He was steering her around Kent’s countermeasures. Through his trip wires.

  Blade stopped, gave a low yip. She reached out her hand, inhaling sharply when it connected with wood. Some kind of shed. She groped her way along it, found the corner then ducked behind it. She couldn’t go inside. Didn’t want to get trapped. Besides, she needed to be ready to move the moment an opportunity arose.

  They couldn’t have traveled more than twenty feet. Twenty agonizing feet between her and Kent’s cabin. What stood between her and a chance at saving Kent—if she could disarm Sanchez. Knock her out.

  She should have insisted on having a weapon. An oversight she wouldn’t make, again. If she lived. If Kent lived because if he didn’t, she’d just have crawl up into his coffin with him. She couldn’t picture life without him. And if she did, she knew it wouldn’t be worth living. It would be dull. Two dimensional at best.

  Footsteps. Soft. Slow.

  Someone moving across the yard. Placing each foot carefully. Sanchez wasn’t taking any chances. She was scouting the area before taking each step. A three-hundred and sixty degree check, then moving, again. Somehow she hadn’t activated any of the charges. Had missed the trip wires. Unless she knew where they were. Could drones see beneath the ground? Source out explosives? Addy didn’t think so, but then she never would have thought the men she worked with were dirty. That Grace Sanchez could kill Will—the man she’d claimed to be in love with.

  Another curse, then a shot. Close to Addison’s head. She felt the wake of the bullet. Heard the ping as it hit the wood. Had she been spotted? Was she somehow visible? Just a lucky shot? Or had Grace tripped? Depressed the trigger by accident?

  God, what if she had thermal imagining at her disposal? Or some of that new tech that could sense a person breathing? And Addy was definitely breathing. Shallow fast pants as she stood there, waiting for one stroke of luck to come her way. Give her a single opening.

  Was that a click? It sounded like—

  The ground shook as the explosion rocked the small shed, nearly tripping Addison onto her ass. She felt the light, the heat against her face. Smelled the smoke from the blast as chunks of dirt and grass rained down around her.

  She steadied herself then tapped Blade’s collar. “Now, Blade. Forward.”

  Blade lunged ahead, dragging Addison along as he raced across the yard. He took a sharp turn right, then another left, then he was growling, tugging at Addison’s hand.

  “Leave it.”

  She didn’t want him hurt, again. To take another bullet. Blade ignored her, pulled free. There was a second of silence, then he was attacking. That familiar growl, the sound of his mouth around flesh. Grace screamed, shouted for help. That was all Addison needed.

  She took three steps, then the world appeared. Blade in front of her, his teeth locked around Sanchez’s arm. Her gun on the ground beside her. Smoke blanketed the yard, some still curling up from a hole in the ground. Grace had blood running down her leg, more on her arm and cheek. But she wasn’t dead. Far from it. Blade shook his head, pulled the woman off-balance. There was a glint of something silver.

  A knife.

  Addison dove. She didn’t care about the risks. If her sight decided to wink out. She’d claw the woman’s eyes out if necessary. Rip her own arm off and beat Sanchez to death with it, if that’s what it took. But she wasn’t going to let the bitch hurt anyone else she loved.

  She landed off to the left—one hand covering the knife, the other locked in Grace’s hair. She yanked, smiled at the woman’s cry, then slammed her hand on the ground.

  Addy got lucky, hit a rock, clattering the knife to the ground. She didn’t reach for it. Didn’t waste time going for the gun, or the taser strapped to Sanchez’s thigh. Instead, Addy grabbed the rock, then brought her hand down hard on the other woman’s head.

  She stilled.

  Addison pushed to her knees, nudging Sanchez a few times before sitting back on her heels. Blood welled from a large laceration just below the woman’s temple, a few lines trickling down her cheek. Addy placed one hand on Grace’s neck. Pulse thready and weak. Each beat further apart than the last. Every breath lifting her chest a bit less. Chances were, Addy had killed her, but her body hadn’t quite caught up with the fact, yet.

  Good. She could burn in hell for all Addison cared.

  Blade released Grace’s arm, then sat, looking at Addy as if waiting for his next command. The bandage at his shoulder was spotted with blood. He’d probably pulled out a few stitches. Was most likely in pain. But he wasn’t leaving her. Wasn’t bailing.

  She stumbled to her feet, once again, then grabbed Grace’s weapons on the off-chance the woman wasn’t alone. That Addy would need them, before reaching for Blade—wrapping her fingers around his collar. Even if her vision stuck, she needed him to get around the charges. “Find, Kent.”

  Blade barked, then took off. Faster than before. He was definitely limping. Each stride a half stumble as he wove them back across the short expanse of yard. Her vision washed in and out. A flash of Kent’s cabin. Then, nothing. Then, another snapshot of the side they’d traveled down. Shadows crossed in front of her, real or imagined she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Blade was taking her toward the driveway. Toward Kent.

  Another few glimpses of her surroundings and there he was. Splayed out on the ground. Something dark beneath his side.

  Blood. His blood. But not red. Black. Blending in with the darkness shrouding her vision. Threatening to plunge her back into the abyss.

  She fell at his side, fingers pressed to his neck. Blade yipped, licked Kent’s face, as Addy waited to feel any evidence that he was alive. That she hadn’t lost him.

  A pulse.

  Weak. Weaker than Grace’s had been and damn, he looked pale. White against the shadows. Against the dots slowly eating away her sight. She shook her head. She would not go down like this. His shirt ripped beneath her fingers as she yanked at the seams, desperate to get a look at his wound. The puckered hole glared up at her. It looked big. Bigger than she’d expected. She watched him take a labored breath.

  No bubbles.

  No obvious wheezing.

  No arterial spurting.

  Though, she knew if he’d been hit in the heart, in the artery, he’d already be dead. It had been too long—precious minutes she’d spent running. Hiding. Fighting. Minutes he couldn’t spare. Th
at might be the reason he died.

  He coughed, flecks of blood spraying from his lips as his eyelids fluttered. Once. Twice. Finally staying open.

  She cupped his face, his blood smearing across his skin from her hands. “Easy, Kent. I need you to stay with me, okay? Stay awake.”

  He coughed, again, and damn, it looked as if it drained half his energy. As if his battery had gone from full to fifty percent just like that. Then, he was looking around, trying to push onto his elbows.

  “Stay still. You’ll make the bleeding worse. I need to get some pressure on it.”

  She ripped off her own shirt, balling it up then holding it tight against his side. He inhaled, eyelids fluttering, again, before he forced them open.

  He shook his head, trying to bat her hand away. “What the fuck are you doing? Run. Hide. Before—”

  “It’s over. She’s… She can’t hurt us.” She pushed on the wound. “We need to get you to a hospital. Where’s your phone?”

  “I…” He coughed, would have fallen back down if she hadn’t managed to bridge his weight. Damn, he was heavy.

  She shushed him. “It’s okay. Blade. Phone.”

  The dog barked, then hobbled off, returning a few moments later with Kent’s phone in his mouth. She turned it over, feeling her heart stop. It was broken. A hole right through the center as if the bullet had hit it, too, before punching through Kent’s chest.

  She gave Blade a quick pat. “Good, boy. Truck, Blade.”

  She didn’t know if he could jump in. Hell, if he could even make it there. The patch on his shoulder was larger. Redder. But he stood, limped toward Kent’s truck.

  Addison studied Kent’s form. No way she could carry him, but she might be able to drag him. Pray he had enough strength to help her lift him onto the seat.

  Kent grunted, still trying to bat her hand away. “You can’t lift me. I’ll walk.”

  “Like hell you will. Just, save your strength until we reach your truck.”

  He growled, then groaned, falling against her as she wrapped her arms around his chest from behind, then slowly started dragging him. Her vision flickered, went dark, then came back, again. She didn’t stop, knowing she’d eventually hit the wheel if her sight failed. That she’d, at least, make it to the door.