Ruled

by Elle Kennedy

  “They would if they were smart. You should always expect your enemy to do the opposite.” He cast her a worried look. “Let’s turn around. Right now, sweetheart. We don’t need this outpost. Six, seven dead men? Is it really worth it?”

  “I can’t believe you’d even ask me that.” If it were up to her, there’d be no Enforcer left alive in West Colony. Or any of the colonies, for that matter. Those bastards didn’t deserve to live.

  The radio crackled as Rylan checked in. “There are only two guards out here,” he murmured. “Nash and Davis scouted the perimeter—no other Enforcers lurking in the trees.”

  Reese glanced at the small one-story building. Ten yards away from it stood a brick tower manned by one guard. Sam was positioned in the trees with a clear vantage point to the tower, ready with her own rifle to take out the sniper. All Reese had to do was give Sam the word.

  Fuck. This was the same situation she’d been in during the raid on the munitions depot last month. Everyone waiting for her command, and her questioning whether it was a good idea. Only this time it was Sloan questioning, Sloan urging her to reconsider.

  She didn’t know if the itchiness of her spine was her instincts’ way of telling her to abort, or if it was discomfort from being this close to Sloan. She wanted so badly to reach out and stroke her fingers through his beard. Grip his chin and tug his mouth toward hers for a kiss.

  She fought the urge, though. Avoiding his gaze, she clicked the radio on. “When I give the word, take out the sniper,” she told Sam.

  “Got it,” was the quiet response.

  “Rylan, after Sam neutralizes the sniper, you and Beck, and me and Sloan will take out the front and back guards simultaneously. Once we’ve secured the front and rear doors, wait for my word and then we go in.”

  “Yes, sir,” came Rylan’s playful voice.

  Sloan didn’t look nearly as amused as Rylan sounded. He adjusted his rifle and gave her a look that said he was unhappy with this course of action, but Reese knew he wouldn’t argue with her. Sloan always followed her lead. Which was part of why she felt so guilty. He’d followed her for so many years and she knew he would continue to do so, but . . . she was terrified of where she might be leading him.

  To a childless existence? To a relationship with her and another man, because one cock apparently wasn’t enough for her?

  She couldn’t choose between the two of them. They both made her feel such different things. Sloan was her rock. Rylan was her sunshine. She didn’t want to choose, damn it.

  They didn’t ask you to choose, a little voice reminded her.

  No, they hadn’t. But eventually they would.

  Wouldn’t they?

  This perfect little triad wasn’t going to work out. It couldn’t work. Sloan and Rylan didn’t deserve someone so broken, a woman so driven by revenge that she’d leave the warmth of their bed in order to fire bullets at men she didn’t even know.

  Reese swallowed her dismay and focused on the task at hand. “Sam,” she murmured into the radio. “Now.”

  She and Sloan didn’t even flinch when the sharp report of a rifle cracked through the air. Reese smiled grimly as she watched the tower guard jerk from the hit. Rather than fall inside the platform, he lurched forward, half-draped over the window as his rifle dangled over the edge by its strap.

  The guards in the back snapped to attention and raised their guns toward the trees.

  Adrenaline sizzled in Reese’s blood as she clicked the radio and hissed, “Now. Rylan, Beck. Go.”

  A moment later, she and Sloan tore out of the woods and opened fire. Their aim was spot on—both Enforcers dropped like stones, blood pouring out of newly created bullet holes. The gunfire from the front of the outpost died just as fast, but before Reese could bask in the triumph of such an easy takedown, Rylan’s voice burst out of the radio.

  “Sloan! I need you. Beck’s been hit.”

  Reese’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. Shit. So much for easy.

  She peered at the side of the building, waiting for Rylan to appear, but there was no sign of him. “How bad is it?” she barked.

  “Not sure, but he was hit in the leg and can’t put any weight on it. And I can’t man the door and carry him at the same time.” Rylan cursed. “Sloan, get your ass over here.”

  Reese glanced urgently at Sloan. “Go. I’ll stay here, Rylan can handle the front. You take Beck back to the trucks. Sam can cover me if I need it.”

  “I’m not leaving you,” he said instantly.

  “You have to. Go take care of Beckett, damn it. We can’t have him bleeding out or slowing us down. The interior guards are going to rush out any second.” Already she could hear footsteps beyond the metal door. Her team had used the communication jammer Xander had given them to distort any signals going in or out of the outpost. The Enforcers inside were trapped, and soon they would burst out to make their last stand.

  “Go,” she begged him.

  His reluctance was etched into his face, but then he spun around and ran toward the side of the building.

  Reese kept her rifle trained on the door, her heart pounding as she waited for another report from Rylan. “It’s a flesh wound,” he finally said. “But he’s bleeding a helluva lot.”

  “Sloan’s coming,” she assured him.

  Half a second later, he said, “Yup, he’s here. Hold on.”

  Reese held her breath, then released it in a shaky gust of relief when Rylan checked in again.

  “Sloan’s taking him to the truck. Looks like it’s just you and me, gorgeous. Ready to storm the castle?”

  She checked her ammo situation and nodded to herself. She was ready to go. All that was left to do was kill the bastards inside, scavenge for supplies—though she didn’t expect to find any—and call it another successful victory.

  “On my count,” she told Rylan. “One. Two—”

  The back door swung open, and the number three died on Reese’s lips.

  When she saw Eric’s face, his smug smile stretched from ear to ear, she immediately recognized the grave mistake she’d made.

  As her pulse shrieked in her ears, she had only a split second to scream into the radio. “Rylan—abort. Now. Run.”

  She didn’t hear his response because someone had yanked the radio from her hand. The two guards she’d expected to find charged out the door, except they were followed by two more, and two more, and two more, until she finally lost count of the number of armed uniform-clad men streaming out to surround her.

  Eric, meanwhile, stood there with his gun pointed at her forehead, still smiling like this was the happiest night of his life. “Evening, Reese,” he said warmly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her gaze darted to the side of the building, her ears ringing from the gunshots blasting through the air. She prayed that Rylan had made it to the woods, that he was throwing his big body over the back of the motorcycle stashed there and speeding away. The alternative—that he was lying in a pool of his own blood on the other side of the building—was too terrifying to contemplate.

  “Drop the weapon,” Eric ordered.

  She obeyed, because she had no choice. There were a dozen Enforcers pointing guns at her. Even if she managed to kill one, or six, or eight, one of them would blow her brains out.

  “That’s a good girl,” Eric said as he kicked her discarded rifle away.

  Another wave of gunfire drowned out his next words. Reese’s heart pounded in fear. Fuck. Why were there still gunshots? Where was Rylan? And Sam?

  Eric stepped closer and fingered a strand of hair that had fallen out of her hat. He tucked it underneath the black wool, then rubbed his thumb over her bottom lip. Reese almost bit that thumb right off, but even she was able to recognize when she was beaten.

  “What now?” she asked tiredly.

  “Now we go fo
r a little ride.” Eric’s smile widened. “Excited?”

  She pressed her lips together and didn’t answer.

  “Aw, not feeling talkative? Don’t worry, that’ll change.”

  He took her arm and forcibly dragged her to the truck near the gate, while his sharp-eyed men continued to aim their weapons at her as if they were afraid she’d somehow manage to escape.

  “Get in,” Eric said cheerfully. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.” With a chivalrous bow, he opened the back door for her. “The commander is dying to meet you.”

  23

  Sloan dropped Beckett beyond the ridge, shouldered his rifle, and readied himself to run back to cover Rylan—only to watch the man grind to a halt. Instead of blasting open the gate as they’d planned, Rylan dropped to the ground and rolled left. That instinctive action—born out of his years of training with the People’s Army—saved his life. The front gate flew open and a hail of bullets came with it, trying to mow down any and all resistance.

  Sloan jumped up, firing and moving before he’d given his body a conscious command to do so. An Enforcer truck was speeding away from the courtyard. Sloan shot twice at the driver’s side, and when the truck swerved, he aimed for the front tires. A crack to his right took out the passenger, courtesy of Sam.

  “Cover me.” He tossed the rifle at Beckett, who rolled over on his stomach and laid down suppressive fire while Sloan raced toward Rylan, gun in one hand, knife in the other.

  “We need to get to the back gate!” Rylan shouted. He scrambled to his feet and started tearing through the middle of the encampment, his gun at the ready.

  Sloan followed, leaving the disabled truck and whatever Enforcers were left inside it to Beck, Sam, and the others.

  Reese was at the rear—alone. They needed to get to her.

  Behind them and beyond them, they heard engines and gunshots. Then came the roar of a motorcycle. Nash sped by with Davis riding bitch and shooting at an unseen target ahead. That there was something to shoot at gave Sloan an injection of hope, spurring him to sprint forward.

  The back gates were open and a cloud of dust billowed from the retreating wheels of a multi-truck convoy speeding away from the gate.

  Fear kept Sloan moving. He shot at the tires, the back doors, at anything and everything. The magazine emptied and he slammed another one into place without breaking stride.

  Gunfire rained in their direction, but Sloan still didn’t stop. Neither did Rylan, until the last truck in the convoy swerved erratically and then stopped. A stream of Enforcers flowed out of the back.

  “Cover me,” Rylan shouted as he ran.

  Without hesitation, Sloan blasted every black-clad target. The Enforcers returned fire, but there weren’t as many of them as Sloan had first thought and they weren’t burning with the fire of fear and vengeance like Rylan and Sloan. Within seconds, the only firepower in the air came from the outlaws. Rylan arrived at the truck first and was hauling an Enforcer upright when Sloan reached them.

  “Where are they taking her?” he heard Rylan demand.

  The Enforcer smiled. The blood around his lips made the movement of his mouth obscene. “West City. They should be at the extraction point in fifteen minutes.”

  West City was hours away. Extraction point no doubt meant they had a chopper. Shit. Foxworth had a chopper too, but Foxworth was hours away, and the dust cloud from the Enforcer trucks was already getting smaller.

  Rylan bared his teeth and plugged the Enforcer between the eyes. Then he leaned down, swiped the guns, extra ammo, and radio, and headed for the driver’s door that was hanging open. “Come on. Let’s go. They’re getting away.”

  Nash idled on the motorcycle and shook his head regretfully. No way the Harley was catching up with those trucks, and even if it did, one man against an Enforcer troop with that many trucks would be suicide.

  There was gunfire behind them as Sam and Beck exchanged shots with the truck that had come out the front gate. Sloan jerked his head toward the commotion, and Nash started the bike up immediately.

  “Hey, wait—” Rylan bit off his words with a tiny shake of the head. “Right, we don’t need him. We’ll take the truck.”

  Sloan looked past Rylan to the vehicles that were taking Reese away from them. He clung to the hope that the council would want to make an example out of her. That they’d plan some big event that would mark their power over all the land. That they’d keep her in some cell that Sloan and Rylan and whoever they had to strong-arm into helping them would break into and free her.

  You promised to keep Foxworth safe.

  Sweetheart, I haven’t forgotten a single promise I’ve ever made to you.

  “We’re not going after her,” Sloan said flatly, crushing all those feelings of fear and helplessness under a single purpose: save Foxworth.

  He and Davis would get Sam and Beck and they’d drive these two trucks back to Foxworth; they were going to need the extra vehicles in order to transport everyone in town. He eyed the flat tires. Hopefully there were spares in the bed of the truck or inside the now abandoned station.

  “What the hell do you mean we’re not going after her?” Rylan demanded.

  Sloan ignored him and moved to the back of the truck. He grabbed a latch and pulled the floor up to find two skinny spares. Good enough.

  A rough hand grabbed Sloan’s shoulder. “I’m talking to you!”

  His heart thudded against his breastbone. He wanted to tear after Reese too. He wanted to be reckless and stupid and hopeful. But he was none of those things. So he braced himself to face Rylan’s disappointment, his utter disgust. “We’re heading back to Foxworth.”

  “You goddamn coward,” Rylan raged as Sloan lifted out one spare and then the other. “You gutless shit. Do you hear me? Where are your fucking balls? Did they shrivel up after you got your rocks off on her?”

  Sloan dropped to one knee and slid the jack behind the truck’s rear axle.

  “I didn’t realize that fucking me would mean you stopped giving a shit about her safety. If you’re not going in, then I am.”

  Sloan thought of the tattoo on Rylan’s side, the one about not going gently into the night. Yeah, this wasn’t a man who did anything gently. It was one of Rylan’s best traits.

  It was also one of his worst.

  Rylan spun around and headed for the driver’s seat, but before he could climb in, Davis appeared and slammed the butt of his gun against the back of Rylan’s head.

  The blond man dropped to the ground like a brick.

  “Thanks,” Sloan mumbled.

  Davis gave him a grim nod. “How’s Beck?”

  “Surface wound but lots of blood.” Sloan jerked on the tough lug nut with so much force he was nearly knocked back on his ass when the metal started spinning free. He reapplied himself to the task, knowing that each extra second he took meant Reese was getting farther away from him. “How many do you think there were?”

  Davis squinted in the distance. “There were eight in the truck. Six here. Three trucks got away, so thirty or more,” he calculated.

  Thirty or more Enforcers with an armory of guns, radio equipment, and a chopper at the ready? It would’ve been a suicide mission. One that Rylan would’ve gladly died trying to attempt.

  Ignoring the self-loathing that was threatening to swallow him whole, Sloan concentrated on the tasks at hand. Change the tire. Get in the truck. Wave to Sam, who’d gotten the other truck moving. Order Davis to attend to Beck. Wrestle Rylan into the passenger seat. Gesture for Nash to lead the way back to Foxworth on the motorcycle.

  Forget that the woman he loved was in the hands of a vicious, heartless enemy.

  * * *

  Rylan came to an hour into the drive, a flurry of bared teeth and accusations. Sloan let the man rant at him for the next hundred miles. Saving Foxworth instead of Reese ate at him, a
nd his devotion to her wishes never felt—or looked—as ugly as it did under Rylan’s inspection. But he’d made her a promise, damn it. He’d sworn to protect their town.

  Every Enforcer in the colony knew who Reese was. There was no doubt in Sloan’s mind that the council would send troops to burn Foxworth to the ground. Hell, they might already be there, for all he knew. He and the others might be walking into another ambush. But it didn’t matter. If there was even the slightest chance of saving Reese’s people, Sloan was taking it.

  He thought he’d be grateful when Rylan stopped raging, but the silent condemnation was almost worse. They’d been on the road all night. Nash had nearly wiped out a couple of hours ago from fatigue, so they’d had to stop to load the bike onto the bed of the truck.

  Fuck. He couldn’t take this silence anymore. He just couldn’t.

  Sloan cleared his throat and glanced at the passenger seat. “Foxworth needs to be evacuated.” But that reason didn’t sound any stronger now than it had when he’d offered it earlier, so he added a few details in the hopes that it would appease Rylan. “Beck is injured. Sam got winged. Davis may have broken his foot, and your ear just stopped bleeding a few miles back.” Their team was a bloody, damaged mess.

  “We were fine,” Rylan said stubbornly.

  Sloan stifled a sigh. Obviously there was no explanation he could provide that would convince Rylan he’d made the right decision, so he decided to stop talking and save his strength. They’d be coming to Foxworth soon—if there was a Foxworth left—and Sloan knew he wouldn’t be able to lay his head down for another ten hours, at least.

  “Connor would’ve never left Hudson behind. He indebted himself to Reese, flew directly into enemy territory, and was prepared to storm the entire fucking city until he saved Hudson.” Rylan flicked the safety of his gun on and off, as if trying to wrestle down the instinct to shoot Sloan in the head, commandeer the truck, and go after Reese. “Goddamn you, Sloan. You said you’d let the town burn if it meant saving Reese.”

  His stomach clenched as Rylan threw his own words back in his face. “We both know Reese would castrate me the minute she got back if every member of that town wasn’t completely intact.” He tipped his head toward Rylan. “Is Connor gonna take us in?”