Page 24 of Bound By Thorns
Ignoring the pain, I pushed forward and reached Logan, who had ducked behind the building. He touched my wounded arm, concern etching his features.
“You’re hit?” he asked, his voice steady despite the chaos.
I turned back to shoot. The guards were closing in; the car was tantalizingly close yet blocked by a hail of gunfire. An old gray sedan was right in front of us, just ten steps away.
“Run and get in the car. I’ll cover,” I croaked.
He nodded and as he took one step towards the car, bullets peppered near his feet.
We were trapped.
I closed my eyes, and then looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my breathing erratic, “I’ll shield you. You run, okay?”
“You have a death wish?” He said sardonically.
“I have the gun. Now, go!” I urged irritatedly.
The shooting abruptly stopped. Confused, we paused, listening. Footsteps approached—two men in tactical gear, recognizable even in the chaos. They halted before us, lowering their rifles.
“Targets secured,” one of them said, his voice muffled. “Healer, Gunner, let’s go!”
Relief mixed with disbelief flooded through me. After months, hearing my call sign felt surreal.
Someone is rescuing us.
They flanked us, providing cover as we dashed northward, towards the thicker conflict at the mansion’s front. More guards emerged, their guns blazing. Despite the circumstances, the two men’s presence gave us a sliver of hope.
I held tight to the belief that tonight wasn’t the night we’d die. Somehow, Logan and I would escape this hell.
TEN
Logan
As the chaos erupted around us, the air thick with the scent of gunpowder and fear, I clutched at anything resembling stability. Bullets sliced through the air, their paths illuminated by brief flashes of gunfire. It was like being trapped in a violent storm, each shot a clap of thunder.
The men who had come for us moved with a precision that was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. They were obviously not amateurs; their movements were too calculated, too assured—and too familiar.
Amidst the gunfire, one of our rescuers fell, a bullet finding its mark with a sickening thud. Instinct took over—I lunged for his rifle and returned fire.
The weight of the weapon in my hands felt familiar yet strange after weeks.
The night turned into a blur of shadows and muzzle flashes. I fired at any hint of movement, any sign of threat. It was a desperate kind of dance, each step driven by survival instinct rather than any formal training I had.
As the firefight dwindled, the sound of bullets was replaced by the heavy breathing of the living and the groans of the injured. We hurried towards an awaiting convoy of three black armored SUVs, their engines idling like beasts. More armed men secured the perimeter. They nodded at us.
We were ushered into one of the SUVs, its interior stark and functional. The benches inside were arranged so we faced each other, a design meant for rapid deployment rather than comfort. Kaylan and I were pushed onto one bench.
The door slammed shut behind the last man who had covered our escape. He was clad in tactical gear, his presence filling the confined space. As the SUV lurched forward, escaping towards the cover of the woods, he flicked on a dim overhead light.
The light caught on his chest where I finally saw what his badge read.
‘Ranger’
I cursed under my breath, my mind spinning in disbelief.
No, no. NO! Fucking no! I can’t be rescued by Sebastian fucking Blackthorn.
