Page 21 of Omega on Fire
"What?" I demand, already moving again. "Why would she?—"
"Thermal imaging shows she's moving towards you," Joker explains, bewilderment clear in his voice. "She got away, had a clear path to the extraction point, but she's coming back."
Understanding dawns on me. "She's coming back for the others."
I break into a run, leaving Malcolm to finish clearing the cells. Everything I've read about Charlotte Matthews, of course, it shouldn’t surprise me that she wouldn’t just save herself and leave others behind.
"I'm going to intercept Charlotte," I inform the team, my breath coming faster as I sprint through the darkened corridors. "Joker, guide me to her."
I don't wait for their acknowledgment. All I can think about is reaching Charlotte before anyone else does. Before she puts herself in danger trying to save others.
Her courage, her selflessness in the face of her own terror, it awakens something in me I thought I'd buried long ago, something my parents tried to beat out of me with scripture and discipline.
Hope.
CHAPTER 9
JOKER
Holy motherfucking shit storm on a stick. Yeah, I might be fist pumping the air as I watch her out maneuver her pursuers at every turn. That's our girl making a break for it. My eyes track Charlotte's desperate dash through the bunker's security feed, her movements erratic but determined as she navigates the labyrinthine corridors toward the cellblocks. Gotta hand it to her, she's got more balls than most of the mercs I've worked with.
"Deacon, change of plans," I bark into the comms, fingers flying across three keyboards simultaneously. "Our package is down the west, nope scratch that, she’s heading east through section C-7. Intercept at junction 12."
Deacon's calm voice replies, "Copy," but I canhear the tension underneath. The man never raises his voice, but when shit goes sideways, there's this particular flatness that creeps in. Like right now.
Meanwhile, my other screen explodes with movement as Motley goes absolutely nuclear two corridors over. The man's a goddamn horror movie villain when he gets like this. One guard tries to raise his weapon, Beaux slices through his throat before the poor bastard can even register what's happening. With a practiced flick of his wrist he finishes the job, prying one eye from the socket, but stops with a curse. Another guard comes at him from behind, and Motley just—Christ. Let's just say there's a reason we call him Motley and not Sunshine.
"Motley, throttle down," I order, knowing it's useless. "Charlotte's heading your way, but you're leaving a blood trail a mile wide."
His only response is a feral growl that makes my skin prickle even through the digital connection. I swear I can smell the iron tang of blood through my headset.
"He's off script," I inform Trigger, who's methodically clearing rooms two sections over, Beckett at his six. "And our girl's running scared right into a potential crossfire."
"Coordinates, again," Teagan demands, voice sharp as a blade.
I rattle them off, simultaneously disabling the remaining security protocols in their path. "You've got two minutes before this whole place goes even more berserk, fire alarm is now engaged and ready. Extraction team has synced up with Malcolm, Quincy is intercepting. Fire alarm is a go. I can only keep the override active so long."
My screens flicker as I hop between cameras, watching my three brothers converge on Charlotte's position. It's like some twisted ballet, Trigger from the north, Deacon from the east, Motley carving a crimson path from the west.
"Wait," I mutter, spotting something on camera 12. "Charlotte's got company."
The same guard I saw her originally escape from, big fucker with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow is tracking her, almost staying just out of sight. He's smart, trying to use the blind spots between cameras. Thank goodness I am hyper-focused, or I would have missed him.
"Deacon, on your six," I warn. "Hostile closing in on Charlotte."
Everything happens at once. All three of mypackmates converge at the junction point, weapons raised, Charlotte wide-eyed and frozen between them like a deer in headlights. But before anyone can make a move, Scarface lunges from the shadows, snatching Charlotte by the throat and dragging her back against his chest.
"Stand down or I snap her neck," he threatens, a nervous quiver in his voice betraying him.
Motley doesn't hesitate. Doesn't blink. Doesn't even seem to breathe. Just raises his pistol and puts a clean hole right between the guard's eyes. It all happens so fast, the poor bastard doesn’t have a chance to blink. Clean, cold, and efficient.
The sound of the shot echoes through my headset, making me flinch. Charlotte's scream follows immediately after, high and thin with shock as the guard's body crumples behind her, spraying her with blood and brain matter.
"We're here to get you out," Trigger says calmly, holstering his sidearm and raising his hands non-threateningly. "You're safe now, Charlotte."
But she's not processing. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, her breathing rapid and shallow. Classic shock response. Her knees buckle, and she starts to fold like origami.
Deacon moves fastest, catching her before she hits the ground. He cradles her against his chest with a gentleness that seems impossible from hands that were dealing death mere moments ago.
