“State your intentions,” I demand. A verbal threat would make this easier on paperwork.
“For men so elite, you are ignorant. Why would you leave your guarded playpen?” One of the men barks at us. His voice pierces me, sets the ringing bells of familiarity into a warning siren inside my mind. It’s him.
I try to keep my voice down and tell Aidan my realization. He stiffens, his whole body processing what exactly this means. “He’s mine,” I say, taking in my surroundings, the positioning of the other car. Aidan will start left, I’ll go from the right. With limited ammunition, this is going to be a challenge. I contemplate if trying to run them over with the truck would be a quicker option, then decide against it. Explosives. There has to be explosives. This fucker’s favorite game is comprehensive, small devices that create devastating damage.
“The second car is their go car,” Aidan says. “Take out the tires.”
“We don’t have that kind of ammo,” I deadpan.
Aidan chuckles. “Guess you better shoot straight.” Aidan shifts his weight, leveling his aim. “Next step,” he says.
“Yep,” I throw back, checking the mirror to confirm the cars behind us are still as far away as they were the last time I looked.
One of the bad guys that stepped from the back seat takes aim at Aidan with a ratty looking M4 and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the door and pushes Aidan back a step, but it doesn’t penetrate the panel. First fire means fair game, and I pick off the one in the back easily, his body falling to the ground. That’s all it takes for all fucking hell to break out. Gunshots resound around us, loud and relentless as the bad guys scatter. More men appear from the go car, all of them with weapons far superior to ours.
Aidan takes out a guy, a perfect headshot, just as a searing pain seethes up one of my legs. A glance down proves blood is, in fact, seeping down my leg at a steady pace, a momentary distraction. My gun disappears from my hand as a bullet picks it off, sending it flying through the air, rendering me useless, weak, bleeding, and fucking unarmed.
I fall over into the seat of the truck, unable to stand on the leg bleeding out. Aidan only glances at me briefly before leaving the safety of the paneled door to seek out my weapon, our only chance. I see the two cars in the mirror rapidly moving toward us—one in each lane.
Aidan appears in the mirror, cutting my view of the cars. He has my gun. He has it. He takes a bullet in his chest plate and I hold my breath for him, knowing how strong the blow feels when you’re hit.
“Toss it,” I call out to him, leaning out of the truck on my good leg, holding out my hand. “Fucking toss it,” I scream, sweat dripping down my face. He does and by some grace, I’m able to catch it and pick off the guy approaching my side of the truck.
“We’re fucked! Where is the backup?” Aidan calls.
Limping, trailing more blood than I’m letting myself process, I stumble toward the bastard reloading his gun. My guy. My guy. My guy. My guy.
“No! Leif,” I hear Aidan say, but he’s already firing toward the assholes approaching from the back.
This is the moment. My defining moment. With the black, steel clutched in my outstretched hand, my other hand steadying it, I take aim at the bastard’s head and pull the trigger. A misfire. No bullet. He laughs and turns his fully loaded M4 on me.
The world goes black.
