“On me,” I murmur, and Chaos falls in, his body vibrating with anticipation.
Ryan’s first shot cracks through the air, dropping one of the attackers instantly. The remaining three immediately seek cover, scanning for the new threat.
Perfect.
I signal Chaos, pointing to the nearest attacker. “Kill.”
The Malinois launches like a missile, silent until the moment of impact when his snarl fills the forest. The man goesdown screaming, Chaos’s powerful jaws locked around his throat, applying enough pressure to kill instantly.
Martinez and I engage the other two simultaneously. Martinez shoots first. A clean hit through the shoulder, disabling the man’s weapon arm. I close in with the second. His eyes widen in surprise as I emerge from the trees, but he recovers quickly, bringing his weapon to bear.
Too late.
My first shot hits him in the thigh, staggering him. The second catches him in the chest, the impact throwing him backward into the snow.
Just like that, the fight is over. Four attackers neutralized in less than thirty seconds.
“Clear!” Ryan calls from his position.
“Clear,” I confirm, already moving toward where Willow huddles behind the fallen tree.
Cooper is slumped against the log, hand pressed to his leg where blood seeps between his fingers. “Ate some lead,” he manages through gritted teeth. “Think it missed anything vital.”
“Let me see.” Jackson appears at his side, medical kit already open.
I crouch beside Willow, who stares at me with wide, shocked eyes.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head, seemingly unable to speak. Her gaze shifts from me to the men on the ground, then back to me.
“I need to check their communications and find out what we’re up against.” I cup her cheek, forcing her to focus on me rather than the carnage. “Stay with Jackson. Don’t move until I come back.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but there’s trust in it. Trust I haven’t earned, and may not deserve, but will fight to be worthy of.
I move to the downed attackers, checking for survivors. Three dead—Ryan’s target, the one I shot in the chest, and the one Chaos took care of. The fourth—the one Martinez shot in the shoulder—watches me approach with terror in his eyes.
“Please,” he gasps. “I’m just doing my job. I have a family.”
“So does she.” I nod toward Willow. “The woman your boss has been torturing for three years.”
His eyes widen. “I don’t know anything about that. We were just told to retrieve a fugitive. Armed and dangerous. That’s all.”
I crouch beside him, close enough to keep my voice low. “Here’s what happens next. You tell me everything you know—how many more teams, their positions, their orders. In return, you get to live. Do we understand each other?”
He nods frantically, already talking.
FOURTEEN
Willow
The world narrowsto heartbeats and gunshots.
I huddle behind the fallen tree, snow seeping through my borrowed pants, while Cooper’s blood stains the pristine white beside me. His breathing is labored, and his face is pale as Jackson works on his wound. The coppery scent of blood mingles with gunpowder and pine, a surreal cocktail that makes my stomach lurch.
Four men lie in the snow. Three dead. One is alive, but neutralized.
Four men who came to take me back to Steffan. One of Mason’s men is wounded and bleeding because of me.
