Someone screamed—maybe the driver—before a body slammed against the outside of the vehicle hard enough to rock the frame. More shots rained down, punching holes into the doors, the hood, everywhere.
Fallon kept her head down, breath ragged, ears ringing. The world shrank to Linda’s trembling and the acrid sting of gunpowder seeping into the SUV.
More shots. A grunt. Something hit the pavement.
She risked a glance—just a split second.
A shattered window. Tree line lit by muzzle flashes. Shadows moving. Someone in dark clothes falling. Someone else shouting orders she couldn’t make out.
Then pain ripped across her forearm—fast and white-hot.
She gasped and dropped down again. Warmth spread across her arm. Not deep. Not deadly. But blood was blood.
“Fallon,” Linda’s voice was muffled, terrified, barely a sound under the gag.
“I’m okay,” Fallon whispered, even though her pulse was slamming at her throat.
Then… Silence. Not peace. But the kind of quiet that vibrated with leftover violence.
A crunch of gravel approached the SUV.
Fallon braced—every muscle tight, breath trapped.
The door yanked open, and she gasped.
Buddy.
Bloody lip. Blackened eye. Sweat streaked down his cheek. A gunshot wound punched through his thigh, staining denim dark. And yet—he stood solid in the doorway, chest heaving, jaw set like he’d kill the entire world before he’d let anyone hurt her.
Fallon’s breath broke. “Buddy?—”
He moved in immediately, pocketknife out, cutting her restraints with a sharp, angry swipe that felt like a vow.
“Are you hurt?” His voice was rough, panicked under the gravel.
“Just—my arm,” she whispered.
His gaze flicked down. Fury lit his eyes—bright and lethal. “I’ve got you,” he said, and this time it wasn’t a promise. It was a damn oath.
He cut Linda free next. The older woman collapsed into Fallon’s arms, sobbing. Buddy supported them both, steady despite the blood soaking through his jeans.
Dove and Keaton appeared behind him. Sterling and Cullen came from the other side. Shadows moved everywhere—team members barking orders, dragging bodies clear, checking for threats.
Fallon didn’t look at any of it.
Just him. He was alive. He was standing. He’d come for her.
Buddy cupped her face with a shaking hand. “Fallon…” His forehead dropped to hers, breath ragged with adrenaline and something rawer.
She lifted her good arm around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. “I thought—you?—”
“No.” His voice cracked. He pulled her closer, one hand splayed across the back of her neck like he needed the contact to stay upright. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
She mouthed his name. He kissed her—desperate, messy, tasting like blood and smoke and everything she’d prayed she wouldn’t lose.
When he pulled back, his thumb brushed her cheek. His eyes were wrecked.
“I love you,” he said—no hesitation, no fear, just truth spoken by a man who’d nearly died with it unsaid. “I’ve loved you for a long damn time.”
