The night split open with headlights.
Two vans barreled down River Road, black, unmarked, moving fast. Too fast for flood conditions. Their tires hissed against wet asphalt, fishtailing on the turns but never slowing down.
“Targets confirmed,” Russ’s voice came through the comm, steady as stone. “Eastbound, half a mile ahead of you.”
“Copy.” I shoved the SUV harder, engine growling as the speedometer climbed. Beside me, Raine braced a hand against the dash, her other hand curling tight around her safety belt strap. She didn’t say a word, but I could feel the charge rolling off her—ready to leap before the door even opened.
Not tonight.
“Boone, cut them off,” I ordered.
A flash of high beams in the distance—Boone’s Jeep pulling out from a side road, blocking the lane. The vans swerved hard, one clipping a ditch, the other fishtailing.
“Now!” I slammed the brakes, tires screaming, SUV skidding sideways across the road to block their retreat. Hawk was already on the ridge with his rifle, Blade moving silent through the treeline like a shadow.
The doors on the first van flew open. Men in black masks spilled out, armed, moving in practiced formation. Not looters. Not volunteers. Professionals. And the back of the vans was full of masked men.
I yanked my rifle free and hit the ground running.
Gunfire cracked loud and sharp against the flood-slick night. Raine ducked behind the SUV door, weapon raised, returning fire with clean, precise shots. Every instinct in me screamed to drag her down, shield her, but there was no time—one of the masked men was lining up on Russ.
I dropped him with a clean burst.
Boone’s voice cut in, wild, and I knew he was grinning: “Hell yeah, we’re having a party!”
“Focus,” I snapped.
The second van’s engine roared, tires spinning as the driver tried to punch through the ditch. I sprinted, boots slipping in mud, and yanked the side door open.
Inside—three people, bound and gagged.
My gut turned to ice. Survivors. Not missing. Taken.
“Adam!” Raine’s voice tore through the chaos.
I spun just as one of the masked men broke cover, charging her flank. My rifle was up, finger squeezing the trigger—
Too late.
Raine moved first, spinning low, slamming her elbow into his ribs before ripping the weapon from his grip and leveling it at his chest. She fired once. He went down hard.
For a second, our eyes met across the chaos—hers blazing, mine probably the same.
God help me, I’d never seen anything more terrifying. Or more beautiful.
16
Raine
The gunfire faded into silence, leaving only the hiss of rain and the ragged sound of my own breathing. My hands still trembled around the rifle, adrenaline burning hot through my veins.
I forced myself to lower the weapon.
The van’s interior reeked of gasoline and sweat. Three survivors stared back at me, eyes wide, faces ghost-pale under the dim dome light. Their wrists were raw from rope, duct tape still pressed against their mouths.
I climbed in fast, knife flashing as I cut bindings. “You’re safe now,” I murmured, though the words felt thin against the truth.Safe for now.
The boy in the middle couldn’t have been more than twelve. He flinched at every movement until I peeled the tape from his mouth. His whisper was barely audible. “They said… they said they were taking us to the hospital.”
