24
Adam
The ridge shook under the weight of gunfire. Muzzle flashes strobed the trees, turning rain into silver needles. My men were running low—too low.
“Last mag,” Hawk snapped, ducking behind a boulder as bullets chewed bark inches from his head. “After this, I’m throwing rocks.”
Russ crouched beside the wrecked SUV, reloading with the kind of calm that came from years of firefights. “We’ve held worse.”
“Yeah,” Hawk muttered, “and half the time we didn’t walk out of it, without a few holes in us.”
“Focus,” I snapped, though my own chest felt tight. Every minute stretched like wire about to snap. Boone’s transmission still echoed in my skull—Raine’s name cut off mid-sentence. I shoved the thought down, forced my hands steady on the rifle.
A burst of movement caught my eye—two masked men sprinting down the slope, fast, using the mud to slide into flanking position.
“On it,” Blade murmured. He vanished into the dark like smoke.
Seconds later, one scream tore out, cut short. The other man stumbled back into the open, and I dropped him with a clean shot.
But for every one we took down, two more filled the gap.
This wasn’t a fight. It was a bleed-out.
“Adam,” Russ said, low and steady, “we can’t hold much longer.”
I clenched my jaw. He was right.
But retreat meant leaving the ridge. Leaving the survivors. Leaving Raine.
And that wasn’t an option.
I keyed my comm, voice hard as steel. “Boone, report.”
Static hissed back at me. No reply.
My stomach turned to stone.
I slammed a fresh mag into my rifle, eyes burning into the treeline. “Then we hold until they get clear. No matter what it takes.”
Russ met my gaze, gave a sharp nod. Hawk swore but steadied his rifle. Blade just slid back into the shadows, silent as death.
The next wave surged down the ridge. I braced, rifle up, teeth bared.
Because until I knew Raine was safe, I wasn’t giving an inch.
25
Adam
The rain came harder, hammering down like the sky wanted to bury us. Mud sucked at my boots, heavy and slick, every step an effort. My rifle was almost dry—five rounds left, maybe less.
Hawk’s weapon clicked empty. “I’m out!”
Russ shifted to cover him, calm as always, but his fire was slower, more deliberate. Rationing.
“Blade?” I called.
No answer. Just the wet rasp of a knife somewhere in the dark, followed by silence.
