They kept coming. Masked, silent, disciplined. Not chaos—this was a push. A test. Blade was right.
A round snapped past my cheek, hot and close. I hit the mud, rolled, fired—dropped one, maybe two. My chest heaved, lungs burning. This was crazy. Did these men forget we were in Texas? They had to have at least fifteen dead men. Mercenaries only cared about the money.
“Adam,” Russ said, voice even but grim, “we won’t be able to hold this line another five minutes.”
I knew it.
My comm hissed—static, Boone’s voice barely punching through:“…under fire… Raine—”
Then nothing.
My pulse spiked.
“Adam!” Hawk barked, snapping me back. He was pointing down the slope.
Headlights.
A fresh convoy of vehicles roared into view, three… no, four of them. Engines snarling, cutting through the rain like wolves circling bleeding prey.
“Reinforcements,” Hawk muttered, his voice hollow. “And not ours.”
I clenched my teeth and lifted my rifle, even though the magazine was nearly empty. My men pressed around me, bruised, bleeding, outgunned. I knew Russ had a bullet hole in him, and I suspected Hawk might have one or two as well.
The ridge shook with the weight of new tires grinding through the mud.
And for the first time tonight, I felt the edge of something colder than fear.
We weren’t meant to win this fight.
26
Raine
The recoil slammed into my shoulder, muzzle flash blinding in the storm. For one endless heartbeat I thought I’d missed.
Then the van’s windshield shattered in a glittering spray. The headlights swerved, carving wild arcs across the trees. Metal screamed as the vehicle fishtailed, skidded sideways, and slammed into the ditch.
The impact shook the Jeep as Boone swerved to keep us upright. “Hell yeah!” he barked, slamming the gas. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
The boy in the back whimpered, his mother clutching him tight. Relief rippled through me, sharp and dizzy, but it lasted all of two seconds.
Because another set of lights flared in the mirror.
Boone’s grin vanished. “Damn it. More company.”
My pulse spiked. How many of these bastards were out here? How many vans, how many masks, how many stolen lives hidden in the storm?
“We can’t lead them to the shelter,” I said, throat raw. “Too many civilians.”
“No kidding,” Boone muttered. He jerked the wheel, taking us down a flooded side road, water spraying over the hood. “Hold on!”
The Jeep bounced hard, tires catching on loose gravel. The survivors screamed, clutching each other as the vehicle skidded dangerously close to the drop-off.
I braced myself against the door, rifle raised. “If they catch up, we make a stand here.”
Boone shot me a sharp look, teeth flashing in a grim smile. “Stoker’s gonna kill me.”
“Not if I kill them first.”
