I glanced once more at Raine. She was already lacing her boots, her movements steady, calm. The captain I remembered—the one I’d lost, the one I’d never stopped loving—was standing right there.
And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was leading alone.
“We roll in four,” I said. “And when that truck leaves Dallas, it doesn’t make it past us.”
75
Raine
The hum of the highway was the only sound in the SUV. City lights burned faint in the distance, Dallas rising out of the desert like a trap waiting to spring.
I sat between Adam and the door, my shoulder pressed against his. Every bump in the road rattled my ribs, but I refused to flinch. I’d been broken before. This time, I wasn’t breaking.
Adam was quiet, his profile cut sharp against the glow of the dash. His hand rested near mine, steady, sure, like even in stillness he was holding the weight of us all. Commander and soldier. Lover and shield.
My heart thundered, too fast, too loud. I’d worn a uniform, I’d led men, I’d faced down fire. But this felt different. Maybe because the enemy wasn’t just across a battlefield—it was everywhere, hidden behind lab coats and corporate logos and the kind of money that could scrub an entire ridge clean.
I closed my eyes, the clinic flashing behind them. The cold. The organ sloshing across the tile. The blinking red light.
I almost spoke it aloud, but I caught myself, biting my tongue. Boone’s raised hand, his dry humor, still echoed in my head:Don’t add kidneys to the rotation.
A shaky laugh slipped out before I could stop it.
Adam’s eyes flicked to me, sharp. “You alright?”
“Yeah,” I whispered, clutching the pistol resting against my thigh. “Just remembering how Boone shut me up earlier.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, the faintest smile ghosting across his face. It was gone in a heartbeat, but it steadied me all the same.
Hawk’s voice broke from the front seat, low and certain. “Convoy’s rolling. Boone’s feed says they left the warehouse ten minutes ago. Truck, plus two shadows. Black SUVs.”
Russ adjusted the map spread across his lap. “We’ll intercept at the choke point outside Hillsboro. No room to run.”
Blade didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The gleam of steel in his hand said enough.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe past the nerves, past the fear. This wasn’t about me. This was about the kids, the families, the voices that would never be heard again if we didn’t stop this.
I reached for Adam’s hand, lacing my fingers through his. His grip was strong, grounding, a promise in the dark.
“Together,” I whispered.
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t have to. His hand tightened, steady as steel.
The SUV crested a rise, headlights sweeping over the narrow stretch of highway ahead.
And there—tiny in the distance but closing fast—the outline of a white refrigerated truck, flanked by two dark SUVs.
The convoy.
My breath caught.
Showtime.
76
Raine
The convoy thundered closer, headlights cutting like knives through the dark. Hawk’s hands tightened on the wheel, the SUV surging forward as Adam’s voice cut sharp over comms.
