All hell breaks loose.
Damon moves first, his gun snapping up. A single shot—one of Jason’s men drops before he can fire. Asher charges into the fray, a blur of fists and muscle, disarming a second guy before flipping him hard into the dirt.
Another gun goes off, the flash of a muzzle lighting up the dark forest. I pivot just in time to see Asher lunging forward towards the man holding Emma and Ella captive, a blur of movement. His fist connects with the guy’s jaw, knocking him backward, gun skidding across the dirt. The girls are smart enough to turn and bolt into the trees. The man scrambles to his feet, but Asher doesn’t give him the chance. A brutal takedown—arm twisted, knee driven to the spine, then silence.
I barely register the fight at my back before another one of Jason’s men reaches for Mia.
Not a fucking chance.
I move without thinking, boots tearing against the earth, closing the space between us in seconds. The man barely has a grip on her arm before I drive my elbow into his throat. He chokes, stumbling, and I finish it with a pistol whip to the side of his head. He crumples into the dirt.
Gunfire rips through the clearing. Damon sidesteps it just in time, returning fire with two shots, each hitting center mass. The last man standing staggers and collapses.
All down.
But Jason is still standing.
He stumbles back, panting and disoriented, but he’s still armed. His gun swings up—toward Mia.
No.
I charge, tackling him to the ground. We go down hard, rolling through the dirt. He fights like a man with nothing left to lose—dirty, fast, desperate.
A brutal elbow drives into my ribs, another slams into my jaw, but I don’t let up. I see flashes of Kandahar, of the betrayal, of the men we lost because of him. The rage fuels me, as adrenaline kicks in. I need to end this here..
I shift my weight and slam a knee into his gut. Jason gasps, and his grip falters—just for a second. It’s all I need.
I rip the gun from his hands and send it flying into the dirt.
“It’s over,” I snarl, shoving him onto his back. “You’re done.”
Jason lets out a hoarse, pained laugh. “Not yet.”
And then—a metallic click. A flash of steel.
The bastard still has a knife.
Before I can react, he swings upward, blade aiming straight for my throat.
I barely manage to twist in time—the blade slices my arm instead, burning through muscle. I grit my teeth, straining to grab his wrist, to keep him from shoving it deeper.
Then a gunshot rips through the chaos.
Jason jerks. A red bloom spreads across his shoulder.
I snap my head up.
Mia stands there, both hands gripping a pistol, her chest rising and falling in sharp gasps.
For the first time, true fear flashes in Jason’s eyes.
Jason stares at Mia in shock, gasping for breath, his hand clamping over the bullet wound in his shoulder. His fingers tremble as blood seeps between them, dark and wet. The gun in Mia’s grip doesn’t waver, even as her chest rises and falls in sharp, ragged breaths.
No one moves.
Damon, still braced from the last shot he fired, lowers his gun just slightly, eyes locked on Jason’s slumped form. Asher standsa few feet away, his hands balled into fists, body coiled like a spring, ready to react.
But Jason isn’t done yet.
