Viper’s voice was off—slurred. Concussion for sure. The chopper was almost on top of them now, gunfire thundering from its open door.
Titus hauled Viper up, half carrying him up the incline toward the waiting bird.
“Run!” Law shouted, firing past them.
Two Genesis operatives—Black and Winter, Titus remembered—opened up with rapid, disciplined bursts.
Law grabbed Viper under the arms while Titus snatched the M16 off the floorboard. He turned and fired, shredding the jeeps cresting the rise.
“I’m hit!” Winter yelled, stumbling back from the doorway, blood pouring from his arm.
Law yanked, pulling Viper inside the waiting chopper.
A blast rocked the ground, knocking Titus flat—fucking cartel rocket launcher. They wanted this informant badly.
Titus rolled, belly to the dirt, sighted on the man with the launcher, and fired. The bullet hit. It always did when it mattered.
Behind him, the bird lifted—rotor wash kicking sand, rock, and debris. Something sliced his face.
He rolled, eyes tracking the rising chopper—too high now to reach, out of his grasp—and caught Viper’s gaze across the short distance.
“No! Fuck!” Viper’s shout carried over the wind.
Titus didn’t wait to hear more. He shoved to his feet, already moving. Survival was paramount, although bitterness and something akin to hurt coated the back of his tongue.
It didn’t surprise him that they left him out here. Even after the fragile trust he and Viper had built, he knew in his gut he was still judged by blood.
Why would they take him? They had no reason to.
He fired, rolled, and ran—drawing the cartel’s focus away from the chopper.
If he could do one thing right now, it’d be saving Viper and his men.
And if he died trying? Well, maybe he’d find peace.
And perhaps…forgiveness.
Only seconds had passed—just enough for the world to tilt, gray creeping at the edges of his vision.
But all Viper could see was Titus’s face—resignation written there, like he’d known he was going to be left behind.
Fuck that.
Viper tore free of Law’s grip and lunged forward, boots hitting metal. The chopper bucked under the wind, rotor wash screaming, but he didn’t slow. He caught the pilot’s harness, yanked him back, and drove a fist into the man’s head—once, twice, a third time. Bone met bone. The pilot sagged sideways, out cold before the last hit landed.
Before Viper could reach for the controls, the world went gray. He stumbled and fell to his ass.
“Shit!” Law shouted, tearing the unconscious pilot out of the seat. He dropped into the cockpit, hands flying over the controls.
Viper tried to speak, to issue the order, but the world went dark.
The rotors had gone still—no engine howl, no wind beating his skull.
“Viper?” Law’s voice was low, steady. A cold rag pressed against his neck, then his temples, then his forehead.
He blinked up—Law’s face hovered above him, lines sharp with concern. How much time had passed? Why was it so damn quiet?
“I’m awake,” he rasped. “How long have they had him?”
