I don’t understand the urgency until the sound cracks through the air.
A gunshot.
It’s close enough that I feel it more than hear it. My brain lags, struggling to process what my body already knows. Gunnar raises his weapon and fires back without hesitation.
Jagger sets Maryam in the backseat and roughly elbows me toward the open door. “Get in!” he shouts, lifting his own weapon.
Around me, everything crumbles into chaos.
Now, more than ever, this has become about survival.
There are moments in life when everything slows down, moving in slow motion like a cinematic war scene. This is very muchnotone of them.
The gunshot booms through the night, and my brain finally catches up to what my instincts have been screaming since the comms crackled in my ear. Somewhere between the safe house and the hospital, between paranoia and confidence, we missed a tail. Or while we were hiding, they’ve been waiting here for my Doc.
Fucking fantastic.
Gunnar is braced on the hood of the Jeep for stability, returning fire in short, controlled bursts. The muzzle flash lights up his face for half a second—grim, focused, and pissed. The look carved into his face is one that screamsI’m real fucking tired of getting shot at.Hawk shoves Zahra the rest of the way into the backseat of the lead Jeep as Damon slides behind the wheel, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the windows.
It’s choreography—ugly, violent choreography—of a dance we have done far too many times.
Maryam moans as I set her down, pain contorting her face. Her body betrays her, and I grab her elbow before she spills from the backseat and crumples to the ground.
Blake waits beside the Jeep, the baby clutched firmly to her chest as she stands exposed—too exposed—to the danger literally flying through the air.Her eyes are wide but focused, sharp with the kind of fear that enhances instead of paralyzes. Twisting my body, I instinctually pull Blake between the Jeep and me to shield her tiny body with mine.
“We’ve gotta go,” Gunnar shouts, readying to leave his perch to climb behind the wheel.
The gunfire no longer sounds like cracks of thunder. Bullets are being exchanged in such voracity that it sounds like the fucking Fourth of July. Maryam clambers through the pain, sliding across the seat like her life depends on it.Because it does.
“Move,” I snap, shoving Blake into the backseat the moment there is enough space for her. I slam the door shut and vault into the passenger seat as Gunnar presses on the gas.
“Go!” I shout.As if he needed the encouragement.The Jeep lurches forward violently, tearing up the gravel and spraying it like shrapnel in our wake.
Quickly following Hawk and Damon, Gunnar throws us into a hard turn at too fast a speed. The ass-end of the jeep sways slightly before he regains control, the force jerking meinto the door. “Seatbelt!” I shout, knowing that had to have bounced Blake around the backseat like a ragdoll.
Headlights bloom in the side mirror, then another set. Four cars. Five motorcycles.Of course there are bikes.There are always fucking bikes.
“Contact rear,” I bark into the comms. “Multiple vehicles.”
“Copy,” Hawk replies instantly, calm and steady. “Stay tight.”
We race through the streets, leaving a path of destruction in our wake. Late-night pedestrians scatter like cockroaches as horns blare and a speeding, gunfire-ridden caravan rips through their previously quiet night.
Shots erupt again, and the rear window spiderwebs before giving way entirely, glass spraying into the cabin. “Get down,” I hastily command at Blake and Maryam, twisting in my seat. Blake grabs the back of Maryam’s head and pulls her low, the two of them curling their bodies and creating a shield around the baby without hesitation.God, she’s going to be an amazing mother. Fuck, Jagg. Focus!With my weapon raised, I fire through the frame of the shattered window.
The recoil punches into my shoulder as we hit a pothole, and one of the motorcycles swerves violently when the rider loses control. Overcorrecting, the bike slams sideways into a shower of sparks.
“Fuck, that hurt,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder as I reload.
Gunnar lets out a sharp laugh that skirts the edge of hysteria. “You okay, little buddy? Do you need someone to kiss it and make it better?”
“If we’re talking about your lips, old man. I’ve got something they can kiss.”
Aegis… A dysfunctional-as-fuck, well-oiled machine.
The lead Jeep swerves hard left. We follow, barely missing a delivery truck that blares its horn like we’retryingto T-bone a twenty-ton wall. More gunfire rings out, and the side mirror on my side of the car explodes, plastic and glass flying everywhere.
Blake cries out in the back, a thin, broken sound that makes my jaw clench. Maryam screams too, high and terrified, cutting straight through the noise and lodging somewhere behind my ribs.Great… Add traumatized civilians to the list.
