“Feel free to cut us loose,” Cowboy replies coldly.
“You’re cut loose when I say you are,” she snaps. “And I’m not done with you just yet.”
“Prison’s looking pretty good these days,” Sawyer comments dryly.
“Given that you just put a bullet hole in the daughter of a French diplomat, I wouldn’t rule it out just yet,” Brenda replies. “Now, go before I have to include your names in my paperwork. I’ll be in touch with your next assignment,” she adds as I pass by.
I don’t miss the irritated glance she throws my way right before she starts barking orders at the men who’d come in to start cleaning up the mess.
Tomorrow, there will be no evidence of anything that happened here.
They’ll destroy this place, creating a new black site somewhere else unlisted to replace it. The only reason we haven’t fought our way out from beneath her thumb is because we do good work. My team and I hunt rogue government agents and military operators.
We bring them to justice before too much damage can be done.
And today, we saved the life of an innocent seventeen-year-old.
So, despite the way Brenda makes my skin crawl, I’ll keep pushing forward until the day she becomes a rogue agent in need of justice that I will happily deliver.
Chapter 2
Tessa
Pain radiates through my right leg, spreading fire through my veins, but I keep moving. Each step is agony, but if I stop, I’m not sure I’ll be able to start moving again. With dawn coming soon, I have to make sure I’m out of sight.
My foot catches on something, and I cry out as I fall forward, my hands scraping against the pavement. Tears burn in my eyes, and I crawl into the nearest alley and out of view. With a building at my back and one a couple of yards to my front, I’m completely shielded in the darkness.
I whimper, hands trembling as I check the bandage on my thigh. It’s saturated with blood. Given what I know about injuries, which is all self-taught, I don’t have long before the blood loss becomes a major issue. Truthfully, I’m not even sure how I’m still alive as it is.
Keep moving.
The two words are deafening in my mind, so I use the building at my back to push myself up to standing. Doing what I can to keep weight off of my injured leg, I take one deep breath before pushing forward.
Sweat beads on my skin despite the chill in the air.
The small-town street is silent tonight, aside from the chirping of bugs in the air, but every single noise has my already-racing heart rate spiking.
Did he follow me?
Can he hear my hammering heart?
Can he sense my fear?
No. This is a man. Not a monster from a horror film. The sobering reminder does little to ease my terror, seeing as the worst monsters I’ve ever known have been little more than men.
As I draw in ragged breaths, I study every shadow, waiting for a hooded figure to emerge and finish me off. Wouldn’t that be ironic? I fled this place to save my life, only to lose it here eighteen years later.
Different man. Same outcome.
With that sobering thought, I continue forward, crossing the street in the shadow between the streetlamps.
To my left, ocean waves crash against the shoreline. The scent of saltwater clings to the air around me. It should be welcoming. Familiar. But all it does is send shards of pain through my still broken heart.
Focus. I need supplies. Not that I’ll know what to do with them. Breaks, bruises, and cuts? Those, I can handle.
But a stab wound? This is a first—even for me.
I guess it’s a good thing I know how to sew. Because that may be my only hope here. So long as I can remain conscious through the pain.
