Another shot ricocheted off metal inches from my face.
I reached the hatch and shoved.
It didn’t budge.
Panic clawed at my chest—but I crushed it down and slammed my shoulder into the hatch again.
Once.
Twice.
It gave with a violent shriek.
Light spilled down.
Fresh air hit my lungs so hard I nearly sobbed.
I hauled myself up and rolled—
Straight into him.
Trigger caught me mid-fall, his arms locking around me as the hatch slammed shut beneath us. His body was solid, immovable, a wall between me and everything behind me.
“Rylie,” he breathed, voice raw in my ear.
“I’m here,” I gasped.
His hand was already on my wrist, gentle despite the urgency, checking the restraints, the blood, the shaking he couldn’t stop.
“I know,” he said fiercely. “I know.”
Below us, muffled shouts and gunfire echoed—then stopped abruptly.
Trigger shifted, pulling me fully against his chest, his rifle coming up over my shoulder.
His voice went cold.
“All teams—target acquired. She’s safe. Sweep and clear.”
A chorus of confirmations came back, sharp and professional.
Only then did my legs give out.
Trigger held me like he’d never let go again, his forehead pressed to mine as his breathing steadied—slow, controlled, barely holding back everything else.
“You did exactly right,” he said quietly. “Every damn step.”
I swallowed hard. “I knew you were close.”
His mouth curved into something fierce and full of pride.
“You always do,” he said.
And somewhere deep beneath the concrete, the last illusion of control the cartel had just drowned.
35
Wolf
