A shot hits the door, and with a muffled curse, Ryker yanks his hand back. His sleeve’s ripped, a small bit of blood staining the fabric. We all press ourselves against the opposite wall as West takes over the ram, busting a second hole and then pulling out his pistol. “Eyes,” he hisses, and I grab the snake camera, feeding it through the new hole to get an idea of what we’re dealing with.
“Holy fucking shit.” It’s like a doomsday prepper’s wet dream down there. The left side of the room is walled off, but the right… Ammo crates stacked four feet high, floor-to-ceiling shelves full of canned goods, jugs of water and MREs.
We can’t see Alec, but a shadow moves in the far corner of the space. “Hand it over,” I say, motioning for the Walkie-Talkie. Ry drops it into my hand and adjusts his grip on his M4. “You’re surrounded,Alec. Dennis is dead, and we know you ordered the hit on Connor Davis. There’s no scenario where you walk out of there a free man. Let Quinton go, and maybe, you’ll still be able to walk at all.”
On the tiny screen, the shadow moves again, and Alec laughs. “So you found a small weakness in the wall. Big deal. You set one foot on the stairs and you’ll find yourself in a thousand tiny pieces painting the walls with your blood.”
West drops to one knee, adjusts his grip on the pistol, and blows out a long, slow breath. The SEAL’s rage matches mine, and the way that one vein in his temple is throbbing, he’s running through a dozen different ways for us all to get down there safely.
“We’re doing a Blind Faith,” he says, holstering his weapon and taking position like he’s about to run the 500-meter dash. “Golf? Cover fire. Lima? Be ready to follow me when I signal. Romeo? Count it down.”
“Three, two, one...” Ryker shoves his arm through the hole on the right while I fire three shots through the second hole aimed as high as I can. Can’t risk hitting Q.
Bullets pepper the door. Ryker swears under his breath and jerks back, more blood coating his gloved hand, but the door pops open.
“Say goodbye to yourfriends, Quint,” Alec says, his tone almost gleeful. But the angle, how his voice echoes off the walls, and even the pitch is different now. West and Ry exchange a glance, and before I can ask what’s up, Ryker double-times it back down the hall.
Q cries out in pain, and West leaps forward. Catching the left railing with one hand, he swings his legs and vaults himself over the side. We have no idea what’s down there—or if Harrow’s even telling the truth about the stairs being wired to blow.
A second later, West fires four shots, his signal, and Raelynn mutters, “Y’all are fucking insane,” before following the SEAL’s lead.
She’s not wrong. This could be suicide. But the man I love is down there, and I’m not letting that asshole take his life away. As soon as I land on the right side of the stairs, I make a silent vow to never complain about our sadistic workout routines again.
Peering across the stairs, I meet West’s gaze. He holds up three fingers as a countdown, and I center myself with a deep breath.
We’re the best in the world. This has to work. If I lose Q, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself.
* * *
Quinton
The pain shooting down my back is all I can focus on. That and breathing. I don’t know what’s going on. It’s too loud. My head hurts, there’s a strange, acrid smell that burns my nose, and I’m so dizzy.
How did I get here? I remember crying myself to sleep on the thin mattress. A loud noise woke me up. Then Alec cuffed my hands in front of me and dragged me from the room.
My legs are mostly useless, and I can’t get any purchase on the smooth concrete floor. Alec’s arm bands around my torso. Struggling earns me a snarl and something hits my temple hard enough to make me see stars.
Several loud bangs hurt my ears, and the terrible smell gets stronger.
“This is all your fault, Quint,” Alec hisses. “And you’re going to pay for it when we get out of here.” We’re moving now, and he jerks me, trying to get a better grip, I think. Pure agony covers my back in a spiderweb of pain.
“Please,” I whimper. “You’re hurting me.”
Another hard whack to my temple, and I cry out. More noises I don’t understand, and someone shouts.
“Q? Talk to me!”
That voice. I know that voice. I dream about him. Blue eyes. Dark hair. Strong hands. My brain isn’t working right. I can’t see his face. Why can’t I remember?
I have to stay here. Can’t let Alec take me anywhere else. Have to fight. With a hoarse scream, I ball up my fists and slam them into Alec’s shoulder. He’s too strong, but he stumbles, and I try again.
A crash comes from behind us, and the next sound…it’s almost inhuman. Loud. Angry. My entire body jerks, my stomach pitches like I’m falling, and I hit something solid and warm.
“Clear!” The word’s so crisp, so sharp. I smell blood. Oh, God. What’s going on? “Stay down and shut the fuck up.”
“Q? You’re safe now. I promise.” A gloved hand cups my cheek, and gentle pressure skates under my swollen eye. “Fuck, baby. What did he do to you?”
The voice from my dreams. Bay rum. It’s too bright. Too confusing. But I know him. “Graham?” All I can see is a hazy shadow. And blue eyes.
