I secure the gas mask on my face and check the fit. Extracting four tear gas grenades from the backpack at my side—thank you, Grant—I toss them from the alligator’s mouth, where they land with a clatter at the feet of the men near Trinity.
Game on.
The grenades explode, one after the other, as her captors dive like dolphins in synchronicity to avoid the smoke.
Trinity drops and rolls away, disappearing under a float. Based on the togas and the thunderbolt in one man’s hand, the theme is half-destroyed Greek gods. Or maybe the king of gods and his harem. Whoever they are, they’re giving Trinity plenty of cover from the Russiansandthe gas, with the thick velvet curtain hanging beneath the float like a bed skirt.
I sling the bag over my shoulders, ready two Glocks in my hands, and hop out of the alligator.
As soon as my feet touch the ground, all hell breaks loose.
Opaque orange clouds of pepper spray spew into the air from the smoke bombs, creeping through the warehouse like tentacles.
The muscle guarding Trinity, plus four more of the seekers, collapse right off the bat. They go down choking, coughing, and spitting as they crawl toward the exit.
Six down. Six to go.
I’m almost disappointed. Twelve adversaries would’ve been a hell of a fight.
While the Russians scatter and struggle, I use the chaos for cover and slide under the float with Zeus and Friends.
Trinity whirls around with a piece of scrap metal clenched in her hands, ready to wallop me upside the head.
“Whoa there!”
She gasps, the weapon clattering to the cement. “Brody!” She scoots across the space between us to throw her arms around my neck.
We’re on our knees and need to stoop to keep from hitting our heads against the underside of the trailer, but I don’t care.
I clutch her to my chest. “Trinity…” I press my masked face against her hair. “I’m going to get us out of here. Just give me a minute, okay?” Reluctantly, I pull away and yank the second gas mask from my bag. “Put this on, nice and tight. You need to stay under here until I come back for you.”
Once the mask is secured around her face, I pass her one of my guns.
Those green eyes, clear and bright even through the goggles of the mask, widen.
“Take it. And don’t move.” There’s no time to argue.
I only linger long enough for her to nod and grip the gun before I roll out into the fray. Now at the rear of the float, I climb up and crouch behind the toga fabric to get a better sense of the playing field.
Despite the pepper spray so close to his nose and eyes, Grigori remains standing. Guys like him don’t live this long without possessing backbones of steel. He paces outside the saffron cloud, his dark eyes darting through the warehouse like a caged wolf.
Hunting for Trinity. Not me.
My lip curls. I can’t let him find her.
I hop down from the float, creep through the fog, and burst from the cloud to nail the fucker in the temple with the butt of my gun.
He goes down with a grunt, slumping in an unconscious heap.
But two of the men who managed to escape the gas are too close for me to make good use of Grigori’s incapacitation. One jumps me from behind, grabbing my arms to keep my gun from being an issue. The second approaches from the front, raises his Makarov, and fires.
The bullet hits dead center of my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.
Wheezing, I stumble, fire radiating from my sternum.
Hurts like a bitch, but thanks to a bulletproof vest, I’m not dead. I can handle the pain.
My mask means the air returns a little slower, but I manage to catch my breath just as the man grappling my arms starts to choke on the remaining gas.
