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Brad inhales harshly, as does James. Shit. King takes Pearl’s arm—her broken arm—and pulls her closer, and the sound of her yelp nearly has me diving at King, so fuck knows how Brad feels. I have to throw a forearm out to stop him moving forward.
“Danny, tell me you’ve got something up your fucking sleeve,” he says quietly.
“Pretty please,” James adds.
“I’m not wearing any fucking sleeves,” I mutter. “What about your sleeves?”
“Chaka was up one sleeve,” Brad murmurs. “And he’s fucking disappeared. The gun I tucked in the back of Pearl’s pants was up the other, and she’s now out of reach.”
“Fucking hell.” I’m beginning to sweat.
“If I don’t go home alive, Rose will kill y—” I hear the sweet sound of something in the distance. “Wait,” I say quietly, listening.
“What’s that noise?” James asks.
“Sounds like a chopper.” Brad doesn’t look up to the sky, his eyes unmoving from Pearl. “Is that a fucking chopper?”
“Police?” I ask, seeing King and the others looking up at the sky too, just as a helicopter appears from over the trees and bullets start to hit the water. “Fuck!” Men scatter like ants, including us, everyone diving for cover, but not Brad. He goes straight to Pearl and pulls the gun from her pants, handing her over to Nolan before he fires, hitting a Russian by a tree. Then he runs into the water toward the jet ski. “What the fuck are you doing?” I yell, checking the coast is clear before making a run for it, going after him, James on my tail, all of us dodging bullets. Brad flips the seat up of a jet ski.
He starts pulling out guns, throwing them to us. “I had the boys load all the fake jet skis when we cleared out and had them put at the front of the store,” he yells over the gunfire. “If he was going to use one as an escape backup, he’d pull out the easiest.”
“You crafty fuck,” I breathe.
And then laugh, firing on a demented roar.
68
BRAD
* * *
Danny’s laugh is off-the-charts manic as he showers bullets left and right.
I spot Nolan behind the door of the container, and nearly whimper my relief when I see he has Pearl behind him. “Good lad. Fuck!” I jump when a bullet hits the water at my feet and quickly get myself behind a low wall by the café, peeking round. “I see you, you fucker,” I whisper, watching Sandy dash for cover.
“Who the fuck is in that chopper?” James stands tall over me, almost goading the enemy, firing a few shots before lowering and reloading. “Friend or foe?”
“I haven’t a fucking clue, J?—”
“My friends!”
I frown at the happy yelled greeting, looking at the sky, seeing a ladder dangling from the helicopter as it comes in low, practically skimming the water as it coasts past.
“Fuck me,” Danny laughs, as Chaka, in full tribal garb, hangs off the ladder, one hand clenching it, the other brandishing a machine gun.
“What happened to the boat and jet skis, Chaka?” James yells.
“I brought those too!” He laughs, deep and throaty, head thrown back, then lets off a few more rounds across the boatyard, taking down more men. He releases the ladder and drops into the shallow water, and someone is soon replacing him on the ladder, coming to join the party. Chaka, the bloodthirsty fucker, needs to be in the thick of it.
“Village life in the middle of the jungle getting boring, Chaka?” I ask, making him chuckle as he goes off, firing all over the fucking place. What a fucking hero.
I lift, turn, and shoot, taking out two more men, but we have a way to go. Between Luis and Sandy, they have an army. We have a village tribe. I do a quick reccy, checking everyone’s positions. “They won’t have much ammo,” I say, reloading.
“They have what they took from our vehicles,” Danny pants. “Fuckers. I’ll take Sandy,” he says, gathering his breath.
James doesn’t challenge him. “I’ll take Luis,” he counters calmly.
“And I get King.” I look over at Otto. At Goldie. At Ringo. Silently wish everyone safe. “Your timing is impeccable, Chaka,” I call as he pops off a few more Mexicans.
