That’s my good girl.
I crouch in front of her to get down to her eye level. “Stay here. You can talk to me if it’s an emergency. Just put two fingers on the earpiece”—I mimic the motion—“and I’ll hear you.”
Tears gather in her eyes as I quickly give her theinstructions, and it takes everything I have not to give her what I know she really needs right now.
I cup her face hard enough to force her attention onto me. “Do not come out for anyone except me or Gunnar. Understood?” She nods quickly between my palms.
Another gunshot echoes from downstairs, and Mackenzi visibly tenses, panic flashing across her face as she grabs my wrist. “Don’t leave me.”
Her words nearly fucking destroy me, and for one impossible second, instinct screams at me to stay. I could barricade the door and hold her in my arms, let someone else handle the threat downstairs. But I know better. If this house is compromised, I can’t trap us in one room like sitting targets. And I sure as fuck can’t drag her barefoot and unarmed through an active breach.
I lean forward and press one fast, hard kiss against her mouth. “I have to go help,” I murmur against her lips. “But I swear on my life, I will come back for you.” A rogue tear runs down her cheek, and I wipe it away with my thumb before promising, “And I will not letanyoneget to you.”
As much as it pains me, I leave her in the closet and shut the door before she can see my concern. I let go of the knob and turn on my heel, morphing into an entirely different man.
Alarm lights pulse a dim red through the residence hallways, and another burst of gunfire rattles through the embassy wing. Unarmed, I sprint down the staircase two steps at a time, my pulse hammering in my ears so loudly, it’s almost painful. I reach the landing without incident, race down the hall, and shove the command center doors open.
Rows of monitors washed the darkened space in cold blue light, security feeds flickering from every wing of the residence strobed by emergency lights. I scan them quickly, immediately finding how bad it really is. There’s a Marine collapsed against the north wall with a hand clamped over his shoulder, blood spills from between his fingers. Gunnar is moving through the west wing, a rifle in his hands, sweeping corners methodically as a small team of Marines follows behind him.
I grab the comms off the charger on the table and clip it to the waistband of my pants, shove the earpiece into place, and head straight for the biometric gun safe in the far corner. After slamming my thumb against the sensor, the safe clicks open. Inside sits enough weaponry to start a small war.Or protect Mackenzi.I grab a sidearm first—a suppressed 9mm—and strap it to my thigh with a holster before reaching for a M4 rifle and confirming it has a full magazine. The cold steel settles into my hands like it is an extension of my body—familiar, reliable, and deadly.
After reaching for the comms at my waist, I flip it to the private channel I put Mackenzi on. “You’re being so fucking brave,” I praise, quietly chambering a round.
There is a slight pause before she answers, her voice trembling, “I’m scared.”
Her fear guts me. “I know, trouble.”
God, I fucking know.
I can practically picture her, curled up inside that closet, trying not to cry. The thought alone sharpens my intent to lethal levels as I flip back to the public channel. “Breach update?”
Gunfirecracks loudly through someone’s mic before Gunnar answers, “Three men down. Two jumped the north wall.” His voice is clipped and calm beneath the chaos. “Just entered the west wing.”
West wing.
Fuck.
That puts them far closer to Mackenzi than I am remotely comfortable with. “I’m moving from the east,” I bark, already rushing through the residence corridor. “Sweeping first floor.”
“Copy.”
I switch back to Mackenzi’s private channel. “You still with me?”
“Yes.” Her voice is tiny.
“You’re doing good, trouble.”
I move quickly through the eastern corridor, rifle raised as embassy alarms continue flashing crimson across the walls. Every instinct I’ve spent years honing sharpens from the adrenaline coursing through my veins, every shadow becomes a potential threat.
A shadow flashes against the wall beside me, and I pivot as a man emerges from the darkness near the rear stairwell. He’s carrying a semi-automatic rifle and wearing black tactical gear with no visible insignia.Not embassy security. Not an amateur, either.
He raises his weapon, and I fire once, the rifle in my hand recoiling against my shoulder as the sound of it firing echoes deafeningly loud in the confined space. The roundtears through his shoulder and slams him into the stairwell with a scream as he drops his rifle. I sprint toward him, crossing the distance in seconds, before kicking his weapon away. It skids across the marble floor as I drive into him hard enough to cause him to crash to the floor on his back.
“Kill me,” he spits with a Colombian accent as blood pools rapidly beneath him. “More of us will?—”
I jam the rifle muzzle hard into his chest. “You stupid fucks. He’s not even here.”
The man just laughs harder, despite the blood running from the corner of his mouth. “This was never about him.”
