Patch curled in, shaking his head as he changed mags. “We’re running low, and these assholes are just getting started.”
McGuire pushed to his feet, bending over to keep his head from getting shot off. “Langley’s got a jammer. I can’t call Savvy until it’s down. In the meantime, I’ll take those other two out by hand. Save the ammo for the rest of Langley’s forces. Cover me.”
“Brother, you’re in no condition…”
Patch’s voice rasped into a curse as McGuire darted out, grabbed another long hook, then sprinted for the stern, Patch peppering the helicopter with rounds. McGuire snaked past the outer containers, rounded the corner just as the other two operatives landed on the deck, rifles not quite leveled. He swung the hook, caught the first guy in the side of the head before diving over him, coming up inside the other bastard’s strike radius.
The merc twisted, caught McGuire in the side, but he landed a firm strike with the handle — dropped the operative a second later with a jab to his gut.
The helicopter roared in close, more shots eating up the deck. McGuire turned, took two to his vest before stumbling behindthose stacked crates. Pain squeezed his chest, each breath burning a line straight to his lungs until he wasn’t even sure anything was getting through. That he was sucking more than a sip of air.
Patch dove in beside him, grabbed his arm and hauled him back, all of them retreating to Keane’s position behind the compressor.
Patch slapped some sponges against McGuire’s ribcage as he readied a pressure bandage. “Press those on the wound. I’ll wrap it.”
McGuire huffed but balled them up, hissing out a breath when Patch cinched them tight, the force rolling McGuire’s eyes. His vision grayed at the edges, a dull roar echoing in his head.
Riven huffed. “You’re beyond reckless, you know that, right?”
He simply smiled, taking a quick peek through the pipes. Four more men landed on the deck, a fifth on the ropes. “Not dead, yet, sweetheart. And I don’t intend to drop before I know you’re safe.”
“How about you don’t drop, period.” She checked her mag, cursed. “I’m down to six shots.”
Patch nodded. “I’ve got one mag left for the carbine, and there’s ten in the Sig I gave McGuire.” He cursed when more rounds struck the other side of the compressor, the gunner in the helicopter getting way too close.
McGuire growled out a breath, readied his gun when a loud crack echoed across the water. He looked out, grinned when the gunner fell back inside the helicopter, the aircraft veering off after the last guy landed on deck.
Stone. And the guy hadn’t hidden it. Wanted the others to know they were all targets.
McGuire’s gaze shifted to the last man.
Tall.
Proud.
His stance oozing authority.
He didn’t need to see the asshole’s face to know his identity.
McGuire swallowed. “Langley’s here.”
Patch peered out, nodded. “Then, let’s finish this.”
McGuire snagged Patch’s wrist. “The bastard’s mine. You two keep Keane breathing and take those other four assholes off the board. I’m going for the lion.”
They took off, moving in sync until they reached the edge of their cover, Riven and Patch angling left as McGuire went right. He stayed low, sticking to the shadows, gaze centered on Langley.
Stone unleashed another shot, dumped one of Langley’s men over the side. The remaining force dove for cover, heading down the starboard side as Langley edged to port, walking like the air split to let him pass.
McGuire glanced over at where Patch and Riven had disappeared, stomach tight, his heart a dead weight against his ribs. If anything happened to her…
He pushed the thought aside. Patch would have her back. Ensure she made it out, or the man would die trying. Just like the rest of them.
The thought settled unforgivingly inside his chest as he stalked Langley, aware Riven would never be safe as long as the man was free.
Langley moved into the shadows, popping up on the other side of a few pallets as if he’d sensed McGuire’s presence. Some kind of echolocation that had bounced back — pinpointed McGuire’s coordinates. The general fired off a quick burst of rounds, one careening off a stanchion next to McGuire’s head as another ripped through a tarp flapping in the wind.
The third smacked into McGuire’s vest, knocked him back, but he recovered, returned two trigger pulls as he ducked behind a winch. Langley shifted, fired a stream of brass across the frontand up the side of the barrier, casings clinking across the deck, a few sizzling as they landed in puddles.
