Sloane tightened her fist around his shirt, face ashen, fresh blood soaking through the bandages. Her lips quirked a moment before she slid down the wall, ass hitting the floor with a dull thud.
He crouched in front, brushing back her hair from her face. “Don’t you quit. You have to stay with me. You hear me? I need you, Sloane.”
Her lips barely moved, her eyelids fluttering way too slow. “Still… here… Go. Finish, this…”
“If I leave, you’ll fade.”
That earned him a genuine smile. “I won’t. Promise.”
“Sloane.”
She lifted her hand, thumbed his cheek, her blood sticky against his skin. “I can’t tell you I love you, if I die… so…”
Her words hit hard, the truth shining in her eyes.
He leaned in, touched his forehead to hers. “That’s why we’re gonna stick together, so catch your breath, we’ll making the last push to the south…”
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Resolute.
He turned, swept his weapon across the roofline, zeroed in on the Reaper as he emerged from the smoke and fog, rain dripping off his hair, a cruel smile twisting his lips. He made a show of tossing his rifle to the side, drawing a massive knife from a thigh holster.
He flipped the blade over in his hand a few times, lips curved at the corners, eyes narrowed. “Empty, but then, so are you.”
Nick pulled the trigger just in case, cursing when the damn thing clicked. He palmed his vest, but half his supplies were missing — likely ripped off when he’d nearly fallen through the roof.
An odd calm washed over him as he removed his own knife, testing the comforting weight of it. He didn’t have the sniper range Dalton or Zain had, and he’d never been that great with explosives, but fighting…
He’d always been able to take a beating and somehow come out on top.
He took a breath, stood, blocking Sloane from view as he stepped forward, blade glinting off the orange flames rising through the roof.
The Reaper tsked. “Hart’s not looking so good, Colter. Thinking I might just cash in on that bonus, after all.”
“Don’t count on it, asshole. She’s tough.”
“Tougher than anticipated. Who knew you’d both be impossible to kill. Though, it looks like your luck just ran out.”
Nick twirled his KA-BAR, adjusted his grip. “Are we gonna fight, or are you just gonna talk dirty to me?”
The Reaper lunged, knife slicing the air in clean, efficient arcs, swirling the smoke in its wake. Nick faced the threat head-on, metal grinding on metal as their blades clashed, sparks lighting up the darkness. They traded blows, every strike a well-choreographed display of skill and strength as the roof shuddered and groaned beneath them.
The beams sagged, tilting the platform to the left, every creak threatening to drop them into the raging fire below. Steam seeped up through the cracks, shepherding them off to one side as they each got in a couple lucky strikes.
Blood dripped from a slice along Nick’s forearm, more down the side of his cheek, but he kept circling, advancing whenever the Reaper missed his mark — let his guard down.
Sweat ran down Nick’s back, fatigue quickly cramping his muscles when the Reaper paused, looked past him at Sloane. The creep smiled, flipped his knife.
Nick moved.
No hesitation.
No regrets.
Just him blocking any clear sightline at Sloane as he dove at the man — took a slice across his shoulder as he tackled the Reaper to the roof. The bastard’s knife glanced off Nick’s vest, cut a thin line under his arm, as they grappled for control, blades clashing, limbs intertwined. They rolled, all the injuries and lack of oxygen taking its toll as Nick lost ground, took a few punches to his ribs.
