Avery pressed her shoulder into the ground, squeezing her eyes shut for a heartbeat as bullets tore overhead. She forced herself to breathe through the mud and smoke.
Please,she thought.Let that hold.
Because if Cal and Garrett were right, if the Brotherhood was truly trapped inside that structure behind the bunker, then maybe, just maybe, they had a fighting chance.
But the gunfire didn’t let up.
It only grew louder, closer.
A round hit the ground inches from her hand, kicking up dirt and water. She jerked back, adrenaline roaring through her veins.
Avery’s gaze flicked toward the slab again, where Isla was still huddled, unmoving, rain running down her back. The Brotherhood might have been contained, but containment was temporary.
And every second they stayed pinned down out here in the open, they were one heartbeat away from being overrun.
Gunfire cracked through the clearing, closer this time. Too close. The hiss of rain couldn’t mute it, couldn’t soften the metallic shriek of rounds slicing through branches overhead. A spray of bark exploded near Avery’s face, and she ducked lower, heart pounding so hard she felt it in her teeth.
Muzzle flashes flared through the trees like lightning.
“Down,” Jackson barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
She didn’t have to be told twice. She pressed herself flat, cheek against cold mud. Water pooled under her vest, the taste of grit in her mouth.
A cry broke through the gunfire. Raw and jagged.
Darian.
Avery’s head snapped toward him. He was sprawled on his side, mud splattered across his face, one hand clamped to his shoulder. Blood slicked his palm—or maybe it was just rain. She couldn’t tell.
He groaned, voice hoarse. “I’ve been hit. Damn it, I’ve been hit!”
Or he wanted them to think that.
Avery’s instincts screamedtrap, but before she could react, Jackson was already moving.
He rose halfway out of cover, pivoted with the precision of a man who didn’t need to think before he shot. His gun came up, smooth and certain, and in that instant Avery saw what he was aiming at.
Through the curtain of rain, just past the far edge of the clearing, a man crouched behind a fallen tree, rifle braced, barrel smoking.
Chuck Barlow.
The recognition hit her like a gut punch. She’d seen him before in photographs of the known Brotherhood members.
Jackson didn’t hesitate. One clean shot rang out.
Barlow’s head snapped back, and his body dropped instantly, motionless in the mud.
The forest went still.
For a moment, the only sound was the patter of rain on leaves, the faint ring in Avery’s ears. Her breathing came fast, sharp in the sudden quiet.
Then, shouting.
Muffled at first, then louder, spilling from behind the bunker.
Avery’s blood ran cold. Voices, angry, panicked. Boots hitting concrete. Metal clanging.
Noah turned his head, eyes narrowing. “They’re trying to get out.”
