Page 74 of Heist in Paradise

My jaw clenched. “Which one?”

I followed Callum’s instructions down the tunnel, veering right. When I saw them—Nate, leaned against the gritty wall, face ashen and blood spattered, Callum standing firm on his feet—my chest seized up like a heart attack. Both of them jolted when they saw me, their eyes raking over my body with the same clinical relief.

Without speaking, I lifted the device in my hand.

Callum nodded, then pointed down at my left thigh. Crowbar.

I handed it to him, then risked a peek into the room through the tiny window. My lip hitched into a snarl. The man was huge, easily Callum’s stature, and was facing the door, holding the frightened girl in front of him like a shield. His gun was pressed to her temple, his hand unsteady. When our eyes locked, he bared his teeth in challenge.

The violence in me surged, fire meeting fire. I stepped back and nodded to Callum. He hooked the crowbar beneath the latch, then waited, biceps tensed in preparation. Nate pressed to the left side, so he wasn’t in the direct firing line. I took the right side, covering the bases, my thumb clipping the tiny pin in the device in my hand.

We needed to be quick. No margin for errors.

Counting together, we matched our breaths, our blinks, our fucking souls. On the third blink, Callum wrenched downwards and kicked the door open, and I tossed the device across the floor where it burst with a deafening bang.

A blinding flash, then smoke, smothered the room in a thick curtain. Nate and I moved in as one unit, guns raised. Our mark was easy to find—big, stooped, covering his eyes with a howl. The girl was on the floor, unmoving. Callum lifted her easily and tossed her over his huge shoulder, exiting the room in three strides.

There was a gunshot, a scramble, and for a heart-stopping moment, I thought Nate spasmed, as if hit. He recovered a second later, lifting his gun and shooting twice at the bastard.

I added a third to his lower half, and finally, finally, he went down with a groaning gurgle. The smoke was suffocating, pawing at my senses. I reached for Nate at the same time he reached for me, gloves slapping flesh. We guided each other out of the room.

I slammed the door behind me, containing the smoke. Then I flipped around and shoved Nate against it, my hands patting him down, searching him fervently.

“I’m good, Ja—Alpha. I’m good.”

“Shut up.” My hand brushed his hip, and he stiffened, hissing. Giving him a flat look, I peeled aside his vest.

Blood oozed from a bullet wound on his hip, just below his belt.

For a second, I just stared at it, mind blanking.

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Nate insisted, grimacing. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“That’s not a good thing.” My voice was small. Fuck. I swallowed around the bile, the lurch of anguish already trying to take over.

I had to fix it.

“Scooby is hit.”

There was a sharp, wretched silence. Then Zola’s voice cracked: “What?”

“We need a med kit—”

“I told you, I’m fine—”

I slapped his cheek, softer than I normally would. “I said shut up. Sunshine, bring the med kit to the war room. We’re going up.”

Callum stepped forward, the girl now conscious, and latched onto his arm like a nervous passenger. She had big, round eyes and short, reddish hair that I hoped was natural, not blood-soaked. “The girls,” Callum reminded me gently.

“Open the doors but keep them here until we take the beach.”

“Roger.” Callum didn’t move right away, his eyes lingering on Nate behind me. For a second, his face cracked, furious and devastated and vengeful, before he reined it in. With a brisk nod, Callum turned to the girl at his side.

“Let us free the others now, lassie. Come on.”

The girl blinked up at him, then stubbornly shook her head. “Schwester.”

“Eh, what now?”