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“Gonna need it from the sound of it. This will hurt like a bitch, won’t it?”
“If Damon can handle it, you can.”
That was Holden.
The TV station crew glued their cameras on the chopper, and she looked on as Holden was prepared to rappel again at a moment’s notice.
“Fuck. Hey, Damon, man, turn the TV off in case this shit goes sideways.”
If they did what she thought they were talking about, the maneuver meant to save Riley’s life could smash him against the rocks instead. She didn’t need to be an expert climber to know simple logic. His helmet and padded suit wouldn’t save him.
“There has to be another way.” She hoped, prayed.
Damon pointed to the TV where the cameraman remained glued on Riley dangling form.
“It will. You have your helmet on. Your suit. You should be just fine. Now cowboy the fuck up already.” Riley told the stranded climber to back up a few feet to safety. With his feet positioned on the wall of the mountain, he gave a quick shake of his head, hands positioned on the rope much like a bull rider.
A deep growl from across the bar brought her gaze over to connect with Ashwood's. “He’s got his head so messed up with you that he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing! Until now, he’s never had an accident.”
She didn’t quite know where to start with the malice slung her way.
“Enough,” roared Damon, hushing everyone. “Watch as your boy does his job, old man.”
“You ready, Riley?” Holden peered over the ledge of the chopper as he spoke to his friend in an even tone over the COMS.
Riley made like he was throwing a lasso as a signal and then held on tight.
Time slowed. Drake rocked the chopper with a hard tug right then dipped left. The abrupt whip of the rope sent a force down the thick girth. On Riley’s end, he did the same. He pushed off the wall and sent a forceful wave up the length of rope. Small debris shifted but nothing else. She clamped down so hard her teeth damn near cracked. Each movement of the second hand on the clock felt like minutes. Hours.
Blood rushed in her ears.
“Again,” Riley shouted over the COMS. He sounded strained; his tone roughened by the sheer strength he used to heft the massive weight of the rope.
Riley heaved again as Drake mirrored the effect from the chopper, this time dislodging the large rock pinning the rope. Thank God.
Wind roared through the valley so loud the camera crew’s mics picked up the hollow groan as it tunneled past the steep walls. On one side, the wind slapped him, and the force of the pull sent Riley flying through the air, the rubble like stone hail.
Zahara snatched the COM from Damon. “Come on, Drake, pull up. Pull up.” Her words mingling with Holden’s as they barked the same order.
He did. But too late. Zahara watched as Riley switched back and took a hard blow against the jagged rock face sticking out from the mountain. His shoulder and right thigh took the entire blow. Thick nausea worked up the back of her throat but she forced her stomach into place.
Damon rested a hand on her shoulder as Holden’s voice crackled over the system. “He’s okay, baby. He’s okay. He’s giving the thumbs up and smiling. He’s okay, baby girl, he’s okay.” Sometime between Damon’s ‘cowboy the fuck up’ and Riley’s command to do it again, she’d forgotten to breathe.
Air rushed into her burning lungs and dots faded in and out of her vision. She flicked a brief look at Damon before turning back to the TV, where Riley signaled to Holden from below. “It looks like his COMs busted on impact, though.”
Cheers rang out and she struggled to talk over them. “Holden. Holden, thank God. Please, get him out of there. Both of you get out of there. It’s too dangerous.” Right now, she didn’t care who overheard her crazy, frantic begging and obvious fear.
“Soon. We have one more.”
Damon slipped the handle from her and hushed the crowd. “You have maybe fifteen minutes before the winds get too bad up there. Fifteen, you copy.”
“Loud and clear,” came Drake this time.
“I’m going down,” Holden cut in a second before she watched him rappel from Old Betty’s metal belly.
Fear trickled into her blood as stiff talons of wind curled around her men and whipped them like dandelions dangling over Death Gulch. No wonder it was called that. These men would be the death of her.
Chapter Three
