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“Wit, you didn’t find her because someone else did. Your father. You didn’t fail her. You fought for her through every other victim you helped rescue and save. You did that as much for her as you did all the survivors. That’s the man you are. A man who puts others far above himself and fights for them… even when they’re strangers because you know they’re somebody’s sister. You understand them, and you understand the need so you fight,” she said. “Like nobody I’ve ever met before, you fight. That’s something to be proud of, and one hundred percent the reason I knew I wouldn’t be able to go through life without you… no matter how hard I tried.”
He chuckled at the teasing and seemed lighter for having the conversation, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious. Feel out of control. Feel like he wasn’t enough.
“Aye. My sister is out there, not a whole city block from me, and I…”
“You’re in here. Sitting. Waiting. Not helping,” she finished for him. “You need to recognize that being in here is keeping her safe… and the others safe. You go out there, and all bets are off. Whoever has her will hurt her because they’ll no longer need leverage if you’re right there for the taking. Let someone else take the bullets this time, my love.”
“I-I didn’t think of it that way.” He leaned his head against hers, giving in to the exhaustion that had been threatening since the entire ordeal began. “What if… What if I don’t recognize her? I can’t even picture her –– why is my memory playing wicked tricks on me?”
“You’ll know her when you see her. You’ll see the little girl you loved so desperately,” Ayelish said. “Remember when you were on the bus headed for basic training, and you said you saw her… on a corner. You knew it was her then, you’ll know now.”
“You’re right. And I love you for it.”
“I love you too.” She turned her head to kiss him. “Just remember that you may not feel like the hero today, but you are. You’re my hero every day. I’ve never met a more special human. You’re a rare find, Wit Meyer, and I’m so proud to claim you as mine.”
“I’m gonna need that in writin’, darlin’, ’cause the day is comin’ when you forget exactly why you keep me around,” he teased.
She patted his arm and snuggled into his side. “Not a chance. You just keep making soup, and we’re all good.”
Wit gasped. “You’re just usin’ me for my soup. I knew it. I feel so cheap.”
“It’s not the only thing I’m using you for,” she whispered softly in his ear.
“Girl, you’re bad.” He growled lightly. “You can use me all you want for…”
Chatter over the comms increased, and the intensity of the rescue took a sharp twist, distracting Wit from his thoughts. It was time. It’s what they’d spent years waiting for… end Chalice and save their sister. Wit was beside himself, tapping his fingers against his hip. He stood over Killion and Relay, watching what they captured from bodycams and listening to the sheer chaos unfolding just outside their small mobile unit.
The two brothers stood shoulder to shoulder, emotion threatening as they heard a woman’s scream mixed in the nonsense. Was it their sister? Something had gone wrong. They weren’t sure what, but gunfire was the solution to whatever the hell had unfolded.
Gunshots followed by throaty grunts could only mean one thing. They were hit, but who? It was anyone’s guess, and it wasn’t necessarily the Keepers or Dirty Dozen falling. They hoped it was the evil who drew them out and threatened everything they’d been working for. Fighting for.
Seconds felt like minutes, and minutes felt like hours. If sitting in that trailer while the team moved in without them was daunting, this… this was daunting.
“Who’s hit?” Wit said under his breath. “What the hell is going on out there? I can’t… see it all on those screens.”
“You have a hostile,” Killion said through the comms. “Two, west side.”
“Copy,” Rip said. “Mine.”
Gunfire followed Rip’s words, and they knew it was the enemy. Only fire if fired upon. It was riskier, but they wanted intel and convictions, not a body count. The more they could learn from these bastards, the easier it would be to keep other regimes at bay. Take names, not lives… that was the game. At least in this battle, it’s how you won the war.
If they had learned anything, their enemy was weak, lazy, and fought dirty. Shoot and run – that’s how they played. Dirty. They were surrounded, and the devil never got far, always caught in the web of heroes as they tried to escape the crosshairs. Their enemy was big, but they were a giant, and winning was all the Keepers knew.
Wit watched the screens while Ayelish and Ashlyn readied their weapons, anticipating a not-so-distant victory. It was clear they were all anxious to join their team and rejoice in the biggest win of their careers. The one they’d been fighting years for. The one that changed their lives forever.
“I have a visual on the target,” Cane called out. “I see her. Son of a bitch.”
“What?” Wit looked among the group. “What’s wrong?”
Ayelish gripped his hands. “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. Not until they tell us there is.”
“It’s Bartell!” Rip yelled. “Drop it. Drop your weapon!”
“Bartell. That answers your question,” Killion said over his shoulder. “Lindstrom’s right-hand man –– second-in-command.”
“Son of a bitch. How the hell did he get out? He was in a super max. The whole regime was.” Wit pulled his weapon from its holster and charged the door.
“Don’t do it,” Hen warned. “Not yet. It’s not over.”
