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“Thank you,” Jericho said. He slid an arm under Trevor’s, holding up his weight. “One step at a time. Slow and steady.”
Slow and steady was not the preferred method for escaping a burning building, but neither was slipping and breaking their necks. There was no use pressuring Trevor and making it harder under the constrained environment; they would either make it down in time, or they wouldn’t. If they didn’t, Jericho would find another way.
The smoke was licking at their heels by the time they got to the second floor. Trevor’s breathing was becoming heavily laboured, and Jericho didn’t like the sound of it. Smoke inhalation was no joke.
He lifted Trevor’s shirt so that it was covering his mouth and nose and encouraged him to take slow, deep breaths. Keeping the fabric covering his face with one hand while holding him up with his other arm was awkward, but he made it work as they got through the last set of stairs.
Jericho’s eyes were watering, his throat scratchy as they finally made their way out the double doors of the entrance.
Two ambulances were already waiting, and a fire truck came roaring around the corner just as they got to the sidewalk.
Jericho quickly delivered Trevor into a paramedic’s capable hands and shook his head when they tried to get him to sit as well. There was an uncomfortable tingling in his throat, but he kept it shoved down. He wouldn’t be vulnerable in front of random strangers, not like this.
He blinked, trying to get the gritty feel out of his eyes as he searched around, looking for Six’s familiar dark mop of hair and the one thick streak of blue at the front of it. If he was still inside, Jericho was going back in. He didn’t give a fuck what anyone said about never going into a burning building. He’d die before he left Six to fend for himself.
Six came out the front doors a second later, steering a young couple toward the ambulances. Relief flooded Jericho as their eyes met. Six gestured toward the side of the building with his head, and Jericho nodded in response.
Trevor had an oxygen mask on his face, his eyes shut as the paramedic spoke to him. Sarah and her kids were at the other ambulance and focused enough on each other that they wouldn’t notice him slip away.
He made himself small and disappeared from the crowd without garnering any attention.
Jericho waited until he and Six were out of sight before he stopped. He bent over, bracing himself on his knees, and coughed before he took in a few long, deep breaths, sucking in the fresh air.
“Feeling any pain in your chest?” Six asked, rubbing his back. “Nausea, breathing difficulty?”
Jericho waved him off. “No, no,” he said a little hoarsely. His lungs burned, but he wasn’t about to collapse, and he definitely didn’t need a hospital. “Just… give me a second. Then we need to go. Did you get a pickup?”
“Hunter is waiting at the park around the corner.” Six took hold of Jericho’s elbow as he straightened. “I’m marching you straight to the medical bay when we get back to HQ.”
“Sure.” He didn’t need it, but Six was good at fussing like a mother hen. Jericho didn’t know if it was something they taught in doctor training or just a Six thing. Sometimes it was easier to let him do his thing.
Hunter was idling in an SUV identical to the one they’d had to leave behind in front of the building. It would have been too risky to try to get to it and drive away with all of the commotion. Since it was registered to a fake name and wasn’t traceable back to them, the cops would chase their tails with it for a few weeks before it went in the “unsolved” pile. Once it got that far and everyone had forgotten about it, they would go in and erase any record of it having existed.
Jericho slid into the backseat, and Hunter took one look at him before he handed over a bottle of water. Jericho opened the side door and slung his legs around, planting his feet on the concrete. He swished some in his mouth and spat it out. Then he drank half of it, making sure it wasn’t going to come back up before he got back into the car. He didn’t bother with his seatbelt and lay back across the leather seats, bending his knees as he flattened himself.Fuck.Everything hurt.
“What happened?” Hunter asked as he swung back into traffic, merging effortlessly.
“Trap,” Six said. “Someone knew we were gonna be there. Jericho’s contact was already dead. I’d hazard a guess that it wasminutesbefore we got there, and they lit the fire just before we arrived.”
Hunter met Jericho’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Dead?”
“Professional hit.”
Hunter frowned but didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. They were all wondering the same thing.
What the fuck was going on?
Chapter Two
ThenightmaresthatPeytoncouldn’t escape were always vivid. So real that he could touch them, taste them, hear them. They were all around him, drowning him and making him relive every moment of his life that he wished he could forget.
Heat bore down on him. Sand stuck to him like glitter that could never be washed away. Adrenaline fuelled him like a live flame inside his gut. The weight of his rifle was a comfort, as was the heaviness of the plate carrier against his back. The balaclava covering his face hid the fact that he couldn’t grow a proper beard—not enough to blend in here—and protected him from the elements. His Oakleys rested comfortably on his nose, stopping the sun or the sand from getting in his eyes.
The steady, comforting presence of his teammates added to the thrill. Tyler—his spotter and closest friend—at his left. Aidan—their lead—scouting ahead, and Felix—their medic—brought up the rear. They were a deadly fire team, and when they were sent in, they were the only ones left standing.
Peyton had never felt more alive, or at home, than when he was here, setting up his shot.
Time skipped, wind sweeping the sand around him. Now he was hidden in the rocks of a mountain, a perfect view of the streets below, where his target was hiding. Aidan and Felix were down there, luring the target out into the kill zone.
