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“Let’s go,” I open the door wider, letting Bash go through first.
We file out behind him, looking in every direction to avoid any unexpected fire. He turns the knob of the door to the house with no resistance and slips inside. It wasn’t locked, and that feels like a bad sign. If we made it past the men outside, hewantedus to come in the house.
It’s eerily quiet and empty inside as we sneak through the hall and into the main living area. Still nothing. No lights on, no men, and no sign of Blythe.
“The fuck?” Heston whispers.
Bash nudges the butt of his gun into my arm and points to the staircase around the corner. I nod sharply. On the outside, I’m focused and calculated. On the inside, I’m terrified that we’re not moving fast enough. Or that we might even be too late.
At the top of the stairs, there’s a closed door with a light shining through the bottom. Bash presses his ear against it, widens his eyes, and jerks his head in the direction of the inside of the room.
I listen intently, but there are only muffled sounds—until the distinctive click of a gun loading rings through the air. I open my mouth to yell, but Warren covers it with his hand from next to me. Bash waves us back, and Warren has to pull me to get me away from the door.
I scramble to break free of his grasp when I see Bash try and fail at opening the locked door. More muffled sounds come from the other side, this time more heated and loud.
Bash holds one hand up in my direction and pulls a small hand grenade out of his vest with the other. Before any of us have time to protest, he rips the clip out with his teeth, places it at the bottom of the door, and leaps back toward the top of the stairs where we’re standing.
We barely have enough time to duck and take cover.
The door blasts open and flames instantly surround the frame. Smoke billows in and out of the room, and I move to charge toward it with no hesitation. If there’s screaming or crying coming from inside, I can’t hear it because the deafening explosion has my ears ringing with full force.
Before I make it all the way in, Warren yells “Behind!”
I whip around and crouch down as two men bound up the stairs. I shoot one of them in the neck and he falls back, tumbling down the steps with loud thuds. The other man sprints to jump on Tripp, but Heston anticipates his move. Before he gets his arm completely around Tripp’s neck, he sends a bullet through his arm.
It’s not enough to kill him, but Tripp is able to shove him off and to the ground. Bash steps over the man, pulls out a knife, and plunges it between his ribs. When he pulls it out, he wipes the blood from the blade on his thigh.
“Make sure there aren’t any more coming. Guard the stairs,” I bark. I stand and turn back to go into the room with a cloud of dark gray smog billowing out of it.
A few feet in, two men lay in a heap on the floor, surrounded by blood. Both clearly dead. I recognize one of them from the picture Bash showed me. Eddie Reynolds.
I bring the front of my shirt up to cover my mouth, trying to protect it from the smoke, but it’s no use. I cough and step over them in search of her. My eyes dart to every corner of the room until I see her.
How her freckles seem to shine through the black soot on her face, I don’t know. But it’s the flicker of her eyelids that causes me to sink to my knees in front of her. I feel for her pulse. It’s weak, but it’s there.
Before I scoop her into my arms, I yell for Warren. He’s by her side in an instant and spots what I missed. A whole lot of blood coming from her leg. He rips his shirt off to wrap it around her upper thigh, and I swing her over my shoulder.
Hopefully, the rest of Reynolds’ men are long gone. Because I’m running straight out of this house with her in my arms and into the nearest vehicle. And I’m not stopping.
Chapter 35
Gage
“Thanks, man. I owe you one,” I say quietly into the phone.
“Anytime,” Dax answers. His voice is deep and monotone like this was just another day on the job for him. “I took a sweep over the house after y’all got out. Cleared it all out.”
Dax is a former ace in the Air Force and I met him when I first moved to Texas. He needed money for his charter pilot business, and I needed a place to keep my plane. Not to mention someone who wouldn’t question me or have a problem keeping a few secrets. Being pretty secretive himself, we made a good partnership. I hope he cashes in on my IOU one day because if it wasn’t for him, I don’t know that we’d have been able to get to Blythe without getting killed first.
I nod my head. “Appreciate it. You make it back alright?”
“Yeah, I’m home. Any more trouble stirs up, just let me know. Happy to help,” he says and ends the call.
Bash and I are standing in the hallway while nurses and doctors whiz past us. Thankfully, the police haven’t shown up to question us about the nature of Blythe’s injury. I have Bash to thank for that.
“You gonna call him?” he asks.
“Who, Dad?”
