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Gunshots erupted, peppering the air behind her. She could hear the metallic ping of the bullets as they buried into her surroundings. Searing fire lanced her arm, wringing a startled cry from her throat, but she didn’t dare stop moving to check it. She cried, praying as she groped her way blindly along the wall and the gunshots kept coming. They were growing closer now and shouting.
“Don’t let her get away!”
Her fingertips searched desperately, feeling for handles or seams. She could hear the men closing in on her.
Then she found it.
Freedom.
Yanking the door open, she scrambled like mad, sobbing hysterically as she wound her way through the field of fire and debris. It was a warzone. Scorched earth, twisted chunks of metal, and smoldering flames stretched as far as the eye could see, all while the menacing forms of helicopters closed in overhead.
Head left and don’t look back.
The words echoed in her memory. All she could see was vast desert looming on the other side of the wreckage. The stubby cacti and open ground wouldn’t afford her any place to hide, but that ghostly voice from last night hadn’t led her astray so far. As of now, its guidance was the only hope she had.
~*~*~*~
Sebastian hopped out of the Apache as it finished settling, his team right behind him. He paused, scanning the wreckage, his eyes narrowed against the swirling storm of dust still churning in the air. They’d spent the better part of the morning carrying out the attacks. The squat complex that had served as SKALS headquarters was now nothing more than a smoldering pile of rubble and ash. They’d leveled every black site, every hide out Marx had. All except for one. The one where he knew the son-of-a-bitch was hiding. Straightening his uniform, he glanced over his shoulder and signaled for Jackson.
The young man was at his side in an instant. Soot and sand clung to his light brown skin, but it was hard to miss the excited flush of adrenaline staining his cheeks. His smoky grey eyes boasted hints of determination and pride.
“I wasn’t too sure about you in the beginning,” Sebastian admitted once the rotating blades of the helicopter died.
“I know that, sir.”
He nodded. “You’re a good man, Jackson. Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Vincent finished jamming a fresh clip of ammo into his rifle and tipped his chin in their direction. “Locked and loaded, boys. Let’s do this.”
It was a small group, only ten men, but it was all he needed. Most of Marx’s cockroaches had ran scuttling for the hills hours ago. Only the staunchest and most loyal would have remained, leaving Sebastian no doubt he was about to go head-to-head with the very same men he used to lead. He didn’t know if he would feel any pleasure putting them down. This was a mission and he only had one objective in mind—capturing Marx and making that sick, delusional bastard pay.
They split into two teams, flanking the modified oilrig and surrounding the perimeter. The silence and stillness was eerie and not at all what he’d expected. He would have bet money they would have landed under heavy fire, but there were no gunshots, no movements, nothing. Just the faint, sweltering desert breeze.
Pressing against the side of the building, he caught Vincent’s eye and gestured toward the front door. Nodding, the other man motioned the front end of his team forward, giving them the go ahead. They charged, ramming full force into the door with a heavy blow of the battering ram. The sound of crunching metal sounded around them as the barrier buckled and caved. Two flashbangs, one from him and one from Vince quickly followed suit.
They flooded inside, pressing close to the walls, keeping their rifles raised and trained. The thin red lines from the laser scopes filtered through the swirling air. It was hard to get a read on much of anything through the thick haze, but they didn’t have to wait long. Without warning, a heavy hail of gunfire rained down on them from overhead.
Shouting erupted among his team as the men returned fire. They took two out with the first assault, and he watched in grim satisfaction as the broken bodies tumbled over the railing to slam against the solid concrete below. Another round of gunshots retorted to their right, drawing his attention. Sparks flew as the bullets struck beside him, embedding mere centimeters from his head. The noise left his ears ringing, but finger still curled around the trigger, Sebastian opened fire and gave chase.
Men yelled at each other from both sides and he listened, trying to decipher the voices in the din. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Marx frantically shouting orders. The deep, booming sound of the man’s voice flooded him with renewed determination and hate. Bullets flew in every direction, some of them coming close enough to rip his uniform and rock his body armor as he pounded down the winding set of stairs. Coming across a fallen corpse, he refused to lose speed. Slinging his rifle back over his shoulder, Sebastian braced his hands on top of the rail and levered his body over the edge.
He landed hard on his feet below. The shocks carried through his soles clear up to his knees. Momentum and pain carried him forward, forcing him to brace himself with his hands. That brief slipup cost him dearly. A hard knee to the side of his head sent both him and rifle sprawling. Shaking the clouds from his vision, he sprung to his feet.
Marx stood poised, thighs braced apart, taking aim with his pistol. He barely moved his head away in time. Light detonated before his eyes and a deafening thunder preceded the loud whine that followed in his ears. Roaring, he barreled toward the director. His shoulder made contact first, slamming into the man’s midsection and drawing a winded grunt. The pistol fell, spiraling across the floor.
Seizing the back of his collar, Marx spun him, nearly lifting him off the ground before slamming him into the wall. They locked, arms grappling. Sebastian pummeled his side, driving a rapid succession of blows into the man’s ribs. Marx fought for leverage, splaying his mammoth hand against Sebastian’s head, pushing him back. Swinging wide, the director clobbered him with an uppercut that hit hard enough to rock him off his feet. Another blow sent him crashing to the ground.
Sebastian’s vision swam. Shaking his head, he spit out a mouthful of blood and started to push to his feet. He froze feeling the broad width of a pistol jam against his temple, holding him in place.
“Hello, Baas.”
His smile lacked humor as he lowered his chin to his chest. “Hello Josh.”
“Don’t let him up.”
Again, he smiled, hearing Marx’s voice. Seven years of blood, sweat, and tears down the drain. Weeks of hunting for Taylor, only to lose all shreds of hope. He’d pushed on, pushed forward, determined to have his revenge and it all boiled down to this. He was caught, trapped like an animal, while his former partner held a gun to his head.
He startled when the harsh static of his radio broke the silence, jerking him from his thoughts.
“This is Alpha Tango Charlie. We have her, Sebastian. We have Taylor.”
He closed his eyes, his chest straining against his vest with a mute jerk of relief. He could still hear the gunfire as his men engaged in the battle overhead.
“It’s bad, but she’s alive. We’re taking her in.”
The heaviness in his chest was unbearable. He wanted nothing more than to go to her—to hold her tight, to feel her body against his, to kiss her and breathe her smell one more time. Dear God had he missed her. His heart broke as he thought about their baby and how he would never get to see or hold their child. He would never have the chance to be a father or atone for all of the things he had done.
Marx snorted, wresting him from his painful reverie.
“How touching. I want you to look at me, Sebastian. Look me in the face and tell me if this is how you saw it all ending. I want to watch the life fade from your eyes when your partner puts the damn bullet in your head.”
He glanced up. Josh merely shrugged, his finger closing in on the trigger.
“Yeah…about that…” he said, swinging wide and without warning. “That’s not going t
o happen today.
Marx’s eyes flared. He lifted his arm, but Josh fired first, blowing the pistol from his hand. Marx bellowed, nearly dropping to his knees as he clutched at his wrist. A dangling cord of tendon was the only thing keeping it in place. Still keeping his gun trained on the director, Josh kicked the battered weapon away.
“It’s your move, Baas.”
He stared at his partner in disbelief.
“What? Did I or did I not tell you that I would always have your back?” Josh asked, shooting him a reproachful look.
“You turned on me…”
“No, Baas. I didn’t. I overheard this fucker planning things. I knew what he was up to all along. I also knew I had to switch sides if you were ever going to have a chance of finding Taylor if things did go south. That’s why I was at the restaurant that day. I was trying to warn you, but it was too late.” Kicking the side of Marx’s leg, he brought him the rest of the way to the ground and spit in his face. “I’m sorry about not being there through the funeral and shit, but it had to be convincing. Damn good thing too, because he finally did lead me to her last night.”
