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Once inside the compound, with shots from an unknown location being fired, I took cover by the helo parked there.
Bullets pinged off the bird, and I crouched, narrowly avoiding a headshot. Cursing, I lowered to one knee, spun around and pegged the prick who’d come charging at me. Now he definitely had a death wish.
Once I laid him out, I checked the view on my watch to try and locate the barn, which I’d yet to lay eyes on.
“This is Two. I’m taking heavy fire. These bastards just shot at something highly flammable,” Owen rushed out, breathing hard. “The place is going up in flames quick.”
“My brother, is he out?” I rasped as I took off, heading for their presumed location.
“Yeah,” Owen quickly responded. “Bravo Three has him, but I got backed into a corner while I gave them cover. I can’t exfil yet.”
“I’m coming back for you,” Three rasped over the line.
“I’ve got this,” I said at the sight of the barn. “Just get to safety,” I told Asher.
Static filled the line, and I heard Luke’s voice. He was trying to say something, but the signal was too corrupt to understand. Based on the sounds of war in the distance, he was in the middle of his own gunfight.
“Don’t come in here. Either of you,” Owen hissed, and I heard more rounds from his rifle firing off. “I’ll find a way out of here. Just help the others,” he ordered, drawing the same conclusion about Luke’s situation.
The way I saw it, Bravo Team never would’ve rushed to infil if my brother’s life wasn’t on the line. They’d have done a lot more recon beforehand. But they knew my brother’s chance of survival decreased every minute he was held captive by Hugo, so they had no choice but to go in hot and quick.
This is my fault. Anthony’s fault.
Making my way to the barn, I charged the side entrance, taking out the first tango that came into view. The next asshole I encountered earned a double tap to the head.
“Where are you?” I called out, just missing a round to the chest. From the looks of the place, I needed to get Owen the hell out of there fast before the place blew.
Owen took down the guy who’d shot at me and emerged from behind a car at the back of the barn. “Let’s roll,” I told him now that it was clear, and he started maneuvering between the rows of antique cars to get to me.
The wooden beams on the second floor were up in flames, and when I looked around the place as Owen advanced, I realized the full gravity of our current situation. And we were about out of time.
Tanks of gasoline off to the side of the cars were leaking onto the floor, and there was a noticeable slick on the ground not far from Owen.
“Owen,” I called out, noticing a beam snap overhead. He deftly dodged the thick piece of wood that came down in a ball of fire.
“Go.” He waved his hand while running through the large space, motioning for me to get a move on.
I located the entrance, then waited. Like hell was I walking out of there ahead of him.
But I also had a keen awareness of what was about to happen. The smell of fuel and smoke filled my nostrils just as the cars went up in flames, exploding behind Owen, the blast propelling us both forward.
Everything felt as though it were happening in slow motion. I connected with the ground a moment later, and my helmet went flying. I lifted my chin to try and locate Owen. I could feel the heat and fire licking the air all around us, and I rolled my aching body to the side to see the roof overhead on the verge of collapsing.
Spotting Owen, who appeared out cold, I crawled over on my forearms, dragging my legs behind me as I struggled to stay beneath the smoke.
“Owen,” I yelled, then threw my body on top of his just before the roof came down.
CHAPTER THIRTY
NATALIA
“You don’t have to do this,” Maria said over FaceTime, sitting out in her car for some privacy while Chiara slept inside our parents’ house. “You don’t have to listen to me ramble when you’re waiting for news.”
It was six a.m. in Tuscany, the middle of the night back home, but Maria had stayed up, “holding my hand” through the phone, keeping me from breaking down.
“Seeing Chiara in her adorable costume last night is not a hardship.” I swiped through the trick-or-treating photos she’d sent me from earlier that night. “And also, the fact you’re prolonging telling Thomas the breakup news because of what’s going on here, well, ramble away, please.”
“When I saw Thomas earlier,” she said, eyes on the screen, “having to pretend I didn’t know he’d had his tongue somewhere else a few days ago made me physically ill. But I played the game. Got through it. Thankfully, he didn’t question my request to sleep over at Mom and Dad’s again tonight. I can’t share a bed with that man ever again.”
