Authors: Ann Mayburn
Even crouched down into a ball on the opposite side of the truck, the flash was bright enough to be seen through my eyelids and the bang rivaled that of the thunder overhead. The screaming man had gone silent but a barrage of bullets slammed into the truck and three into the tree well above me. All it took was a quick glance at the shredded bark behind me to figure out the general area of the gunshots, and I pulled the pin on the grenade and stood long enough to launch it, catching the bright flare of muzzle flash and adjusting my aim at the last second to launch the grenade in that general direction. Something hot grazed my bicep and I dropped back down with a barely muffled scream right before that grenade went off.
I heard what I thought was another round of yelling in Russian, but my ears were ringing and it was hard to place where it was coming from. I lifted my arm and quickly inspected the wound, the rain washing my blood away and turning it a watery red as it dripped down my fingers. I choked on a yelp as I gently probed the wound, relieved that it appeared to be only a graze. Thank fuck I didn’t have to dig a bullet out. Moving quickly, I jerked my waistband off and wrapped it around my bleeding left bicep, cursing beneath my breath at the fiery pain radiating from my arm.
Breaker moaned inside the truck and my heart lurched as I wondered if he’d been shot. I wanted to check on him, but I didn’t dare. It wasn’t like I could do much for him medically anyway. I had one grenade left and two spare clips, all I could do was hope it was enough.
Sadness pierced my heart at the thought of what my death would do to Smoke, then I gave myself a mental slap for acting like a weak ass bitch. I hadn’t lost yet, but if I psyched myself out to the point where all I could focus on was my death then I might as well put a bullet in my head now. My father’s voice rang in my head telling me to suck it up, to keep fighting, to never ever give up. Thousands and thousands of hours spent enduring the pain of my training allowed me to think past it, to get back into my cold headspace. On some level, I knew my body’s uncontrollable reaction to being shot would kick in and hinder my ability to fight, so I couldn’t try to hold out anymore in the hope of someone coming. For all I fucking knew, the Russians would shoot some innocent bystanders, and I’d have their deaths on my soul.
I heard something and I froze, not even daring to breathe as I tried to listen over the rain, which was finally slowing down as the thunder rumbled on its journey to the east.
A branch snapped and I couldn’t help but smile. Whoever was sneaking up on me from behind wasn’t very quiet, but I didn’t dare use another grenade this close to me and Breaker. Instead, I calmed my breathing and tried to ignore the bullets flying through the air in an attempt to flush me out. It was a much smaller barrage than before, and I was pretty sure it was only coming from one gun. Moving slowly, I crouched down as low as I could and trained my gun in the direction of the person trying to sneak up on me. At the first glimpse of grey hair from behind a tree to the right, I aimed, and as soon as I saw his eyes I gave three direct shots at his head.
One of my dad’s number one rules is that if you have the ammo, take three shots at your enemy because one of them is bound to hit some part of your target.
I’m an expert marksman and they all hit.
Time slowed, and it seemed like there was an eternity between each shot when I knew that it was only a second, if that.
For as long as I live, I’ll never forget the destruction those three shots wrought on the grey haired man in dark clothes. First shot took out the top portion of his skull in a bright burst of red exploding into the air. Second shot caught him in the neck as his head whipped back from the recoil, and the third in his chest right above his heart.
My father would be proud.
Nausea gripped me at the horrifying sight, and I choked back the urge to throw up. I didn’t want to die on my hands and knees in a puddle of my own vomit.
A roar filled my ears and I sucked in a deep breath, shaking my head to try and clear it. If I passed out I was done. Even though the rain was cold, a hot sweat coated my skin as my mouth filled with saliva. In an effort to clear my mind, I pressed down on my bicep where I’d been grazed. The pain shot through me, bringing with it a burning wave of clarity, as my brain switched from trying to cope with the trauma of killing to survival.
There was one shooter left. I popped up, trying to draw his gunfire so I could find him. After returning quickly to my crouched position I listened, but the roaring in my ears was only getting louder. Worried I was going to pass out I tried to slow down my pulse, to do some deep breathing, but the bloody corpse of the man I’d killed seemed to keep moving on the edge of my vision and I found myself constantly stealing looks at the nearly headless body to make sure it wasn’t somehow crawling toward me, that he wasn’t still alive.
When I realized that roar wasn’t in my head, but rather the rumble of what I hoped were bikes coming closer, I shuddered. I had one grenade and two clips left, not very good odds if they had fresh reinforcements. My body was beginning to stiffen up, so I shifted slightly and tried to get to a good spot where I could see who was coming. It was for sure someone on motorcycles, but it could be either Los Diablos or Iron Horse. At the first glimpse of a group of at least two dozen bikers roaring up in the slacking rain, I let out a shuddering breath when I recognized Khan in the lead. Then the horrible thought that the last shooter was still here raced through me and I darted around the tree, staying crouched but shooting my gun into the air four times.
One of the bikers I didn’t know on a hunter green bike spotted me first and pointed me out to Khan. He drove right up to me and pulled a big handgun out from his shoulder holster, his gaze darting from my bleeding arm, to my face and back again while the rest of his men spread out around us. When no shots rang out—not that I could hear them much over the roar of the bikes—I swayed. A hard shudder tore through me, and my thoughts started to get muzzy as the shock of my wound and the events of the last few minutes raced through my nervous system. I could hold myself together mentally, but I had no control over my body’s reaction to what had to be a huge amount of adrenaline leaving my system.
My dad’s voice echoed in my thoughts, lecturing me about what to expect if I was wounded, and I slowly stood, determined to make sure Breaker was okay before I crashed.
Mind over matter.
Willpower over pain.
Life over death.
Khan parked his bike in front of the wrecked truck while I shuffled over to him, my gun pointed at the ground but ready to take out anyone or anything that tried to hurt me or the men Smoke considered brothers.
“Breaker’s in the truck,” I said in a shaky voice as I fought off the urge to puke. “As far as I can tell there were four shooters. I got two for sure. Another may be in that bush. I have no idea where the fourth is.”
Moving slowly, Khan gestured to my arm, the rain dripping off the ends of his silver hair and rolling down the hard lines of his face. “You get hurt?”
“Gr-grazed,” I stuttered as a chill raced through my soaking wet, stressed out body. “Smoke?”
“On his way, sugar. Just hang in there.”
Khan began shouting out orders while I took some unsteady steps back to the truck to check on Breaker. Instead of going through his window again I made my way to the passenger door, my stomach curling as I saw how many bullets peppered the truck. Everything in my body started to ache at once as the last of the adrenaline faded. I was pretty sure I was going into shock, but I had to see if Breaker was all right.
One of the bikers crowded in close behind me, and without thinking, I whipped around and pressed my gun to his forehead. “Back the fuck off.”
He did with his hands held high and his eyes wide. “Easy, honey. I’m not the enemy. Just trying to check on Breaker. My name is Darren, and I have battlefield experience treating the wounded. Fought in the Marines with your old man.”
My gun wavered the slightest bit as my hand began to shake. “I don’t know you.”
It was a testament to my distracted state that Khan was standing between me and Darren without my even realizing he’d moved. “Swan, take it easy. Let us help Breaker.”
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the post-battle haze filling me, but I didn’t lower my weapon until he gently wrapped his hand around it, a look of quiet understanding filling his eyes. I didn’t protest when he lowered the barrel to the ground, but when he tried to take it from me I snarled at him. Truth was, I was feeling as weak as a baby kitten and couldn’t have stopped him from taking my weapon from me if I tried. But at this point, I didn’t trust anyone but Khan.
“Sweetheart, Breaker needs us. Let me help him. Smoke’s almost here.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I nodded. Before I moved aside I glanced at Breaker, the side of his face resting in a pool of blood. The only thing that stopped me from losing it completely was the shallow rise and fall of his chest. When I stepped back, Darren quickly went to work on Breaker while I told Khan what had happened. By the time I reached the point in the story where they’d arrived, my teeth were chattering hard enough that my words came out in a terrible stutter. While I talked, the other men gathered around. I heard one of them whisper to Khan that they’d found the man in the bushes. He’d bled out from shots to his torso. I also heard that the guy I’d shot in the face was going to be hard to identify.
The memory of his face distorting as the bullet hit ran through my mind in a terrible, slow motion reel.
When the nausea filled me this time, I couldn’t stop it. I stumbled a few feet away and hung onto the side of the truck as I dropped to my knees and threw up until I had nothing left but the dry heaves. My stomach cramped and ached, bringing new tears to my eyes as I gagged uncontrollably.
I barely noticed Khan holding my hair back while I tossed my cookies. When I was done and just shivering, he moved me away from the contents of my stomach and had me sit down with my head between my legs before he handed me a bottle of pop. I rinsed and spit a couple times before taking a long pull of the sugary drink. My thoughts were a weird, jumbled mess, and I couldn’t really feel my body anymore, just a spreading numbness. While I knew about the physical reactions to being shot and trauma, it still freaked me out when I realized I was about to pass out.
“Swan!”
I tried to lift my head to see if that voice really belonged to Smoke or was the sound just my wishful imagination, but it was just too heavy. My ears rang, and tiny black spots began to dart across my vision as I stared at the muddy ground between my legs. Tears and rainwater dripped off my nose, and I struggled to breathe, totally overwhelmed to the point where I almost felt catatonic, but even that didn’t stop me from forcing my lips to form one word. “Miguel.”
The heat of his body washed over me, and in the next instant, I found myself in his arms, staring up at his pale face, worry and fear etched into every inch of his expression. I tried to raise my wounded arm to touch him, to reassure him that I was okay, but the pain stopped me before I got very far. It was at that moment that I truly realized how much I meant to him, how if anything happened to me, I would be taking the piece of his heart—and his soul—with me. Even as I welcomed the oblivion and the quiet it would bring to my mind, I struggled to stay conscious so that I could tell Smoke I loved him. The soft, velvety darkness closed in anyway, and I finally gave up and let it take me secure in the knowledge that I was safe in Smoke’s arms.
When I came around again, I was being carried somewhere that smelled of cleaning products and Smoke. I managed to open my eyes and found that I was cradled in his arms as he practically ran with me. My tongue felt numb so I didn’t even try to form words. The only sound I made was a soft moan that sounded weird to me even in my messed up state. He looked down at me, and the intense relief on his face swamped me, and I began to cry again.
“Shhh, baby girl,” he said in a low, tortured voice. “You’re safe.”
Since I couldn’t get my stupid tongue to move, I tried to look around as best I could while Smoke carried me into what appeared to be a roughly put together exam room that didn’t look like any medical office I’d been in despite the tools of the trade neatly placed around the big space. Paper crinkled as Smoke laid me down, and I noticed we weren’t alone. There was a slender guy with wet, dark red hair reaching past his collar washing up at the sink. Next to him an older woman in blue scrubs with kittens all over them was setting up a tray with stuff I couldn’t see.
Someone propped me up and someone else behind Smoke handed him a plastic cup with orange liquid inside.
Wiping my hair back from my face Smoke murmured, “Can you drink this?”
I was still physically weak as hell, but my brain was coming back online, and with Smoke’s help, I managed to drink what turned out to be orange juice, washing the bitter aftertaste of vomit and fear from my mouth. My teeth began to chatter as I shivered and the nurse appeared at Smoke’s side, her kind gaze meeting mine.
“Here you go.”
When she went to put the warm blanket that smelled like fabric softener around me, Smoke blocked her and grabbed it, then wrapped me up in the delicious heat, leaving my hastily bandaged arm exposed. The blanket must have been in the dryer because it felt like heaven and my tense muscles began to spasm, then relax. Smoke stroked my cheek, and I returned my attention to him. The need to comfort him, to take away that terrible fear in his gaze, gave me the strength to talk.
“I l-love you.”
“I love you.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. “Thought I was gonna be too late.”
A man cleared his throat. “Smoke, I need to look at her arm.”
I could tell Smoke didn’t want anyone near me, but he moved just enough to allow the guy I assumed was a doctor and his nurse to start working on my arm. The man gave me a small smile, the fine lines around his pale green eyes deepening. “Swan, my name is Frame. Can I take a look at your arm?”