Chapter Twenty-Nine

Safiya

"F ifteen seconds," Grayson whispered, holding me over his shoulder as he rushed down a flight of stairs.

I did not know if he was talking to me or whoever was on the other end of the communication device in his ear, but alarm spread as I tried to hold on to his words.

I'm getting us out.

Gripping the back of his vest, nauseous from being upside down, his muscled shoulder a jarring shock against my empty stomach, I prayed he was right.

I'm not going to let anyone kill either of us .

Please, do not let anyone shoot him, please—

I did not know what happened first.

Grayson dropped me to the ground, positioned himself in front of me, and gunfire erupted like a thousand explosions of hell.

Terror slammed into me, my hands went to my ears, my eyes closed, and I curled, face down into fetal position as my forehead landed on cold tile.

Splinters of wood and chunks of plaster rained over me as metallic-scented air was pierced with gunshots and men yelling in Arabic, Spanish, and English.

"Ares, flank. Ghost, move out, move out ."

Yanked up by my waist, my soul left my body.

Then hardened arms wrapped behind my back and under my legs as my shoulder collided with a solid chest and my eyes opened.

For a single flash of a second, I saw it—blood and bodies.

Then wind was hitting my face and Grayson was running.

Not running. Sprinting.

Through a house, kicking out a glass door, across a huge patio—all while gunfire sailed past us, zinging through the air and hitting every obstacle Grayson moved around while barking commands.

"November, see if you can clear that airstrip. Ares, get that firepower off my six. Helios, report. Helios. Report ."

A blond man dressed in all black with a giant gun pointing right at us came out of nowhere.

My mouth opened to scream, and he started firing.

A cacophony of bursts of fire and detonations sang from his weapon as the blond man aimed his deadly assault behind us.

Grayson ran past him.

And kept running.

Over hedges, around landscaping, clearing a retaining wall, up a hill, and toward a giant chain-link fence.

"Hold on," he ordered, right before he ran at the fence full speed and twisted so his shoulder took the impact.

My arms went around his neck, but there was no impact.

A cut section gave way, sharp ends sifted through my hair, and then Grayson was really running.

The other blond man, still holding the giant gun but not firing it, came up beside us. "Where's Helios?"

"Helios, report," Grayson barked before glancing at the other man.

"I'm going back." The other blond man slowed.

"Negative." Grayson quickly scanned the dark night and terrain as the sound of gunfire grew quieter behind us. "He's still in the fight, and you heard November. Airstrip's compromised."

"No man left behind," the blond man said fiercely.

"Not leaving him," Grayson countered. "He's still firing. He'll get out. Get the vehicle started. We'll circle back." His attention refocused. "November, sitrep. Headcount on airstrip?"

The other blond man sprinted ahead.

"Copy," Grayson said, then quickly glanced down as if scanning me. "Almost there."

A car engine started somewhere in the darkened night ahead of us, and I did not have time to ask where there was.

A dark, late-model SUV abruptly came out of a thicket of trees. No headlights, no taillights, it aimed right at us.

I clawed at his neck and lost control of the silent terror I had been holding. "Grayson!"

"We're good."

At the last second, the driver slammed on the breaks, spun the vehicle in a half turn, and threw open his door. "Drive," the blond man ordered as he jumped out and opened the rear passenger door before grabbing another huge gun. "I'm taking snipe position."

"Copy."

Grayson sat me in the back, then got behind the wheel as the other man took the front passenger seat.

Seconds later, the SUV was bouncing over uneven terrain as the other man had his window open and gun pointed while he scanned through a scope.

Taking his eyes off his gun for a second, the other man pivoted in his seat and glanced behind us. "I don't see him."

"Keep looking," Grayson ordered, driving parallel to the property we had just fled as he tapped the communication device in his ear. "November, eyes…. Copy." Turning the old vehicle around, bumping over a ravine, he stepped on the gas and glanced toward the window the blond man had his gun aimed out of. "Northwest exfil point."

"Not seeing him."

"He'll show," Grayson assured the other man.

"Not fucking liking this, Ghost."

"Twenty more seconds." Grayson drove closer to the edge of the property.

"Any more and we're gonna have a problem," the other man warned.

"Copy." Grayson glanced back at me. "Seat belt."

Hands shaking, I searched in the dark car for the safety measure that would do nothing to stop a bullet.

"Sitrep," Grayson demanded.

"Looking… looking…. Fuck ."

Faster than I could follow with my eyes, the blond man reached behind him and grabbed a different gun. Then he was barking orders at Grayson as he aimed the other gun out the window.

"Eleven o'clock, incoming, more than a dozen tangos on his six." He fired a single shot from his gun, then pulled a lever and fired another.

"Braking," Grayson warned right before he skidded the SUV to a stop, opened his door, and stood on the floorboard. Aiming his own weapon over the roof of the vehicle, he began shooting.

The night exploded into gunfire.

Shots plunked off the car, both men kept firing, and we were going to die.

Grayson was going to die because of me.

My heart crushed in a stranglehold of guilt and fear. Then all at once, both men stopped firing.

The back door opposite to me opened. Grayson dropped down into the driver's seat. Another blond man jumped into the car, and the SUV shot forward as both Grayson and the new man yanked their doors shut.

"Fucking tangos," the new man said in a voice so low and angry, it was almost a growl.