Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Moira tried to breathe through the pain. She’d gone down hard, hit in the lower chest quadrant by a single round. Luckily the bullet had been of a caliber that hadn’t penetrated her vest—or so it seemed since there was no blood—but the hit had been harder than any mere .22, and would certainly leave a nasty bruise.

Once on the ground, her well-honed instincts had kicked in thanks so her extensive training, and breathing or not, she’d crawled several hundred feet across the forest floor—leaving as minimal a trail as possible—to hide behind an ancient stack of fallen trees. She’d burrowed under a pile of leaves, hearing numerous footsteps tromping through the underbrush nearby. They were clearly searching for her downed body to see if she was still alive.

Words were being spoken, but they were indistinct enough that she couldn’t hear exactly what her poorly-trained trackers were saying.

She didn’t need to.

Moira’s assessment agreed with that of Welk and Mason, and what they’d said of the situation before she’d been shot. This whole thing screamed set-up. Was it the work of the MC?

Moira leaned her head to where her mic should be, and…fuck! Nothing. She silently swore. She’d hoped to quietly let the team know her exact location, and that she was in trouble, but the device that was her lifeline had flown off when she’d fallen.

Thinking quickly, she felt toward her duty-belt, and found the cord still attached to the sending unit. Slowly, she reeled it in, then cursed again. The damned thing had smashed when it had landed.

Shit.

Now Moira had to come up with a plan that would keep her alive until her teammates arrived on their own. And they would. Arrive that is. Of that she was certain. There was no way they hadn’t heard that loud-as-hell shot. If the situation were any less dire, she’d laugh herself silly. Who the hell didn’t use a silencer in these conditions, when clearly they’d expected an entire SWAT team to show up?

Dumb-ass bikers. That’s what she thought.

Moira gave in and chuckled wryly to herself. Dumb-asses or not, whoever it was had certainly planned this ambush, well, it that’s what it turned out to be.

From all she’d been able to ascertain before her vest had been capped, the fuckers had laid down multiple trails in the woods—with God-only-knows how many perps taking part in their little outing—to lead the cadre of trackers astray. Fuck it. She’d assume it was the MC after her ass. From the quick glimpse she’d had of her shooter before he’d gotten off his lucky shot, the douchebags had also been equipped with NVGs, which is probably how these particular dudes had ID’d her as the one they’d been attempting to lure out.

That meant that the rest of their kiss-ass gang, upon hearing the gun report, had probably taken off, figuring the guys in her vector had things firmly in hand.

Fuck that.

She’d put odds on herself and her SWAT team over these amateurs in a heartbeat. A normal heartbeat, which hers wasn’t exactly sounding like right now.

But there was no time to worry about that.

“…better find the bitch and end her if she hasn’t already bit the dust. Then we’ll get the hell out of here like the rest of our guys. Her fucking team is probably headed this way right now.”

“Stop being a pussy,” another voice growled. “Do you hear anything? Anybody coming to her rescue? Of course not. We had them spreading themselves so thin, it’ll take them fucking forever to regroup and decide which path she took when they started their bogus search.”

Hah. Moira aching chest filled with satisfaction, if not oxygen. The joke’s on you, motherfucker.

Little did they know that a team like hers never went off willy-nilly. They had specific assignments, and her squad knew exactly the area to which she’d been designated. And if she knew Welker, the man would be headed for her right the hell now, sneaking in quietly at the front of the pack, leading the covert charge against her would-be-assassins.

Her smile faded.

Not all good .

Welk would be coming in blind. He didn’t know the pricks were also outfitted with NVGs, and by the time he had that knowledge, what was left of the MC might have a visual on him, ambushing him before he realized he was in danger.

Moira’s ineffectual breathing sped up. Her injury, whatever is was, was definitely getting worse, she could tell. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch to suck in air, but she had to persevere. She had to do something to warn a possible rescue-squad. The last thing she wanted was for Welker—or anyone else she labeled as friend—to act the hero on her behalf, and get themselves killed.

Slowly and carefully she drew her Glock from its holster and lifted her head free of the leaf cover she’d sought.

One, two, three perps .

Luckily, they were all focused off to her left as she took a good look. She slid back down and assessed her options as she retreated underneath the safety of her leafy cover.

She could fire off a few rounds, most likely taking out two of the bastards before they got a bead on her, but even being a cracker-jack shot, Moira knew she’d never be able to get all three without taking return fire.

Still—she flexed her body silently to prepare, nearly groaning at the level of agony that cut through her—her options were few.

And, fuck, she hurt. There was no doubt in her mind that any movements she made would be impeded, but what else could she…

Wait. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She still had her phone. Her brain must be leaching cells.

Moira eased further down under the leaves, her motions slow and deliberate as she simultaneously reached for her device and attempted to keep the disturbing flashes in her vision at bay. Holding the phone beneath her prone body, she turned the brightness all the way down before hitting Welker’s number and putting it to her ear.

It rang once.

“Fuck, Moira.” Welker’s voice was hushed but frantic. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“A round to the vest,” she hissed mutedly. “Three bogies on my six. Fully armed, all with NVGs.”

“Keep your phone on. I’ll grab your coordinates. And Moira?”

“Yeah, Welk?”

“Don’t do anything stupid or heroic. I love you.”

Clearly, he didn’t care that his comm was on, and every single on of their team would hear. She could only match his candor.

“I love you too, Mr. Not-the-boss-of-me,” she added sassily, although it cost her. Moira cursed under her breath. She had to conserve energy for whatever was coming next.

Welker gave a wry snort, not privy to her compromised health. “You may have forgotten it, but out here I’m your LT, sweetheart.”

Moira closed her eyes. She liked that. Not that he was pulling rank, but that he was calling her by a pet name. It was a first.

She waited silently for him to find her coordinates.

“I’ve located you,” he finally came back. “I’m a quarter click out. See you soon.”

Moira wondered if she’d have the necessary time. She felt like she was fading fast.

Soon, she heard bad-guy footsteps moving closer to her position, and gave one last message to Welker, not risking more that would give away her precarious position.

“Going dark,” she responded before laying the phone next to her ear in case Welker would have anything else to impart.

Moira, not good at waiting, began doing math. It might take her mind off the pain, and the difficulty she was having, breathing.

A quarter click out would put Welker three minutes away. Or maybe less depending on how fast he could travel without alerting her pursuers. He’d been a SEAL, after all, so maybe he had some unique, speedy, ghost-like qualities. Moira sure hoped so, because the pricks sounded like they were going to get lucky and stumble upon her pretty damned soon.

Just as she was about to warn Welker that all hell was about to break loose, loud voices rang through the trees from the opposite direction from where Welker would be coming. The sounds were a pretty good distance away, so Moira couldn’t tell if they were good guys or bad guys, but if she’d been Welker…

Yup. Moira chose to believe her boss/lover had told the other squads to come in hot and loud, hopefully scaring her hunters away, possibly in his direction.

“Fuck,” one of the searchers growled. “You hear that? It sounds like an army.”

“I don’t care. Find that cunt,” another snapped, but he was sounding panicked as well.

“Moira,” Welk said softly over the phone beneath her ear. “I have a visual.”

That hadn’t taken him long. Either her math skills were off, or the man was a beast.

Welker continued. “If I take out the two on my left, can you incapacitate the third?”

“Affirmative,” Moira responded, knowing she had no choice. They’d be on her in a matter of seconds. “Ten feet and closing.”

“On my go,” Welk’s voice came back, calming her. “Three…two…go.”

Moira sprung up, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in her chest and the wonky dizziness in her head.

She focused. She aimed. She pulled the trigger, while at the same time hearing two additional reports.

Done.

She dropped back to the ground—as if her body was giving her a choice—and her vision blurred as agony seemed to rip through her entire torso. She barely managed to get her fingers wrapped around her phone again. “Did we get them?” she choked out.

Why the fuck was she in so much pain?

“We did. Great shooting, Annie Oakley,” Welker praised. “All three are down but not dead. I’m zip tying them, now, then I’m going to come give you the biggest kiss of your life. And I don’t care if the entire team is listening.”

Which they probably were, but Moira couldn’t find it in herself to respond with anything more than a grunt.

“Moira?” Welker’s voice suddenly seemed less sure, and farther away than it had been only seconds before.

“Not…feeling so good, Welk,” she somehow managed.

His tone turned panicked. “Moira. Are you hit? Answer me.”

Moira wanted to, but she couldn’t get her mouth to move.

“Ah, crap, sweetheart. Stay with me. Moira. Stay with me.”

“Mase!” she heard him yell over his mic. “Send Alvero, stat. Something’s not right with Moira.”

That’s when she sensed Welker falling to his knees beside her.

She struggled to talk.

“Shh,” he said. “I’ve got you. But you have to tell me where you were hit.”

Unable to speak, Moira managed to lift her arm and point to an area that was low in her left ribcage.

She screamed in her throat as Welker began to unfasten her vest, and she must have passed out for a short time because the next thing she knew, several teammates, including Alvero, were hovering over her, with Alvero taking charge.

“Possible flail chest,” their medic barked. “Help me get her into a sitting position, leaning toward her left side. We’ll tuck her vest under her arm to apply pressure.”

“Flail chest?” she heard someone—maybe Sin—ask.

Alvero grunted. “It means part of her chest wall has been destabilized, probably due to contiguous rib fractures where the bullet impacted.”

Moira wasn’t sure, but that didn’t sound good. She gasped for air and moaned as they turned her onto her left hip.

Mason, who’d somehow arrived too, sounded grim. “I see it,” he confirmed. “Paradoxical breathing. She’s going to need surgery. I’ve already called for a TRS.”

No way, Moira thought to herself, wanting to argue but unable to muster the energy. She’d never been under the knife for anything before, and had only been on a traverse rescue stretcher during drills. She was a tough cookie. The whole lot of them should just back away and give her a few minutes to walk this off.

If only she could catch her breath…

Fuck. What had Mason said?

Moira blinked, replaying his words.

Paradoxical breathing .

Moira struggled to remember her training, and came up with what that meant, but how did one diagnose…?

Oh. Right .

Moira laid a shaking hand on her ribcage, then concentrated on taking in a shallow amount of air.

Goddammit .

Why did the chief have to be right?

Her chest had collapsed with her inhalation instead of expanding.

She let the breath seep out through her mouth, and her chest actually inflated.

Fuck. So much for no surgery. Her chest wall had clearly destabilized.

Welker drew her hand away from her body and grasped it between his much warmer ones. Moira managed to look up into his eyes, which held a degree of worry she’d never seen in them before.

“You’re going to be fine, Moira. Do you understand me? You’re going to be fine,” he repeated, as if he could will it to be so.

Moira thought she nodded, but couldn’t be sure.

The dark night had started closing in around her until…

Ahh. Blessed relief.