Page 37 of Saving Their Forever

Ramin motions to Jalal, who pulls out a set of keys. “And now, McCabe, it is time to reunite you with the rest of your team. I hope you have thought about your last words. You are about to need them.”

Where is that goddamn diversion? Without it, will West and the others be able to get to Wren? Or me?

Ramin turns to Wadid and Malik. “Check the camera. Make sure our guests are…where we left them.”

Malik pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times. “Yes, Ramin. They have not moved since the last time I checked on them.”

I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the feed. Dax and Rip are bound to wooden chairs, ten feet apart, their heads bowed.

Jalal tosses the padlock to the side. The links of the chain clink one by one until the man has it wrapped around his fist, ready to use as a weapon. There are too many goddamned guns. Too many men.

The barrel of a pistol presses to the back of my head. “You will take three steps into the bunker and get on your knees facing your men,” Ramin says. “So you can watch them die.”

I let my shoulders fall forward. Looking broken isn’t hard. Not when the lights are still on and death is close enough to touch.

Jalal pulls on the door. The old hinges protest with a high-pitched scream. My gaze lands on a small pile of broken wood where I expected Rip to be, and I grin until we’re all plunged into darkness.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Ryker

I pivot and sweep my leg out to catch Ramin behind the ankles. He goes down, and a shot pierces the darkness. The muzzle flare gives me a split-second glimpse of Wadid aiming his AK into the bunker.

“Fire from your eight o’clock!” I shout.

Bullets spray the back wall, but I can sense my brothers now. They’re already out of the bunker, crouched low. Balling my hands into fists, I snap the zip ties. Pain explodes across my shoulders as the chain wraps itself half around my torso.

I grab it, yanking hard enough Jalal lets out an “oof” as he pitches into me.

Light floods the battery—so much for our advantage—but with a quick twist, Jalal’s neck snaps, and he’s down.

Ripper tackles Wadid, sending his AK clattering to the ground. Mashaal slams the stock of his rifle to the back of Rip’s head. The blow lets Wadid flip him and wrap his hands around Rip’s throat.

I grab Mashaal’s jacket and throw him against the wall before advancing on Ramin. The asshole scrambles for his pistol.

“Never…underestimate…the blind man,” Dax says, each word punctuating a punch or a kick to the guy currently trying to strangle Ripper.

Ramin’s fingers close around the butt of his Glock, but I slam my boot down on his hand. Bones crunch under my sole. “Not today, fucker. You tried to kill my brothers. You took my wife and she’s in fucking labor!”

Dax wraps one arm around Wadid’s neck and presses his other hand to the back of the man’s head. “This is for touching Evianna and Cara,” he says and, with a satisfying crack, severs his spinal cord.

Rip pushes to his feet and rubs his hands together as he advances on Malik. “Remember me? You called me an idiot.”

“I am sorry! Very sorry!” Malik cries.

I pry the gun from Ramin’s broken fingers. “Rip? You haven’t had target practice in a while.”

He chuckles, and I toss him the Glock.

“Run, fucker,” he says. Malik only makes it three steps before Rip pulls the trigger.

I wrap my fingers around Ramin’s neck and lift him far enough off the ground to slam him back down again. All the air leaves his lungs in a whoosh and he chokes on his own tongue.

“Count yourself lucky, shitstain. My wife needs me.”

His eyes widen a split second before I slam my boot down on his neck. The snap should be more satisfying. But the gunfire in the distance has us all on edge.

Rip passes me the Glock. “Go, Ry. We’re right behind you.”

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