Page 206 of The Darkest Chase

Xavier’s backed himself up to Bowden, Eustace, and Ephraim, screaming something desperate, probably about a getaway plan.

There’s still too fucking many of their men, and now the strategy to scatter them turns against us as we lose them in the containers.

My arms ache from the rifle’s recoil. I slide into a dark crevice to catch my breath, tapping my earpiece.

“We good?” I gasp.

“Low on ammo,” Grant barks back.

“Took a graze to the thigh, but still livin’,” Henri replies a little too cheerfully.

Lucas is quiet, making me fear he’s one of the bodies littering the docks, until he whispers, “…I have a clear shot at Xavier, but if he moves…”

“Don’t.” Panic leaps in my chest. “We can’t risk a hostage like that.”

“What you mean,” Lucas says gravely—no pun intended, “is your albino ass can’t risk the woman you love.”

“I’d say the same for any civilian,” I snap and then sigh. “And yeah. I fucking love her, so let’s try not to shoot her, okay?”

“What’s the plan?” Henri asks.

“One option,” Grant growls. “We Braveheart it.”

I frown. “What? You think one last rush will catch them so off guard they think we’re completely fucking insane?”

“I hope so,” Grant says—followed by the sound of his M4 going off in a quick burst.

“If you get me killed with this shit,” I say, “I will haunt your gigantic ass.”

“Then don’t die on me, DEA,” Grant snorts. “Okay, on my mark. One… two… three!”

That’s all I need.

I grip my M4 like it’s keeping me alive and charge.

You can feel the air over the docks change.

Suddenly, we’re no longer angry ghosts sniping from the shadows, but roaring madmen coming in from all sides, spilling down the throat of chaos.

With everyone scattered, there’s no united front as Xavier’s men fall back.

Easy targets.

But we’ve got our backs exposed, and there are still too damned many of them left.

The four of us link up, crowding in tight, until we’re a phalanx cutting Xavier and Bowden and the Jacobin heads off from their men.

We make ourselves vulnerable to them.

It’s not good.

Not at all when we’re crunched together, firing like madmen, looking over our shoulders, taking more shots, picking off a few more.

There’s something deathly cold in Bowden’s eyes as he lifts his service pistol and—

Another sound splits the night.

Sirens?

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