Page 70 of Welker

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.”

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