Page 35 of Savage Escape

He moved forward but stopped short when cold metal, which could only be the barrel of a handgun, pressed against his neck. Nathan froze and watched as another guard, this one sported a pair of big ears and a hooked nose, stepped into his line of sight and directed his weapon at Nathan. He said something in Russian and then shouted it again after Nathan didn’t respond.

Finally, Dumbo motioned for Nathan to drop his guns.

He complied. He moved slowly, dropping the AK-47 and putting his hands up, so as not to scare them into killing him prematurely. He wasn’t going to do their work for them and rid himself of all the weapons he’d collected. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d miss a few.

The gun barrel resting on his neck moved and a single hand was patting him down, removing and tossing his pilfered weapons to the side. Dumbo was speaking more Russian, but Nathan didn’t bother to pay attention. He was focusing on the guard behind him and waiting for his moment.

It would have been convenient if Caden swooped in, armor shining, white steed whinnying, and save his ass, but she was most likely dealing with her own assholes.

The gun was on his left shoulder now and the single hand was on his left thigh. Nathan took his chance (figuring he could survive a shoulder wound much better than he could survive a bullet through the neck) tucked his shoulders down and catapulted his body forward.

Using his head as a battering ram, Nathan slammed into the guy’s gut. Dumbo bounced off of him and hit the grass, gasping and wheezing.

Pivoting and reaching for the knife he’d stowed in his boot, Nathan straightened.

Lined up his shot.

Tried to remember how exactly he was supposed to compensate for the uneven weight of the weapon.

Cocked his arm.

And was hit square in the chest with a sledgehammer.

Nathan was familiar with that particular full-body jerking. It was very much like being hit with a sledgehammer wielded by some beefed-out giant. The second guard had his gun leveled on him and—had that gunshot come from his gun or someone else’s? It had been a while since he’d been graced with the oh-so-pleasant sensation of being shot but he remembered the feeling all too vividly.

Another too-close-to-be-any-other-gun-but-the-one-aimed-at-his-torso shot sounded and another sledgehammer hit him right in the ribs.

Damn it all to hell, he’d been shot.Twice.

13

CADEN

Caden had never walked the straight and narrow. From early on, she’d been a thief and a liar. Out of necessity, more than a lack of moral fiber. Her father had been a drunken, violent bastard with random fits of sobriety, which meant his three daughters went hungry and cold more often than not.

Caden had been four years old before her sisters came into the picture when she first began stealing. Food from grocery stores and when she couldn’t make it to town, she’d break into her neighbor’s homes and raid their pantries.

She’d begun stealing in earnest when Ezra’s mother chucked her on their doorstep. When her sisters came under her care, things changed. Things she had never spared two thoughts to before, like rent, bills, and consistent meals, became all too important. Caden had acquired many alternative skills at a young age—chief among them was stealing cars.

At first, it had just been her dad’s pickup truck to get into town; occasionally she’d hijack a neighbor’s when the need was urgent. A skill that had morphed into a more profitable form of grand larceny when they’d escaped foster care and Ezzy hadgotten into college. One of many skills from her misspent youth that had a lifetime guarantee. Which was why Caden hadn’t hesitated when she’d seen the SUV.

The fact that they were not being shot at or had even been detected was a shock. She had to have a moment to get over it. Hell, it was like reality had flipped and her usually low reserves of luck were now disproportionately high. Like the Luck Gods suddenly decided to stop being stingy dicks and instead decided to liberally bequeath luck unto their subjects. Savage was most likely in good with them—him being likable and charming and all.

Wow, she had to shake the whimsical shit and maybe not play kissy face with Savage before doing important stuff. It was fucking with her head.

She’d gotten to the SUVs without so much as a sideways look. Much to her annoyance, Savage had dived the opposite way when they’d stepped out. He’d corrected his course, but he was still a good yard or two behind.

The roar of the battle going on around her was a sound she’d grown accustomed to through the years. The pop of bullets discharging and the sharp smell of cordite brought back memories.

Memories that froze her in place.

Memories that crushed her from the inside out until she was gasping for breath. Screams, familiar screams of men she lost long ago, had her white-knuckled and shaking. Big ol’ beads of sweat plastered her forehead and dripped into her eyes.

Normally, she could hold her shit together in a firefight. Flashbacks didn’t hack away at her defenses. She probably had some mild form of PTSD acquired from way back when, but she’d always been able to work around it or push through it.

Then again, she wasn’t exactly at a hundred percent. Fuck, the blood loss coupled with malnutrition was most likely the cause of her sudden display of weakness.

She had a fucking mission.

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