Page 142 of Wilde and Deadly

Crack.

The first shot ripped through the tunnel.

Weston slammed into Rowan, driving her sideways. The impact was bone-jarring, the concrete biting into her shoulder as she hit the ground.

A second shot followed. A third. Too many. Too fast.

Sabin fired back, his face grim. “Merde. Where they comin’ from?”

Rowan rolled onto her knees, rifle raised, scanning?—

Figures flickered into view, bleeding out of the shadows like ghosts. No glow of NVGs, no telltale rustle of movement. Just shifting air, like heat rippling over pavement, and…

Solid forms materialized from the darkness. No, they weren’t appearing from the dark. They were already here.

Soldiers dressed in black with rifles. Trained, polished, precise. They moved in sync, their weapons held with a comfort and familiarity that spoke of countless hours of training.

“What the fuck,” she breathed. Either they were magic, or they had access to cloaking technology she’d never seen before.

Weston spun, bringing up his weapon, but then froze as one of the bigger shadows peeled off from the pack and advanced.

Rowan caught the flicker of confusion in his expression, like something wasn’t adding up. His whole body locked up, muscles going rigid, breath catching like he’d just taken a gut punch.

“No, that’s?—”

The shadow attacked. Fast. Precise. Brutal. No hesitation. No pause. Just a blur of motion.

The rifle butt smashed into Weston’s skull with a sickening crack. His head snapped sideways, his knees buckling before his body followed.

Rowan lunged for him, but another shot rang out, forcing her back.

Weston hit the ground hard, blood spattering across the concrete when he landed.

He didn’t move again.

“No! Weston!” His name ripped from her throat as she twisted, trying to get to him?—

A fist crashed into her jaw, rattling her skull. White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes, but sheer willpower kept her upright. She staggered, clenched her teeth, and twisted?—

Another shadow pounced.

God, there were so many of them.

She spun with lightning speed, her arm snapping up in a fierce strike. Her elbow cracked against bone, the impact jarring her down to her teeth. Her attacker barely stumbled.

Not enough.

For every one she fought off, another materialized to take his place.

An arm clamped around her throat from behind like a vise, dragging her against a body made of pure muscle. She bucked wildly, driving her heel down with all her strength, but the hold only tightened. Her boots scraped against the grimy tunnel floor as she tried to find leverage.

Five feet ahead, Sabin moved like a ghost.

One second, he was pivoting, feet braced wide on the uneven track bed, rifle raised—the next, he fired.

The gunshot cracked through the tunnel. A round slammed into the first attacker’s thigh, dropping them hard onto the gravel.

Another figure surged from the dark behind him. Fast. Silent.

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