The back of the van explodes into a burst of flames and skids onto its side.
“We’re hit,” Sophia exclaims.
Well, fuck. So much for outrunning the bazooka.
Metal on asphalt screeches across the pavement.
“Where are the fucking bobbies?” I yell to no one in particular.
I swear to god, spend a lifetime skirting the blokes and when you need them, they’re nowhere to be found.
Gunfire rat-a-tats outside the vehicle.
There’s a hole in the back of the van big enough for us to exit through if it weren’t for the flames lapping the edges.
“Where’s the gas tank on this thing?” I ask.
Fisher kicks out the door, rises up to eye level, and scans the grounds. The van’s on its side, and he’s peering out the door like it’s a tank.
I pass him a gun.
“Help the women out, one by one,” he shouts. “Bring up the rear.”
“Arrow, can you hear me?” Sophia asks. She’s shouting toward the speaker as she arms herself with a rifle, two handguns, and a blade.
There’s no sound from the speaker, not even static.
“Blast disconnected us,” I tell her.
Nearby gunfire from our backup team means we’re not alone.
When we climb out of the rubbish, we’ll need to run. Hopefully, the others are in position to give us clearance.
Rapid-fire gunfire mixes with smoke.
This shit isn’t going according to plan.
Fisher taps me, guns strapped on, and I crouch to assist.
Fisher shoves off my back, climbing out of the hole with a spray of bullets.
“Clear. Move it!” he shouts with the boom of a drill sergeant.
Sophia is next, reaching one arm up to Fisher’s protruding hand. Her foot’s on my shoulder for a brief second before she’s gone, practically airlifted by Fisher out of the hold.
Gunfire splits the air.
The smoke has grown so dense it’s a challenge to see through the back of the van.
Scarlet steps up and I stop her, pulling her close.
“If shit goes sideways, stay with Lina. You’ll be taken care of.”
“Nothing’s going to happen.” Evergreen eyes pierce the shroud. “Believe.”
“I love you.”
“Now’s not the time, Nikolai. Tell me when we’re through this.”