Page 27 of Rusty's Command

And they were locked on her.

CHAPTER 9

Rusty

Blind rage floodedRusty’s veins as the asshole pressed the gun to Sienna’s temple, but years of training kept his body loose, ready. The gutless bastard used her as a shield, backing away into the shadows where the other flashlight cast just enough light to glint off the barrel against her skin.

“Stay back!” the gunman hollered.

“Kill the dog!” the man screamed, his voice ragged with desperation. Soda’s jaws were locked around his wrist, leaving him no hope of escape. His face turned ashen with pain as blood oozed over his fingers, dripping steadily onto the cold stone floor.

“Call off your dog,” the gunman’s voice boomed through the lava tube, “or the woman’s dead.”

His voice was steady, and his chokehold around Sienna’s throat spoke of tactical training, not some amateur thug playing at being a tough man. But Rusty had seen enough combat to know the difference between training for battle and consciously taking another person’s life.

The fucker’s white-knuckled trigger finger trembled against the metal, betraying his nerves. The worst kind of dangerous. An experienced shooter with a steady hand was one thing, but a panicked man with a death grip on the trigger was unpredictable and fucking lethal. One startled flinch and that twitchy finger would end Sienna’s life before Rusty could move.

The thought turned his blood to ice.

“Let her go.” He kept his voice level, fighting to stay rational even as eighteen years of buried feelings threatened to crack his control.

“I can’t breathe.” Sienna clawed at the gunman’s arm, but it would be like clawing steel. The bastard was committed, and he had the upper hand.

The fear in her eyes burned acid in his gut.

“Let her go, and we can discuss what you want.”

Behind him, Soda’s target had gone still, wisely choosing not to fight against her crushing bite. The only sounds were Sienna’s harsh breathing and the pathetic whimpers of the asshole in Soda’s grip. Rusty had no idea where Pickle was, but even he’d gone quiet.

“Call off your fucking dog,” the gunman said. A tremor of desperation threaded through the command.

“I will when you let her go.” Rusty’s mind raced through scenarios, each one ending with Sienna dead if he made the wrong move. The gun was aimed for a kill shot, and the angle was all wrong for rushing the gunman. One twitch of that finger and?—

The tunnel felt smaller, the air thick with tension. He needed to make a decision. Fast. Before someone’s nerves snapped, turning this standoff into a bloodbath.

“Take me.” Rusty kept his voice steady and calculating, despite the rage pulsing behind his eyes. “I’m more valuable than a civilian.”

“Let me go!” Sienna thrashed against his grip, driving her elbow back into his ribs. Her heel came down hard on his instep as she twisted, fighting like a wildcat.

The bastard grunted but held firm, pressing the barrel harder against her temple.

“Don’t make her collateral damage.” Rusty let steel enter his voice. “Trust me, you do not want that.”

The attacker’s grip shifted slightly, his breath quickening against Sienna’s long hair. When he peered over her shoulder at the guy trapped in Soda’s crushing jaws, uncertainty flickered in his shadowy eyes and fresh sweat beaded on his forehead.

He’s not the decision maker here. He’s merely muscle following orders.

Good. Let the bastard choke on his indecision while his teammate bleeds.

“Let her walk,” Rusty demanded, taking a step forward with his hands raised. “Take me instead. I’ll come quietly.”

When this was over, if they survived, he would make damn sure they regretted it.

Sienna’s eyes locked onto his—wide and glassy with fear, but there was something else there, too. A silent plea that gutted him. After eighteen years, he could still read every micro-expression across her face. The slight tremor in her lower lip, the way her throat worked as she swallowed. She thinks she’s going to die in these fucking tunnels, and that ripped through him like shrapnel.

The gunman’s breathing changed, faster and uncertain.

A bead of sweat rolled down Sienna’s temple where the barrel pressed against her skin.

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