Page 14 of Rusty's Command

Each detail dropped between them like bricks.

I know what I saw, goddammit!

Rusty’s expression hardened into the blank mask she recognized from corporate IT meetings—the one male executives wore right before they explained basic cybersecurity to her despite the fact that she’d stopped three major ransomware attacks last year.

“Look, I get that you think you saw something.” His tone had that manufactured Condescension 101 that was apparently installed in men at puberty.

Her fingers itched to punch something. Like him.

She wasn’t some random woman imagining shit. Everything in her life—from coding secure systems to running ten miles every day—was built on precision and determination. She triple-checked hard data. Documented. Validated. The need to prove herself burned in her throat like that terrible coffee she’d lived on during the ransomware crisis last month, bitter and familiar.

She’d been right about numerous security breaches that nobody else saw, and this feeling in her gut was exactly the same. She was right about this. She knew what she saw.

But the evidence had been scrubbed clean and Rusty’s skepticism cut deeper than she expected. It echoed those pitying looks after Paige died, when everyone treated her like she was one keystroke away from a total system failure.

She drew a sharp breath, ready to execute a verbal takedown. Soda’s posture shifted to high alert. The dog’s ears prickedforward, and her eyes took on a laser focus that made Sienna’s pulse spike. The tactical vest strapped around Soda’s chest added to her predatory intensity.

But before Sienna could flag this to Mr. Skeptical, Pickle erupted into chaos, twisting in her arms, trying to break free and yapping in decibels that fucking hurt.

“Get that dog under control,” Rusty snapped.

“I’m trying.” She locked her arms around the squirming terrier, attempting to mute Pickle’s sonic assault with her palm.

Something cracked against the lava by her feet. Obsidian shards exploded outward like shrapnel.

“Run!” Rusty moved with military efficiency, snatching Pickle from her arms mid-stride as a brutal crack of gunfire split the air.

Her legs launched her forward before her brain finished processing what the hell was happening. She whipped her head around, searching for the shooters among the obsidian fields. The black rock swallowed everything, and the blazing sun glinted off the glassy surface, turning the whole landscape into a maze of deadly mirrors.

Another shot punched through the space behind her, close enough to make her heart launch to her throat. Sprinting like crazy, she channeled countless training runs into raw velocity, but the lava field was a minefield of twisted rock and treacherous cracks. One wrong step could break her ankle. The barren landscape offered zero cover as if she was running on another planet.

“Zigzag!” Rusty’s command cut through another thundering shot. “Don’t run straight!”

She darted left, then right, her feet skidding on the loose ground. Each heartbeat hammered against her ribs like a drumbeat of panic. Behind her, Rusty stayed close, positioning himself like a shield.

The realization hit her harder than the pounding of her feet:he’s protecting me with his body.

A flood of emotions surged through her—anger that he hadn’t believed her, fear for his safety, and something else she wasn’t ready to name.

Somewhere behind them, Soda’s deep bark echoed off the lava field, each powerful sound growing more distant. Her lungs burned for air as she pumped her legs harder. The volcanic terrain stretched endlessly ahead, a maze of black rock offering nothing but exposed ground. More shots cracked through the air like lightning, and Rusty fired back, somehow managing to squeeze off shots while clutching a writhing, terrified Pickle against his tactical vest.

Behind them, Soda’s fierce barking broke off in a sharp, pain-filled yelp.

Sienna’s heart stopped mid-beat. “Soda!” She peered over her shoulder, searching frantically for his dog.

“Take him,” Rusty said, shoving Pickle toward her. Her fingers clawed at the air, desperate to catch him, but the little dog slipped through her grasp like water. Pickle hit the ground with a startled yelp, tumbling onto his side.

“No. Pickle!”

“Run!” Rusty’s gun cracked again and again, each shot deafening. “Forget him!”

“Pickle!”

“Fucking run!” Rusty lunged, trying to grab the terrier, but Pickle darted out of reach and bolted after Sienna, his tiny legs pumping like crazy.

Sienna’s legs trembled, and her muscles screamed with exhaustion. Two mad sprints for her life in one day had drained every last reserve she had. Her lungs felt shredded, and each breath ripped her chest apart.

Beside her, Pickle’s terrified yips cut straight to her heart.Please don’t let anything happen to him. I promised Aunty Dee I’d keep him safe.

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