Page 50 of Rusty's Command

A man was dead merely feet away, for fuck’s sake.

Another explosion of marble showered her head, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Soda’s high, desperate whine cut through the chaos, and Sienna’s heart stopped as her eyes flew open to search the darkness for Soda. Relief nearly buckled her knees when she caught an amber-red flash of Soda’s eyes that proved the K9 was still alert, still alive, and still holding her guard position.

Sienna twisted her fingers deeper into Rusty’s shirt as the firefight stretched endlessly. How many bullets did he have left? Did the guards have more men to send up here?

As if summoned by her fear, Rusty’s gun clicked empty.

“Fuck!” He dropped the spent weapon and drew another in one fluid motion, but instead of returning fire, he went statue-still. Both hands gripped the gun, aimed at something she couldn’t see, and his entire body coiled with deadly focus.

A sickening thud added to the chaos, and Rusty’s sharp grunt of pain pierced her worse than any bullet could. “Son of a bitch!”

“Rusty!” She dug her fingers into his shirt, pulling him toward her. “Oh God. Are you hit?”

“I’m okay.” He grunted with a sharp inhale.

There was no blood, and he didn’t crumble in her grip.

“But. . . but?—”

“Got the Kevlar.” The words ground out through his clenched teeth as if every syllable hurt. He fired once, then burst from their cover like unleashed lightning, ripping her fingers from his shirt as he charged into the darkness.

“Soda, attack! Take him!” Rusty’s command cracked through the air like a whip.

The dog exploded past Rusty like a massive furry missile. A man’s body hit the floor with a sound that would live in her nightmares forever.

Soda’s snarls mixed with a man’s desperate screams that no human throat should ever make.

Then another guard cried out as he went flying over the balcony railing. The wet crack of his final impact two stories below punched through the atrium, drawing shrieks from the women that echoed everywhere.

“Get more men up there! You fucking idiots.” Wang’s voice boomed from below. “Kill them!”

Sienna’s blood ran cold as the thunder of boots echoed up the marble steps, closing in from both sides of the balcony.

“They’re coming,” she cried, her voice cracking, but she didn’t know if Rusty even heard her over the chaos.

Fragments of violence erupted in the darkness—the sickening thud of fists meeting flesh, grunts of pain, and Soda’s guttural, deadly growls.

Why doesn’t Rusty shoot? Oh God . . . is he out of bullets?

Her breath hitched, panic clawing at her throat.I need to help him.

Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs, each brutal impact of the fight sounding like a countdown to disaster. Years of training flared to life in her muscles, coiled and ready. Watch. Wait. Strike when the moment is right—to hell with waiting!

Through the swirling marble dust, two guards emerged like phantoms, their shadows stretching long and menacing. One veered toward Rusty, the other toward her.

Sienna sank into the shadows, her pulse a war drum in her ears. She tracked the guard’s movements, her body taut as she counted each step.

Three steps.

Her pulse roared.

Two steps.

Marble crunched under his boots.

One.

She struck like a cobra, palm heel to throat. He gasped for air. She kicked his nuts. He folded over. She grabbed his head and slammed him into the marble wall. The crack was satisfying as he dropped like a stone.

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