Page 71 of The Shadow King's Brother

Fuck.

My instincts scream. I drop, twisting my body to slam against the rust-eaten side of a shipping container. Bullets rip through the space where I stood a heartbeat before, tearing chunks of metal and sending sparks showering down. The acrid smell of gunpowder stings my nostrils. They were prepared for us.

"Shit," I murmur trying to locate the others.

Jackson is to my right, letting loose a string of curses as he returns fire, his Beretta barking defiance into the night. Gio vaults over a stack of rotting pallets, firing a controlled burst that sends splinters flying from a nearby crate. I scan the space, my gaze darting between shadows, searching for an opening towards the building.

She's in there. I know it.

At least twenty men, maybe more, are scattered across the asphalt in front of the warehouse, behind pillars – all armed, all aiming.

This isn't a firefight. This is an ambush.

Forget cover. We need to move.

“Let’s go,” I hiss to Jackson. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Ignoring the tremor of adrenaline coursing through me, I explode from behind the container, my boots pounding against the oil-stained concrete. Two quick shots leave my gun, and I see a figure in the shadows clutch his chest and crumple.

"Not bad," Jackson says, moving to my left.

"We gotta get inside," I pant.

A flicker of movement. A glint of steel. A man on the catwalk swings his weapon toward me. I throw myself into an improvised roll, the bullet whizzing inches over my head, tearing a hole in the container behind me.

"Fuck," I shout.

Rising to a crouch, I snap my arm up and squeeze the trigger. The man on the catwalk slams back against the railing, his rifle clatters to the floor. He hangs, lifeless, for a beat—then tumbles over the edge.

"Move up!" Jackson roars, laying down a suppressing fire that buys me precious seconds. I sprint, weaving through a labyrinth of crates stacked high. My lungs burn, and my muscles ache, but I push forward, driven by a single, burning purpose: the inner hallway of the building. That's where they'll be keeping her.

That's where Nica is.

I know it. I feel it in the marrow of my bones, a raw, primal connection that overrides everything else.

Then, a searing pain rips through my shoulder, a white-hot agony that steals my breath. It's like a branding iron searing flesh, sending shockwaves through my entire body.

No.

The force of the impact sends me stumbling, nearly knocking me off my feet. I slam into a stack of rusted metal drums, their sharp edges digging into my ribs. My sleeve is instantly soaked with blood, the dark stain spreading fast.

"Elio!" Gio shouts, approaching me from the right.

"I'm fine," I grit out, forcing the words through clenched teeth. The pain is a monster clawing at me. I don't have time for pain. I don't have time to bleed.

With a sharp tug, I rip off a shirt strip and wrap it tightly around my left arm, twisting the fabric into a makeshift tourniquet. The pressure sends a fresh wave of agony through me, but I grit my teeth and secure it.

My right hand is still steady. I can still shoot. That's all that matters.

Jackson isn't as lucky. A strangled grunt escapes his lips, and he collapses, clutching his thigh. His face is pale, his eyes wide with pain.

"Shit…" He grimaces, pressing his hand against the wound, his fingers quickly turning crimson. "I'm hit bad."

Gio is already there, dragging him behind the meager cover of a toppled crate. "We need backup."

Jackson clenches his jaw, his face slick with sweat. "I'm calling it in, the force, trusted friends. Get to Vickie! Keep going."

"Stay with him, cover him until help arrives," I say to Gio.

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