Page 89 of Over the Edge

“You’re a comedian.” Alistair moved fast as he cut away Flynn’s blood-soaked shirt to access the wound beneath. “Trent! I need the trauma kit from the chopper! And tell Nolan to prep for immediate evac!”

Years of ops together showed in the way the team spread out, securing the scene, gathering intel, locking down our exfil route.

I started to move back, to give Alistair room to work, but Flynn’s hand caught mine in a grip that belied his weakened state.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promised, squeezing his hand. And I meant it in ways that surprised even me.

“Hang in there, Shep,” Alistair said, prepping an IV. “We’ll have you patched up in no time. Lyric, keep pressure on his wound. He’s bleeding too much.”

God, that really was a lot of blood. I pressed harder as, above us, Nolan’s helicopter circled, preparing for landing on the yacht’s helipad. The wind from the rotor whipped my hair around my face and sent ripples across the dark water.

“Princess.” Flynn’s fingers tightened around mine, drawing my attention back to him. “Does this… count as a successful date? Explosions, gunfire, saving… the world from autonomous… killer drones?”

The joke was weak, but I rewarded it with a small smile anyway. “If this is your idea of a date, Shepherd, your standards are concerningly low.”

“High standards,” he corrected, wincing as Alistair inserted the needle for the IV. “Just… unconventional taste.”

“Next time, maybe just Thai food and a movie.”

Next time. Two simple words that should have made my heart rate pick up, my flight instincts kick in, but they didn’t.

“Deal,” he said on a breath of sound. “Though fair warning… I have terrible taste in movies.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me at all.”

CHAPTER28

LYRIC

Nolan broughtthe helo down with more haste than precision, the landing skids scraping against the helipad with a screech that set my teeth on edge. Flynn’s blood was sticky between my fingers as I pressed harder against his wound, willing the flow to stop.

The side door slid open and Nolan stood there, his hair whipping in the rotor wash, face grim as he surveyed the situation.

“Christ,” he muttered, jumping down to help. “Always with the dramatics, Shepherd.”

“You… know… me…” Flynn said, gasping between each word.

“Move, move, move!” Ethan’s voice cut through the rotor noise, his usual composure fractured around the edges as he gestured for the team to load Flynn into the cabin.

Trent and Decker lifted him with a brutal efficiency that spoke of too many similar evacuations. His head lolled against Trent’s shoulder, face ashen beneath the grime and blood. I scrambled in behind them, my torn evening gown catching on the helicopter’s door frame. I yanked it free with enough force to tear the fabric further, not caring about anything except staying at Flynn’s side.

Alistair was already in the cabin, his medical kit open and ready. The calm in his movements was at odds with the tension radiating from his body as he began assessing Flynn’s injuries.

“Pressure here,” he ordered, guiding my hands back to the wound at Flynn.

“Don’t let up,” Alistair added, his voice steady despite the urgency in his eyes. He cut away the rest of Flynn’s shirt to fully expose the wound. “Mav, what’s our ETA to the nearest trauma center?”

“Twenty-three minutes if I push it,” Nolan called back, the rotors already spinning faster as we lifted off. “Eighteen if I really piss off air traffic control.”

“Make it eighteen,” Ethan ordered, strapping himself in across from us.

“I’m… okay,” Flynn muttered.

No, he wasn’t. His face had gone from pale to gray, and his eyes weren’t focusing properly anymore.

Oh, God.

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