Page 165 of Secondhand Smoke

“Good,” the president said. “’Cause we got hostiles pouring in. We’re gonna have to shoot our way out, boys. Guns at the ready.”

Mercy hefted his sledgehammer over his shoulder. “Bring ‘em on,” he said, grinning. “I need the exercise.”

Aidan swallowed, and realized there was a lump in his throat.

His father walked toward them.

“Dad–”

“Mags told me,” Ghost said, voice going soft as he stepped forward and closed in on them. He wore a ski cap, flak vest, and carried not only the AK but a sidearm as well, his body strapped with more weapons and magazines, in full-on soldier mode. He offered a lopsided smile full of emotion. “You didn’t think I’d come help my boys?”

Okay, not a good time to get emotional.

Ghost reached out and put one hand on Aidan’s shoulder, the other on Tango’s. “Let’s go home,” he whispered. Then, to Aidan, “You ready to kill some motherfuckers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He turned around, hands still in place, shouting toward the Lécuyer brothers. “Boys, you clear them a path, okay? We gotta get Kev away. And Mercy” – he grinned hugely – “don’t show any mercy, okay?”

“No, sir!” Mercy said, laughing. To Aidan: “Come on, brother. We got your back.”

~*~

It was frigid outside, and Aidan wished they’d thought to bring clothes for Tango. Not that there was time to worry about it. Whoever lived in the pool house had called in reinforcements and there were men streaming onto the property, firing wild into the night.

Aidan ducked his head low, tightened his grip on Tango, and followed his brother-in-law.

Mercy had his sledge in one hand, gun in the other, firing off shots as he led them…using the hammer when someone broke through the line and got too close.

One goon managed to break loose and set upon them. Mercy swung a wide arc and caved the bastard’s head in with the hammer, one deadly stroke from his massive arm.

“Oh,” Whitney said in front of them.

“Don’t look,” Aidan told her. “Just keep going.”

Colin was no slouch. He clipped a guy in the shoulder with his own hammer and then finished him off with a round from his .45.

And then suddenly they were at the fence, the hole Fox had cut, and they were awkwardly pushing Tango through it.

“Go, go!” Colin shouted.

Aidan turned back and saw the two brothers fending off a pair of guards. “Merc,” he called.

“Take Kev,” the big man said. “Let my brother and me handle this.”

So they went. Aidan half-carried, half-dragged a semi-conscious Tango up the leaf-strewn hill, Ian and Whitney helping, the most unlikely duo of accomplices ever.

Gunshots echoed behind him. Shouts. The sharp crackle of fire.

And then the sweetest sound reached his ears.

“Aidan?” Sam’s voice called. “Aidan, baby, oh…”

They were at the hill. Littlejohn. Jazz. The waiting escape vehicles. And Sam. His gorgeous Sam.

“Baby,” she said, coming to him, touching his face and filling his field of vision with her perfect expression of concern. “God,” she said. And then she turned to Tango. “Kev, Jesus…”

Aidan tipped his head back, felt the hard press of his best friend’s arm across his shoulder, felt the cold prickle of icy air in his lungs, saw the stars reeling overhead as he fought to catch his balance.

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