Page 66 of Property of Max
Bree.
She’s lying on the floor, a small, broken shadow hiding in the corner of this nightmare. No ropes, no guards, no sound. Just her.
“Bree!” My voice breaks out of me before I can stop it. I rush forward, drop to my knees, and scoop her up. Relief crashes through me…until I realize how limp she is.
Something’s wrong.
Her head lolls against my chest, her body too light, too still.
“Fuck,” Maverick mutters, crouching beside me. “Blood.”
The word punches through me, but training takes over. Panic won’t save her. Control might.
“Butterfly, it’s me, babygirl. It’s Max,” I whisper, my voice steady even though my heart’s trying to tear its way out of my chest. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I just need you to open your eyes for me.”
Spike presses his palm hard into her sternum, rubbing roughly to trigger a response. His jaw is tight, his eyes sharp. “Come on, kid. Show me something.”
Then…her lashes flicker. A small sound leaves her throat. Slowly, her eyes open, dazed. Her lips move, repeating the same sound over and over, but we can’t catch it.
“Bree,” I urge, holding her tighter, my face close to hers. “Look at me. Say it again.”
Her gaze snaps into focus, wide and terrified, locking on mine.
“Bomb,” she breathes. And then louder, clear: “Run. Get out.”
We don’t think.
We don’t question.
We don’t hesitate.
We fucking run.
For half a heartbeat, instincts claw at me.Be careful. Don’t jolt her. You don’t know where she’s bleeding from. You don’t know how bad it is.
But I shove it all down, bury it under the one thing that matters.
Getting her out of here…alive.
We barrel for the door like the world’s on fire. My lungs burn, boots slap concrete, men shouting. Nothing makes sense except the beat of my heart and the weight in my arms. Bree is a small,heavy bundle against my chest, her head tucked under my chin. Her skin feels cool pressed against mine.
Spike is at my left shoulder, Bones on my right. Maverick covers our six. Foster runs ahead of us, breath ragged, slamming open doors. The hallway stretches and narrows, and the exit swings open like salvation.
The night air hits us before we reach the door…cold, sharp, the yard a smear of black.
A sound comes up from under the house…low, wrong, like a giant throat clearing. First, it’s a vibration under my boots, then a deep, hollow boom that crawls through bone. Debris rains down from above, and the world folds inward, a heat wave ripping past us.
“ MOVE! ” Spike barks. The word rips through me. I tighten my arms, tuck Bree’s head closer to my chest, and run harder.
The ground explodes under the building. An angry, keening roar, and a shockwave throws us forward. It hits like a punch to the ribs. I don’t get to think about falling; I only get to feel weightless, then smashed into the dirt. Splinters and dust fill the air, a white, choking sheet. Something slams into my shoulder, and I taste metal on my teeth. For a second, the world is only noise: men coughing, someone swearing, a far-off scream, the rasp of tires.
I roll on instinct, curling my body around Bree, using my legs and arms like a shield. She’s hard against me…alarmingly limp…and I scream her name into my own chest because sound is the only prayer I have. My hearing is a thin ribbon of ringing. I was too close to the house when it exploded.
Everything happened in a split second, yet it felt like I was running in slow motion. It felt like I could see the shockwave before it hit is, the heat before it escaped the ground. I’ll never forget these past few seconds for as long as I live.
Somebody…Maverick, I think…hauls me off the ground. Hands everywhere. Bones is on his knees, ripping Bree’s leggings open and pressing his hands against her leg, trying to slow the blood that I can now see is seeping out from a small hole. Spike is moving, voice steady but deadly: “Back to the truck. Now. Move, move, move.”
We shove into the pickup like animals, boots slipping, breath hot and ragged. Foster’s face is streaked with dirt, eyes wide and shining with guilt tangled up in relief.
