Page 35 of Victorious: Part 3
“A soldier on your left,” someone yells. Trax appears out of the haze like a fuckingAvenger, gun blazing. He lays down cover fire in a wild, relentless frenzy, keeping the Cartel heads ducked while we push forward.
A shadow lunges out from the side, gun raised.
I don’t think.
I react.
Slamming into the Cartel soldier, both of us going down hard. One of the female workers screams as his gun clatters, his hand rushing to his belt for a blade. But I headbutt him before he can reach it, feel the sick crunch of his nose under my skull, then he slumps, out cold.
I turn to the screaming woman, panting for breath, and smirkat her. She instantly turns to mush as she cuddles into my side while I key my radio. “Ten yards,” I shout breathlessly into the comms, dragging a hand over my bloody face and surge the group toward the exit.
In a flash of movement, Vibe appears beside us, blood trailing from a gash over his eyebrow, but still moving, still fighting. He grabs one of the older men by the arm and hauls him forward. Honestly, I’m thankful for the assist right now.
Civilians can’t handle the chaos and carnage. It’s all screaming and crying, or the men trying to be macho when they’re just in the way and will get themselves killed.
We reach the loading dock as a second explosion rips through the far side of the building. The shockwave hits like a freight train, blasting us off our feet again, throwing civilians and bikers alike into walls and crates.
My head spins, my ears ring, and the disorientation makes my stomach churn and knocks what little breath I had from my lungs.
“Move!” Surge bellows through the chaos, pulling one of the workers to his feet as smoke floods the corridor.
I slowly push up, coughing, my body aching like a motherfucker. That’s when I grab a worker by the collar, shoving him forward. Vibe grabs another two, and together, we haul them through the smoke. Then the rest rush through frantically, their feet dragging, giving me the impression that they’re almost out of energy. But Ineedthem to keep pushing. “C’mon, you gotta move quicker…” I pause, sucking in a breath. “Just a little farther,” I scream, trying to spur them on.
Outside, headlights cut through the mist. The roar of van engines and the sharp shout of orders from our brothers beyond the smoke tells me we’ve almost made it.
“Torque—”
“Civilians first,” I cut off Trax as we break cover, sprintingacross the final stretch of open ground with automatic weapons fire erupting behind us. I feel bullets tugging at my cut, the whistle of near misses.
One of the female workers goes down with a scream, clutching her leg. Without thinking, I scoop her up in a fireman’s carry and keep running even though my shoulder is screaming for relief. My breaths are getting harder and harder to suck in.
I’m almost there.
Keep fucking going, Torque, you gotta get home to Foxy.
I really am too fucking old to still be doing this shit.
Either that or I really need to work on my fitness.
“Go,go,GO!” Surge shouts are getting louder in volume as we reach the loading dock.
My brothers lay down cover fire as the civilians pile into our extraction vehicles. The wounded worker goes into the back of Ace’s truck, and the others scatter between our vans.
“That’s everyone?” I shout.
“Not everyone,” Trax corrects grimly. He’s supporting Sensei, who’s bleeding from a leg wound. “Sensei took one.”
“I’m fine,” Sensei insists, but his face is pale as he limps.
“Bullshit. Get him medical attention.”
“What about you?” Lift asks. He glances down at my chest, and I follow his line of sight.
That’s when I realize I’m bleeding too.
A lot.
My leather cut is soaked with blood, the warmth spreading down my side like a river. I knew I took a shot to my shoulder, but I didn’t realize I took one to the chest too. I stumble slightly on the spot, and the pain slams through my body. Luckily, Trax catches my weight when my knees go out from under me.
