Page 74 of Victorious: Part 3
We all smirk and continue on, leaving the guard alive but incapacitated on the floor. A shot rings out as we surge forward, the bullet slices the air so close to my ear it burns. Instinct has me ducking, dragging Mom down with me as chunks of concrete spray from the wall where our heads were a heartbeat ago. Lora’s mop handle whips forward, smashing into the shooter’s wrist. The gun clatters to the floor, and her friend drives a metal shard into his thigh before he can recover.
I grab Mom, shielding her as a shadow breaks from the right, a Cartel woman, teeth bared, shiv flashing. She goes for Mom’s back, and instinctively, I surge forward, pushing through my pain using my good arm. It snakes around the bitch’s throat, hauling her off her feet. She thrashes, clawing at my face, but I don’t give a shit as I push through the pain, which is flaring white-hot.
Her eyes bug out of her face, my fingers clench tight, squeezing her throat. Her hands thrashing and clawing at me, her nails digging into me, into my bullet wound to get me to drop her. But I don’t flinch. This fucker was going to hurt my mom, and the anger inside me burns like a fury I’ve never felt before as I stare into her eyes, watching as the life drains from herexistence. Her gasping becomes less and less, her eyes begin to glaze over and turn red, until the fight drains away completely, her body goes rigid, and she crumples.
Sweat trickles down my temple, and a slight dizziness washes over me as I toss her to the side. My shoulder is screaming at me, almost making me want to hurl.
Mom steps up to me when I stumble slightly. She looks up at me, with nothing but pride in her eyes, as I try my damn hardest not to fucking pass out. “That’s my boy,” Mom says, her voice equal parts pride and a warning. “C’mon, baby. We have to keep moving.” She tugs on my arm to get me to move, and I’m glad she does. Otherwise, I might have gone down in a fucking heap.
Every step is a battle.
My ears are ringing.
My vision is blurring.
But I know I have to get my mother out of here.
And I have to get home to Rhyan.
I close my eyes for a second, just needing a moment to catch my breath. But I feel the blackness starting to take over. My body wobbles before a sudden and sharp slap across my face jolts me like a damn sledgehammer.
“Hey! No, you don’t. Stay the fuck awake.Do. You. Understand. Me?”Mom demands. Her eyes on me tell me she is not messing around.
Blinking rapidly a few times, I nod. “Yes, ma’am,” I say through a cough, before my eyes widen. “Alpha, look out!”
A prisoner swings a length of chain at Alpha, but he hears me, spots it, and catches the chain mid-swing. He yanks the woman forward, driving his elbow into the bitch’s temple hard enough to drop her.
A guard charges Lora. She ducks under his swing, then comes up with a vicious jab of the baton into his throat. The guard doubles over, clutching at his throat, gasping for air, but Lorapivots, smashing the back of his skull. Blood splashes over her pants, and she lets out a squeal before shoving him to the floor, then kicking him for good measure. “Take that, you Cartel scum!”
The air grows thicker with smoke and the scent of burning plastic. Somewhere behind us, an explosion shakes the walls, sending dust down in choking clouds. The floor shudders under our boots, and someone’s screams are cut short by gunfire.
We race toward the infirmary and duck behind an overturned metal table, shoving it ahead as a rolling shield. Bullets smack into the metal, pummeling the edge. My breathing is ragged, my vision blurring from blood loss.
Mom’s grip is firm on my wrist. “Almost there, Noah,” she grits out.
Two more guards step into the hall, weapons raised, and Alpha charges first, firing on the move. One goes down instantly, the other staggers, clutching his shoulder. Before he can recover, Lora rams him into the wall, pinning and stabbing him with her makeshift mop handle shiv.
I smirk at Mom, and she shrugs as Alpha’s radio crackles, gaining our attention. “Alpha, come in. This is Nighthawk.”
Alpha brings the radio up. “I’ve got Montana and the package. Where the fuck is Garver?”
Static blasts back down the comms, but then, “He’s coming to you. Hold your position.”
We press ourselves into the shadow of a half-collapsed wall, catching what little breath we can as the riot snarls around us. Mom rips a strip from her uniform and presses it to my shoulder. The pain nearly blinds me. “You holding up, baby?” she asks.
“I’ve been worse,” I lie.
A sharp click draws every gun up, as we spin to the rear of the room. The infirmary door swings open, and Garver stumblesout. His uniform is shredded, his face a patchwork of bruises, while he limps, practically dragging one leg, but he is armed.
Alpha visibly sighs as he turns, rushes for his old friend, and grips him in a rough hug.
“Worst day at workever,” Garver mutters, slapping Alpha on the back. “Get methe helloutta here.”
“Copy that.” Alpha chuckles. “Everyone ready to move?” he asks, and we all signal that we’re good to go. So we raise our weapons and move as one.
My mother’s grip tightens on me like she’s scared this last stand could be exactly that—our last.“I love you, Noah.” Her voice is steady despite the chaos.
“I love you, too, Mom,” I tell her.
