Page 44 of Carter
Graves’ body hadn’t even cooled when the alarm split the night. A harsh, metallic wail blasted from the tower speakers, red strobes flashing across the yard.
“Time’s up,” River snapped.
I was already moving, rifle up, scanning the catwalks below. Shadows surged between containers, shouts rising. The mercs might not know Graves was dead yet, but they knew someone had breached their nest.
“Cyclone, status,” River barked into comms.
“Two trucks rolling in from the east gate,” Cyclone’s voice crackled back. “Heavily armed. We’ve got three minutes, tops.”
“Then we move,” I growled.
We barreled down the steel stairs, boots hammering against metal. The first wave of guards spilled into the yard, rifles sweeping. I fired before the lead man cleared his stance—one shot to the chest, another to his partner. River took the flank, his fire precise, controlled.
Gideon’s voice cut through the comms. “South exit’s hot. We’ll draw fire and punch you a lane.”
Gunfire erupted from the far end of the yard, Gideon laying down a storm that drew half the mercs off us. The rest pressed closer, rounds sparking off steel. I shoved River behind a container, breath harsh in my ears.
“We don’t hold this line long,” he muttered.
“Don’t need to,” I said, chambering another round. “Just enough to get through.”
Every bullet I fired carried Harper’s face with it. The thought of her waiting in that cabin, not knowing if I’d make it back, lit a fire in me hotter than rage.
Not dying here. Not leaving her.
A flash lit the far corner—Cyclone’s SUV bursting through the gate, headlights blazing, tires screaming against asphalt.
River grinned sharply. “Our ride.”
We broke cover, sprinting through the chaos, firing on the run. A merc lunged from the shadows, blade flashing. I slammed him down hard, knife clattering away, and didn’t stop.
The SUV fishtailed to a stop, Gideon yanking the door open. River vaulted inside, covering fire. I was right behind him, lungs burning, the taste of smoke and blood sharp in my mouth.
The door slammed. Cyclone gunned the engine, the SUV tearing out of the yard as bullets shredded the night behind us.
I sat back hard, rifle across my lap, chest heaving.
Graves was dead. But the network wasn’t. And until Harper’s name was erased from every list, this war wasn’t over.
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Carter
The SUV roared down the highway, the city lights fading behind us, leaving nothing but black sky and the pounding echo of gunfire in my ears.
River sat beside me, rifle still in his hands, his jaw clenched tight. Gideon checked the magazines on his sidearm with mechanical precision, while Cyclone drove like the devil was nipping at his bumper.
No one spoke.
My heart hammered, not from the firefight—we’d survived worse—but from the weight pressing against my chest. Harper. Every mile we put between us and that yard was another mile closer to her.
But Graves’ words clung like poison.She’ll always be marked.
I clenched my fists, forcing air into my lungs. Not while I was breathing. Not while I had blood in my body.
River finally broke the silence. “Graves is done. But Gideon’s right—this thing runs deeper. Someone else will pick up the contracts if we don’t burn the rest of the tree.”
“Then we find them,” I said flatly. “Every branch, every root. We cut them out before they can send another name.”
