Page 39 of Indirect Attack
Gunfire erupted down the hallway, startling me enough that I jumped, and suddenly the man was aiming the gun at my head.
I stilled, my breath freezing with the rest of my body, blood and terror rushing in my ears. Tears clouded my vision, the door only a blur of dim light as it burst open.
No one appeared for a moment, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the terrorist’s finger depress on the trigger. Then two Marines materialized, outlined by the light from the hallway behind them, rifles held at the ready, their steps sure as they moved down toward us.
Even without seeing his face clearly, I knew the lead Marine was Ben. Every part of me screamed to every aspect of him, the knowledge of him in my bones, meaning I didn’t have to see his face to know it was him.
Cold metal pressed against my head as Ben stopped at the last step. I saw his eyes widen as his gaze fell on me, then the terrorist and his gun.
As Ben met my gaze, my eyes filled with tears again, knowing I was about to die. Could he see the regret in my eyes? Regret that we’d never been given a chance to be? Never given the life we’d both wanted but had been too young and silly to realize, to ask for? Could he see the love there? Could he hear my apologies that we would never be together?
“Benjamin Rusev, welcome to your death.”
I shut my eyes tightly at the words, a sob of terror closing my throat.
The explosion of gunfire ripped through my head as the world went dark, drowning out every thought, sound, and feeling, resounding pain pinging like a pinball. Then I felt something hot and wet on my face and smelled the coppery tang of blood. I wondered how long death would take to find me.
But as the loud echo ricocheting through my head died away, I realized I didn’t feel pain. At least no more than I had to begin with. Then I heard a thump.
I opened my eyes to see darkness—a bullet had shattered the room’s single lightbulb. But I had just enough light from the hallway above to see the terrorist dead in front of me, the gun falling out of his open hand. Blood pooled out of multiple places, shiny and black in the shadows of the room.
It took my mind several moments to realize he was the one who had been shot, not me. And then I began to shake so hard my teeth rattled, my breath coming in sharp gasps that didn’t seem to be able to fill my lungs. I couldn’t quite believe that the terrorist was dead.
A light flicked on that flooded the room, chasing away the dark and shadows. Nothing about the moment felt real—not the dead terrorist, not the breath I could still draw, not the two Marines coming toward me in that unnaturally white light. Part of me believed I was actually dead, and this was just some last-second firing of my brain’s synapses before it cut off forever.
And then Ben was there, shoving the terrorist away roughly to get to me, falling to his knees and taking me into his arms. The wave finally broke, and I sobbed into his fatigues with terror, exhaustion, and relief so strong it sent my insides into a roiling storm that threatened to bring up anything I’d eaten over the past few days.
Ben clutched me to him like he was afraid I’d float away, one arm around my shoulders, one hand tangled in my hair and cradling the back of my head.
“I’m here,” he murmured. “You’re safe, Jasmine. I’m here. We have you.”
“Rusev.”
I clutched at Ben as he started to pull away, frantic to keep as near him as possible, to have his arms around me—the only place I felt safe—until the end of time.
“No!” The word left my mouth as a thin wail of a plea.
“Just a minute, sweetheart. Give me a second.”
Ben pulled away without taking his arm from around my shoulder, stretching out his hand to take something the other Marine held out to him. It was a key, and it fit perfectly in the lock to the handcuffs.
My fingers tingled painfully at the rush of blood back to my hands, running beneath the places where the metal had rubbed my skin raw. I could see now they were badly abraded and bleeding. Ben threw the offending restraints violently across the room, and they hit the wall with a thud before falling to the ground.
“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Ben looped his gun over his free shoulder and wrapped his arms more firmly around my shoulders so I could climb to my feet. Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness and nausea nearly knocked me off them, and then my legs, weak and wobbly as jelly, buckled and did the rest of the job. Ben managed to catch me and swept me into his arms, where I curled in on myself against him. He smelled like smoke, gunpowder, and sweat.
I could still hear faint explosions of gunfire, although the intervals between them were longer. The other Marine was already at the top of the steps, and he looked back briefly over his shoulder before nodding to Ben and moving out ahead of us. Though nothing had passed between the two men, I had the feeling he would be the one out front keeping us safe.
“Keep your eyes closed,” Ben murmured, and I did, tucking my face into his tactical vest. I knew he didn’t want me to see the aftermath of the path they’d blazed through the terrorists to get to me.
I only knew we’d passed out of the building when the cool, fresh air was suddenly against my skin. I heard yells and the far-off pop of one gunshot, but nothing close by except the two Marines’ footsteps and the sound of Ben’s breathing. And that was the last thing I heard, the noises spiraling until they were the only things I could hear.
And then nothing.
Chapter 19
Ben
