Page 58 of Hunter's Mission

The old church loomed ominously at the river’s edge. Its crumbling steeple, that had tilted down the side of the roof, cast a long, dark shadow over foliage nearby. That once-sacred building was now a haven for assholes with weapons capable of killing the only woman who was sacred to me. But one wrong move by them and every one of those bastards were dead.

As she neared the boat, her gaze darted around.

The armed men were still out of sight, yet my finger twitched on the trigger, ready to put a bullet through anyone who ruined our plans.

“Almost there.” I sucked in a sharp breath. “Just a little bit more.”

Finally, Layla surfaced beside the weathered timber fishing boat. It dipped under her weight as she gripped onto the side and sawed at the rope tethering the vessel to the jetty.

Gnawing fear ratcheted up my spine as I scoped the building. This was our danger zone. Armed men could burst from the church at any moment.

I swept my gaze between Layla hacking at the rope and the open door to the decrepit building. “Come on, Layla.”

The boat dipped as the rope released.

“Yes.” She did it. “Now get the fuck out of there.”

My eyes were glued to the scope as Layla kicked the vessel into the current.

But she was struggling. Her feet were splashing too much.

“Shit, Layla. Come on, get away from there.” Forcing my gaze to the building was crushing, but I couldn't get distracted.

Tension radiated through me.

As if taunting me, a gust of wind stirred up the flames within the drums, sending sparks into the air. A shiver ran down my spine as a wave of dread consumed me.

“Nearly there. Don’t come out now, you fuckers.” My finger hovered over the trigger.

My heart leaped into my throat as a man with a stocky figure, salt and pepper hair, and a warped smile stepped out of the church. He strode to the side with the flaming drums and lit a cigarette. It was Neville, the bastard who had sabotaged Layla’s work. The temptation to kill him was huge but I forced myself to hold back. Layla didn’t want anyone to die. He was just lucky he faced away from her, or her wishes would be denied.

“We’re almost out of this.” I breathed, feeling a surge of relief. “Go, Layla.”

Every second took a minute. Every breath hurt.

I couldn’t see Layla, but her splashes were as if dozens of legs were kicking like crazy.

Every ounce of me wanted to take that man down, but I held back. Patience was our only ally in this deadly game.

Another man stepped through the door.

“Shit,” I hissed under my breath, my finger itching to pull the trigger. His tattered military clothing hung off his thin frame. His gaunt face was covered in grime and slick with sweat, and his eyes had a wild glint that made me uneasy.

I resisted the urge to put a bullet in his brain, hoping the man wouldn't notice the drifting boat or Layla kicking like mad behind it.

The wooden boat bobbed in the current, its worn paint and patched-up hull blended into the murky water.

“Stop kicking, Layla.” My heart boomed in my ears.

The man glanced around lazily before his gaze settled on the boat. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, followed by suspicion. I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

We’d run out of time and luck.

I clenched my jaw, torn between my instinct to protect her and following her wishes.

I tried to suppress the panic rising within me.

“Walk away, dickhead.” My voice cracked with dread. “I don’t want to kill you.”

---