Page 72 of Hunter's Mission

A loud crack boomed. Booker’s bloodshot eyes glared at me.

The wreck jolted downward six inches. Booker cried out and flopped forward.

“He’s free!” I yelled. “Get out. Get out.”

The wreck jerked down again. The rush of blood to Booker’s body rendered him unconscious. I hooked my hands under his armpits.

The metal screeched.

The wind howled around us.

The fucking wreck dropped another four inches.

“Fucking wait, you bitch,” I screamed.

I wrestled Booker’s body out of the pilot seat.

“Booker. Booker,” I screamed, but he was out cold.

The wreck dropped again. I pulled Booker’s dead weight toward me. Every twist of my torso drove spears of pain through my scars. I gritted my teeth, forcing my body through the pain.

The wreck released an almighty groan. Shrieking my fury, I hauled Booker out the shattered cockpit window. The wreck plunged from the trees, and Booker and I dangled from the rope like a pair of dead fish.

“Holy fuck, Hunter. You’ve got nine lives, man,” Gunn said in my ear.

I looked up. Gunn and Wyatt cheered as they dangled on the second winch.

Despite my agony, I grinned at them like I’d won the fucking lottery.

Gunn and Wyatt were lifted into the chopper first, and as I waited my turn, I said to Booker, “You’re gonna be okay, Booker. You’ll be okay.”

His silent reply carved a hole in my heart.

It’s just a blood rush. That’s all it is.

We were hauled up to the chopper, and Booker was pulled in first. As he flopped onto the floor of the chopper, I unhooked from the harness and kneeled at his side.

“Booker,” I shook his shoulders.

He rolled his head toward me. “Stop yelling at me.”

His eyes flickered open.

We burst out laughing. Hot damn, it felt good.

“Take us home, Xavier,” I yelled in my comms.

He responded by tilting the chopper like it had been released from a slingshot.

I glanced at Layla, expecting to see relief and her glorious smile. But I didn’t see either. The last few days of hell were painted over her body, but the depth of sadness in her eyes showed how broken she was.

Layla was a good woman, trying to do good things. Instead, she was left with a failed project and a long list of unanswered questions.

I leaned into her ear. “You okay?”

She nodded, but her sadness betrayed her.

“What’s wrong? Is it Neville?”

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