Page 108 of Rescuing Rebel

When I dare to peek, something glossy and jet-black rushes past. I blink as another, and then another glossy black shape races past us. Gunfire rips through the air. Not aimed at us but coming from those stealthy shapes.

Aimed toward Kaufman’s men.

Ethan rolls off of me and ejects a spent mag.

“You good?” His cool professionalism would be unnerving if it wasn’t keeping us alive. “Can you run?”

“Yes.”

He practically hauls me off the ground and tosses me forward where my feet contact the ground. I’m off and running again. This time, Ethan holds my hand, urging me forward.

We race toward the transport. Bullets pepper the dirt around us, but none find their mark. We’re almost there. My heart pounds; freedom is so close now.

The other Angels huddle inside the back of the truck, their exhausted forms slumped together. When they see us sprinting toward them, they shout encouragement. Leah, Iris, Gwen, and Elinda wave their arms, urging me to run faster.

Suddenly, a searing pain rips through my thigh. My leg buckles as I cry out and crash face-first to the ground. Grit fills my mouth, and blinding agony radiates from my leg.

This is it, I’m dead.

Ethan yanks me off the ground, hauls me into the air, and drapes me over his shoulder, never breaking his stride. “I’ve got you.” His arm tightens over the backs of my thighs as I bounce like a ragdoll hanging over his shoulder. Something warm and sticky runs down my leg.

When I look behind us, I blink, not believing my eyes. Four robots, the size of a fair-sized dog, fire bullets from what look like mouths. They raze the ground, taking down dozens of guards chasing us.

Ethan reaches the truck. It’s stuffed with Angels and men dressed in black tactical gear—Charlie team.

But there are only four men. Five with Ethan.

No sign of Jeb or Stitch.

Men reach down, pulling me out of Ethan’s arms. Ethan turns around to lay down covering fire as I’m dragged into the bed of the truck. His men lay me flat on the hard metal, and the engine roars as Ethan leaps on board.

“Any word from Jeb?” he asks his teammates, but they all shake their heads.

“They’re not here and aren’t responding to comms.” Hank’s lips set into a grim line.

“We have to go.” I watch him lock down his emotions and reach for his hand, trying to say what words can’t. For men like Ethan, leaving men behind goes against their core values, but I understand his dilemma. He can’t return to find Jeb and Stitch and rescue the Angels. This whole place is a hot zone with active fire all around us.

“We have to go.” Ethan looks at his men. As a unit, they return the same sharp jerk of their chins. He barks an order to the driver. With a lurch, the tires spin, and we surge away amidst peppering gunfire.

He stands at the rear, his gaze fixed on the smoking rubble that used to be Haven. Though his stoic expression reveals nothing, it’s clear his thoughts remain with his missing teammate and Stitch.

The searing agony in my thigh returns as the adrenaline surging in my blood runs its course. I grip my thigh, feeling a sticky wetness, then glance down at the dark blood pooling beneath me.

Lots of blood.

My head swims, consciousness threatening to slip away.

“Rebel’s hit,” Walt calls out, snagging Ethan’s attention. “Shit, that’s a lot of blood.”

“She needs a tourniquet.” Ethan’s strained face comes into focus above me. “I told you not to look back,” he says, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes reflect only bone-deep relief as he helps me sit.

“What were those things?” I have no idea why I ask about the black shapes that saved us. I suppose it’s better than thinking about what’s going on with my leg. The world spins around me as the truck jostles over the uneven ground, and blackness creeps in on me.

“Rufi.”

“What?” I shake my head, pushing the blackness away.

“Mechanized mayhem.” Ethan laughs when my brows bunch together. “Robotic Ultra Functional Utility Specialists. Rufus, or Rufi when plural.”

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