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A bullet whizzed past Caleb’s shoulder like an angry bee.
Gia and Jennie hit the dirt, arms covering their heads as gunfire shredded the air.
Caleb sprinted toward them.
Almost there.
Something slammed into his back—hard.
He dropped to a knee, spun as he fell.
Juan.
The son of a bitch.
Rotor wash churned the sand into a blinding haze as the helicopter descended, obscuring the field.
Another round smashed into Caleb’s chest.
The impact crushed the air from his lungs.
His back hit the ground.
Matteo Ortega jumped from the helo, spraying bullets and keeping Danny and the others pinned as Lopez scrambled aboard.
“Caleb!” Gia’s panicked face hovered above him.
A boot came down—hard—crushing his hand and sending his gun skittering.
Juan grabbed Gia by the ponytail, knocking off her hat and glasses.
She screamed, kicking and flailing, as he dragged her toward the waiting helicopter.
No.
Caleb rolled to his stomach, body throbbing, vision swimming, lungs seizing.
Gia.
She was all that mattered.
Weapon.
He dug his boots into the ground and lunged, fingers closing around the stock.
Jennie appeared beside him. “Let me help—”
“Get down,” he wheezed.
Gia fought for all she was worth—until Juan raised his hand and struck her.
Hard.
She slumped.
Caleb’s heart thundered.
No shot. No fucking shot.