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“Yes.” My heart swells with excitement. “I’m here.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Brady’s curse sounds like heaven. “It’s a fucking maze down here and a war zone out there. Stand back. We’re blowing the hinges, move away from the door.”
“Copy that.” I gather Barbi in my arms and drag her to the far side of the cell. I crouch in front of her, using my body to shield her against an imminent explosion.
Brady retreats and another set of boots take his place. It could be any of my Bravo brothers. All I care is that they’re here.
After a tense silence, the hiss of a fuse lights. Seconds later, an explosive charge knocks the door off its hinges.
Too late, I forget to tell Barbi to cover her ears. The heavy door gives way beneath a forceful kick from Brady, then falls inward with booming thunder, bouncing on the concrete once, twice, then comes to its final resting place. With my ears ringing from the blast, I gather Barbi in my arms and lift her to her feet.
Brady’s first man into the room. Decked out in standard black tactical gear, he’s armed to the teeth with the full suite of Guardian tech in his helmet. Knowing others watch the feed from Brady’s helmet, I lift a hand, and wave to those behind the screen.
Is it bad I almost lost faith?
“You okay?” Brady reaches out and I clasp his hand. “Fuck, what did they do to your hand?”
“An overly aggressive manicure?”
“Least you still got your humor. You okay to move?”
“I am.”
Booker sweeps into the room, a whirlwind of controlled chaos. Rafe follows on his heels. There’s noHello, how’re you doing?Booker goes into medic mode and gets right down to business.
“Injuries?” Booker performs a hasty medical assessment while I sway unsteadily on my feet.
My ears ring from the blast, but I can make out his muffled words.
“Bruised, but mobile.”
Booker looks to me. “Ribs?”
“Cracked, but I can walk.” My hand grips my side where my cracked ribs protest every breath.
“We don’t have a second.” Brady’s eye focuses on his HUD, in contact with Command and Control, he receives his orders.
“Concussed?” Booker shines a light in my eyes, and I pull back, blinking against the intensity. My head pounds and spots dance in my vision.
“Probably.” I shrug.
“They did a job on your hands.” Booker continues his swift assessment, his touch methodical and thorough. Once done with me, he moves on to Barbi. “Can you walk?”
“I can try.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m dizzy and weak.”
I’ve yet to see Hayes or Zeb, but they’re outside, guarding the hall.
“We need to move,” Brady barks the order as Booker finishes his assessment of Barbi.
Booker looks to Brady and shakes his head. “She’s mobile but will slow us down. I’ll carry her.”
“I carry my woman.” A feral growl rumbles in the back of my throat, but I swallow it down.
“Fuck you will,” Booker dismisses my comment. “You’re concussed and weaving on your feet. Might have to carry your ass if you can’t keep up.”
“I’ll keep up.” I’m not in a mood for Booker’s comments.
“Booker, Barbi’s yours. Alec, you’re with me.” Brady issues his orders. “Can you shoot?”