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The rear hedges look extremely far away, but that’s where they say Brighton is waiting. At least this time, I’m not wearing an itsy-bitsy-teenie-weenie red bikini.
Gunfire breaks out nearby and my heart speeds up when I see Ryland “Rip” Mills and Nik “Saint” Valentine burst out of the tree line, guns in hand, firing at their pursuers. Tall, muscled and gorgeous, they look like a couple of dangerous assassins on a mission—which is exactly what they used to be.
I’ve never been so happy to see my team.
I spot motion out of the corner of my eye, and spin to see several guards appear, lifting semi-automatic rifles.
“Get down!” I yell, throwing myself into Knox. We hit the ground and roll until his big body covers mine. Shots echo all around us as we scramble backwards to safety.
“Over here!” Addie calls out, motioning to us. We hurry over to where she’s half-hidden behind a pillar. Ryland and Saint aren’t far away, tucked behind another large stone column.
“Hey, sis!” Ryland yells jovially over the chaos, nodding in our direction then firing his weapon at Torres’ men. “How’s it going, Pyro?”
God, they live for this kind of stuff. I raise my hand and send him a salute.
“Good to see you, little brother!” Addie responds just as cheerfully.
The Mills siblings both have sun-streaked, sandy hair and cobalt blue eyes. Tall and gorgeous, they both attract attention. Trouble, too, but they love it. While Ryland is definitely the more laidback of the two, he goes into mission mode just as quickly as his sister.
Beside Ryland, Saint reloads his Udav pistol. Like his weapon of choice, the big man packs a punch. He’s covered in black ink, courtesy of the Russian prison culture he spent far too much time in, and growls more often than not. Except when he’s holding his wife, Mia. Then the dragon turns into the biggest softie I’ve ever seen.
After taking a moment to assess the situation, one thing is clear—we’re going to have to go through a lot of guards to make it down the entire golf course, through the hedges and to the SUV. Chances of escape via that option are looking slimmer and slimmer. Bleak, in fact.
My gaze shifts to the helicopter and a new plan begins to form. It hasn’t moved yet, which makes me think the pilot is waiting for someone, most likely Torres. But, I’m going to get there first. All I have to do is stay behind the tree line, circle around and then race over to the helipad.
“I can get to the helo,” I tell Knox, pointing out my intended route, “while you guys take care of these guards and provide a distraction. After I commandeer that bird, we can fly the hell out of here.”
“No, it’s too dangerous,” he states.
“It might be the only way,” I insist. “You have to trust me—I’ll get us out of here.”
He studies me intently, considering. Even though he hesitates, I know he knows I’m right. It’s our best, possibly only, option at this point. There are too many guards, too many weapons firing at us. I’m starting to feel like a sitting duck.
“Can we all fit in there?” he asks doubtfully.
“It’s an ACH-130, specially designed by Airbus and Aston Martin, and she holds up to seven passengers.”
“You impress the hell outta me, Pyro.” He gives me a hard, fast kiss then turns to Addie. “Hunter is going to fly us out of here, but we need to cover her.”
Addie nods then hits her comms and communicates the plan to the others. Ryland sends me a salute, and I tip my chin.
“Take this,” Knox shoves his gun into my hands, “and be careful.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo.” I send him a jaunty wink, and he grabs my face in his hands and kisses me again. It’s faster than I’d like, but we’ve got things to do.
“I know, Sparrow, but I have things to tell you.”
I’m not sure if it’s his kiss or because I’m still a little lightheaded from oxygen deprivation, but my knees wobble slightly. Nodding, I start to turn when he grabs my hand.
“Fuckit,” he hisses, then gives me his most dazzling smile. “You have grit and fire and steel in your blood, and thought you might want to know I’m in love with you.”
My mouth drops open then slowly curves up into a grin. I’m so caught off guard by his admission that all I can do is whisper, “Same.”
“To be continued.”
We squeeze hands and then I dart sideways, heading into the cluster of trees while everyone starts firing at once, providing cover for me. Jogging forward, holding the gun close to my chest, I make my way through the underbrush.
My plan is pretty straightforward—force the pilot out and hijack the helo. Once everyone is safely onboard, we’ll give Brighton the go-ahead to leave.