Page 44 of Duke

I glanced to the left, out the window. We’d been knockoff the highway and had rolled down a steep embankment, through a fence, and were upside down in a field. This was the middle of nowhere, a desolate stretch of highway that saw little traffic, which made it not an accident.

Confirming my suspicions I saw, a quarter mile away, the hoods of two big black Wranglers parked side by side, angled in toward each other. They were kitted for off-road duty with big knobby tires, heavy duty brush guards, LED light bars, winches, and snorkels. Each Jeep was in the process of disgorging four men each armed with HK MP5s, and what looked like body armor. They were walking, single file, in our direction in a neat, precise line, all eight of them. Submachine guns up, butts to shoulders, laser sights on me.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

I braced my hand against the roof below me, and popped open the seatbelt buckle. I toppled clumsily to the floor…ceiling, whatever. The shotgun, thank god, had stayed in the vehicle with me, so I grabbed that and tossed it out the window on the opposite side of the car. Positioning myself beneath Temple, I unbuckled her, caught her as best I could, which meant letting her lower half hit the floor/ceiling and catching her head and shoulders with one arm. I checked for shards of glass in the shattered passenger window, kicked out a few remaining jagged spots, heaved Temple’s limp weight out as far as I could, then scrambled out the rear window, already broken in the previous firefight. I pulled Temple the rest of the way out, and left her passed out behind the crumpled wreckage of the SUV. Peeking over the Tahoe, I could see that the mercenaries were only acouple hundred feet away.

I snagged the strap of the Mossberg, leaned into the trunk compartment and snagged a box of shells and one of the AR-15s. I dumped the shotgun shells in a pocket, tossed the box aside, and pumped the charging handle of the AR-15. Checked the magazine—full.

I glanced around me, looking for alternate cover, and saw nothing but the wreckage of the Tahoe and a stand of Aspen a good two hundred yards behind me. Plus a passed-out, bleeding Temple.

And eight professional badasses coming my way, with proper firepower.

Good thing I’m more badass than most professional badasses, right?

My duffel bag was inside the SUV. I hooked a foot into the strap and tugged it toward me, and yanked open the zipper. Where are they? Shit, shit…there they were: two flashbangs, buried under the cash.

I peeked up over the top of the upside down SUV and saw I was shit out of time.

I pulled the pin and tossed the flashbang, ducked back down behind the bulk of the vehicle, counted to three—

BANG!

This close, the detonation was deafening, as it was meant to be. The second I heard the bang, I sprang up, laid the barrel of the Mossberg over the top of the Tahoe, and squeezed off a blind shot into the smoke pall left by the flashbang, the butt kicking against my shoulder like a mule, then swiveled to the right and fired again, swiveled back the other way and fired again, then ducked down, thumbed fresh shells in to replace the spent rounds, and set the shotgun aside, bringing the rifle up.

I waited a ten count, and then rolled out around the back end of the Tahoe. The smoke was clearing, and two of the mercs were down, one writhing in pain and one motionless. The other six—

Shit. One of them was nearly on top of me, firing as he trotted smoothly in my direction. His shots thunked into the body of the SUV, and I returned fire before ducking back behind cover. More bullets were plugging into the SUV, now, from the remaining six men. The racket of gunfire was deafening, and I knew it was only a matter of time before they started punching though and getting lucky.

As the lead guy was rounding the tail end of the Tahoe, I had no choice but to fire from a crouched position, my rounds crunching through his throat and sending up a spray of blood. I grabbed him by the vest and pivoted behind him, feeling his blood rivuleting warm down my side as I pressed my shoulder into his back, felt him groaning, heard him gulping wetly, and then he was jerking as his companions’ rounds slammed into his armored chest. I moved sideways with him, using him as a shield to absorb the fusillade of bullets, and then threw him forward as I reached the back end of the Tahoe. They’d flanked me from the right, coming around the hood.

Which meant Temple was between us.

Rage blasted through me, which I couldn’t afford to give into. I had to keep cool, keep my head, and fight smart.

But fuck, they might hit her, or I might hit her, or they might just snatch her and run—

I rolled back out, rifle sweeping in a horizontal arc as I sidestepped into the open.

They had Temple.

One in front, holding her limp form across his body as a shield, the rest of his buddies clustered behind him. He was assuming I wouldn’t shoot, that I wasn’t willing to risk hitting Temple.

Never call my bluff, motherfucker.

I put three rounds through the face shield of the man holding Temple, since he didn’t have a gun to her head. He dropped her to the grass, and fell backward, and then I was opening fire, strafing round after round as I hurled myself sideways. Hit the ground rolling, left the rifle on the ground and whipped up the shotgun as I came to my knees a few feet away.

Temple was still out, but she was moving and moaning now. The mercs were backpedaling, finally realizing exactly who the fuck they were dealing with.

A bullet creased my shoulder, another sliced my side open, and a third tugged at the loose fabric of my shorts, burning my thigh as it seared past me. Good thing close doesn’t count. I aimed high, let loose with that sexy fuckin’ twelve gauge, blast after blast, driving them backward and scattering them. One fell, then a second. Another bullet plucked at my shirt, a second scraped the outside of my ribcage, and a third buzzed past my ear. This was getting too close for comfort. One thing about luck is it always runs out. The trick is, know when to fold your hand before luck runs out on you.

I burst into a run, right at them, thumbing shells into the chamber before unloading more slugs their way. I was aiming moretowardthem than at them, trying to scatter them, suppress their fire and make ‘em run. Which is what they did, the two that were left on their feet.

They were hauling ass across the field, and making damn good time, too. With the rifle I could’ve dropped ‘em, but with a shotgun, at this distance? I didn’t even try. Just let ‘em run.

They reached their Jeep, and I stepped out into the open after them. “TELL CAIN TO FUCKIN’ BRING IT!” I shouted. “I’LL TAKE ON EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!”

One of them answered with his HK, sending half a dozen rounds in two bursts at me. He missed by a mile, but got his point across. I ducked back behind the SUV, letting them get away, especially since Temple was starting to sit up.