Page 81 of Earning Her Trust

As Cole melted back into the darkness, Ghost refocused on the scene before him. One of the men shoved Naomi toward the truck’s open door. She stumbled, nearly dropping the girl she was supporting. Her face, briefly illuminated by the truck’s headlights, was bloody, her eyes wild with defiance.

Something inside Ghost’s chest tightened to the breaking point.

He circled left, moving in a crouch, closing the distance. Fifteen yards. Ten. Close enough to hear one of the men cursing, his voice carrying above the storm.

“Get them in the fucking truck! We need to be gone before?—”

Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by Tilly’s growl. The sound came from nowhere and everywhere, a low rumble like approaching thunder, as the hellbeast of a dog stalked from the underbrush.

The men turned, weapons swinging toward the sound. One fired blindly into the darkness.

Tilly didn’t flinch.

Ghost rose from his crouch and fired twice in rapid succession. The first shot took the shooter in the shoulder, spinning him sideways. The second missed as the man dove for cover behind the truck.

The second captor grabbed Naomi, using her as a shield, pressing a gun to her temple.

“Drop it!” he shouted. “Drop the fucking gun or I’ll blow her head off!”

Ghost froze, weapon still raised. Rain streamed into his eyes. He could take the shot—he’d made harder ones in worse conditions. But one twitch of the man’s finger, and Naomi would be gone.

“I said drop it!” The man’s voice cracked with panic.

Ghost’s finger hovered over the trigger.

A shadow detached itself from the trees behind the truck. Cole moved like liquid, silent and deadly. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next, his arm was around the first man’s throat, dragging him backward into the mud.

The distraction was all Ghost needed. He lunged forward, closing the gap between himself and Naomi in a handful of long strides. The second man swung his weapon away from Naomi’s head, trying to track the new threat, but he was too slow.

Ghost’s first shot caught him in the thigh. The man staggered back, his grip on Naomi loosening, and he went down with a scream, his gun skittering away in the mud.

Naomi broke free, stumbling toward the two girls who had fallen to their knees in the chaos.

“Get down!” she shouted at them, covering their bodies with her own as more gunfire erupted from behind the truck.

The first man had somehow broken free from Cole’s grip and was firing wildly, bullets punching into trees and spattering mud. Ghost dropped to one knee, returning fire with precision. Two shots. Three. The slide locked back on the fourth—empty.

He reached for his backup weapon, but Cole was already moving. He tackled the shooter in a blur of motion, driving him into the ground with bone-jarring force. The man’s head hit with a sick crack, and he went limp.

For a heartbeat, the only sounds were the rain and harsh breathing.

Then the second man was up again, dragging himself toward the driver’s side door, leaving a trail of blood in the mud. Ghost started after him, but Cole’s voice cut through the storm.

“Let him go. We need to get the women out.”

The truck’s engine roared. Tires spun, fighting for purchase in the mud, then caught. The vehicle lurched forward, fishtailing wildly before straightening out and accelerating away through the trees. The remaining captor had gotten away.

Ghost didn’t care. He was already moving toward Naomi, holstering his weapon as he went.

She was kneeling in the mud, one arm around each of the girls, her face a mask of dirt and blood. When she saw him, something flashed in her eyes—relief? Fear? He couldn’t tell. But she didn’t flinch when he dropped to his knees beside her.

“Are you hurt?” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

She shook her head, but it was a lie. Her lip was split, her cheek swollen, and she held herself like her ribs hurt.

“The girls,” she gasped. “Tariah needs medical attention. She’s been drugged. I think she’s overdosed.”

Ghost glanced at the older girl, who lay semiconscious between them, her breathing shallow. The younger one—barely more than a child—stared at him with huge, terrified eyes.