Page 5 of Remade (Hillcroft Group #3)

CHAPTER 4

October 3rd, 2024

Leighton Watts

S omething was wrong with him. I could tell. When we reached Crew and Ryan, I watched how Beckett sagged against the car they were using to shield themselves from ambushes from behind. His breathing was too labored, and he favored one leg.

“Kill them!”

“This’s gotta be their last line of defense,” Crew gritted out. “Two o’clock!”

“Don’t get captured!”

“I’m out of ammo!” I coughed as I inhaled nothing but smoke, and I drew my knife and sent it flying straight into a guy’s stomach.

“Leighton,” Beckett growled.

I sucked in a breath and glanced back at him quickly. Oh, thank fuck. He attached a new mag to his sidearm and extended it to me.

“I’ll watch your back.” He planted his carbine on the hood of the car, and he made a face that screamed of pain.

“They’re scattering!”

“You’ve been hurt,” I stated, panic rising within me. I couldn’t fucking afford panic now; it took all my energy to tune out screaming, gunfire, and people yelling orders in three different languages. The fires were getting to me too. Too much movement, all while the blinding light—and the heat—made it harder to spot enemies.

“I’m fine,” he slurred.

I shook my head and stepped closer to him after throwing a quick glance around. Ryan and Crew were handling things for the moment.

“Get…get to safety, pup. Get to safety.”

Without asking, I grabbed at Beckett, and I didn’t have to look long. I stared at my hand, seeing all the blood… He’d been shot in his arm? That was why he was struggling to lift his carbine? But his leg?—

Oh God, he’d been injured there too. The side of his thigh was glistening black, and I was planting my hand there before I could even decide to. He flinched and cursed right away, and it shot fear and rage through me.

“Get down!” I yelled at him. “You’re losing blood!” He couldn’t be hurt, he couldn’t be hurt, he couldn’t be hurt. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. He had to be okay. I didn’t wait for him to respond, instead spinning around to Crew and Ryan. “Someone, reach out to Coach or whoever the fuck! Beckett’s been hit!”

One of the enemies had come at me with an old pistol earlier, and the bullet had grazed my headset. I couldn’t contact anyone.

“We’ve taken a lot of hits, kid,” Ryan reported grimly, never lowering his carbine. “Transport’s on its way, but it’s gonna be a while. Put pressure on his wound if he’s at risk for bleedin’ out. Crew, your nine o’clock.”

Nausea crawled up my throat, and I spun around to Beckett once more, only to see he’d slipped down to sit on the grass. I was there in a flash, kneeling next to him, and I grabbed at his face.

“Beckett—don’t you fucking dare,” I said. “Stay awake.”

His eyelids fluttered a little, but it was as if they were too heavy.

“Bo!” This wasn’t fucking happening. He wasn’t bleeding out on me. I couldn’t lose him. I dug out my first aid kit as fast as I could and retrieved two packs of Celox Rapid to stop the bleeding.

“Watts, we need you here!” Crew shouted.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I panted. With zero finesse, I forced the dressing into the hole in his clothes, and I pressed down on the wounds one by one. It brought Beckett enough pain to jolt him awake with a hoarse groan. “Press here, goddammit!”

I was out of time. I gripped my gun again, shot to my feet and joined Crew’s side, and I fired at whoever I saw running toward us.

“How many are left?” I demanded. “The other side was almost empty when Beckett and I ran over here.”

“I don’t fucking know at this point—it’s like they’re dropping off entire units.” Crew reloaded quickly and got back to work. “Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, perimeter watch—report back!”

“Hyatt, are you with us? Coach!” Ryan snapped. “Say again?”

“They’re running away,” Crew barked out. He pointed at three or four men on the other side of the flames, and we didn’t hesitate. Clearly thinking the same thing, he and I bolted after them. “Finlay and Watts in pursuit of four targets running along the eastern perimeter.”

We’d been told to wipe them all out.

I wasn’t leaving until the job was done. Until the man who’d ordered Beckett’s brother’s murder was dead.

We saw several bodies across the lawn, some in the dying flames, but they didn’t look like our guys.

“The bunker was fucking bait,” Crew gritted out. “Finlay here. How many are hit? Over.”

Something started happening to me while we ran for our lives. Or maybe it’d started a while ago. It felt like time slowed down at the same instant as we went faster and faster. I barely registered my shoes hitting the ground. What I did register were faces in my mind. Shay stood there with his arms folded over his chest, his piercing eyes sending silent reminders of how I should defend myself and overpower an enemy. Ryan stood next to him, his presence representing the new path that lay ahead. The stakes were higher. I had family to get to know. And Beckett… He appeared on the other side of Shay, strengthening my resolve. Nothing could happen to him. I needed him in my life. I needed him to pull me close again. He had to recover.

Fight, pup. Don’t ever fucking quit. You hear me?

I hear you.

I gnashed my teeth and sped up, and Crew and I broke through the tree line. The air was so much cleaner and cooler away from the flames, but the utter darkness put me on edge. We didn’t have the time to let our eyes adjust.

“Copy,” Crew panted, then promptly grabbed hold of my arm and yanked me back. “Watch out!”

What was—holy fuck! Before I could finish my thought, the area in front of us lit up with a spray of fire, and my heart jumped up in my throat. Blazing heat smacked me in the face. I thought we’d killed all the fuckers with flamethrowers!

In a fraction of a second, when the forest was bright, I saw more shadows running away.

We were so goddamn outnumbered.

“I’ve had it with this fucking shock-and-awe bullshit!” Crew roared.

I took aim and fired several rounds, and I breathed in the pained cries and furious shouts coming from farther in.

“I wanna be sure we can win this,” I wheezed out. “Can they beat us, Crew?”

“Get that shit outta your head right fucking now,” he ordered. “The minute you think about losing, your mind starts to prepare for defeat. Don’t fucking go there.”

A new face crystallized next to the others in my mind. It was Crew. The warrior in him was someone to look up to, to take after, and to get inspired by. He was faster than me and reacted so quickly to whatever was going on around us.

“Quit worryin’, Gramps—we’re fine,” he responded, out of breath. “The others are fighting a crew across the clearing,” he informed me. “We’ve got six heat signatures over there, eleven over here. Quinn, Wilson, and Hudson are on their way to help us.”

“What about Beckett?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and I prayed it was because we suddenly faced our resistance. They were there the second we’d run around the fire. We had no time to waste or hesitate.

My stare flicked to register every man; they were spread out between the trees, some of them armed, so we started with them. We took down at least five of them before I ran out of ammo again.

By then, the first two men were almost in my face, so I threw myself into the fight.

What about Beckett?!

If he died, I didn’t know what I’d do with myself.

I put all my strength into kicking Blue Tee’s knee sideways, and he went down as I punched the other guy in the throat three times in quick succession. Then I had to go back to Blue Tee, and I stepped over him and grabbed his head.

In a fraction of a second, I saw nothing but death in his eyes. He wanted to kill me. Had he shot Beckett? Was this the fucker?

Liquid heat flowed through me in thick, violent currents, filling me with determination and something so dark I couldn’t identify it. Then I pushed him down, slamming his head against a rock?—

I squeezed my eyes shut and flew to the side, and I landed on my hip. Cocksucking motherfucker! Pain radiated through me, but Shay forced me back to action. Get the fuck back up, recruit. Now. I rolled aside before my next target could topple over me, and I jumped to my feet.

Stand your ground, son.

Holy fuck. A forceful chill ran down my chest, raising goose bumps in its wake. That wasn’t Shay. That wasn’t Shay at all. I’d officially lost my fucking mind. It was Dad. I saw him stepping up behind the others in my head, taking his place next to Ryan, and he nodded firmly at me.

Stand your ground.

I gritted my teeth so hard I thought I’d crush my molars, and I blinked past the sting in my eyes and attacked the beefy guy who’d knocked me over. I went at him faster than ever. I punched him in the liver, I slammed my forehead up his nose, I kneed him in the balls, and I shoved him down on the ground before I stomped on his chest.

I heaved a ragged breath and blinked. My gaze was becoming too unfocused, and it wasn’t the fucking time. Crew met up with me, and we had approximately four or five seconds before the next two reached us with knives held high.

Something hurt in my stomach, but I had this armor made out of soreness and adrenaline that prevented me from figuring out exact locations for sharper pains. In short, everything fucking hurt at this point.

“I’ll take Lefty,” Crew rasped.

I nodded and sucked in another breath. “Roger. And Beckett? Just answer me.” But before he could, we threw ourselves into the fight, and I fixed all my concentration on the knife. I grabbed Righty’s arm, twisted it, pulled up my knee, and bent his arm over it till it broke. That sure made him drop the blade, and I could pick it up when he fell over.

Had this guy shot Beckett, then?

I grabbed a fistful of Righty’s hair and yanked him up, and then I slit his throat with his own knife.

You’ll never shoot anyone again.

“Crew!” I growled.

“He’s unresponsive,” he snapped back, ducking a blow from Lefty. “We have a helicopter five minutes out. We’ll get him help.”

“But he’s alive?” Seeing my opening, I swooped in and knocked Lefty over. It was all I could do. My arms felt like they weighed a ton. I was out of punches, goddammit. I couldn’t fucking fight anymore.

And maybe I didn’t have to. In the nick of time, Ryan and Hudson—and that had to be Wilson… They all ran over with their carbines raised.

“Thank fuck…” Crew panted and staggered back.

Shots cracked through the air.

I looked at him pleadingly.

Tell me he’s alive.

He hesitated and spat on the ground. “He was a few minutes ago, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

Oh God.

My stomach twisted and churned, and I turned to run back to where we’d left Beckett. He’d had Ryan covering him, but now that Ryan was here…

I ran faster.

I couldn’t fucking breathe, but I ran.

“No more heat signatures!” I heard someone shout. It sounded like Coach.

Was it over?

Someone was running toward me, half concealed from all the smoke, and I recognized him soon enough. Slater.

“Is it over?” I croaked.

“We’re expanding our perimeter to make sure, but we think so,” he replied firmly.

I swallowed against the dryness in my throat. “Thanks. Did you see Beckett?”

He gestured toward the cars near the center of the lawn. “They’re carrying him over to where the bird can touch down.”

Because he couldn’t walk himself. Because he was unresponsive .

I was gonna throw up.