Page 9

CHAPTER 9

Rusty

Blind rage flooded Rusty’s veins as the asshole pressed the gun to Sienna’s temple, but years of training kept his body loose, ready. The gutless bastard used her as a shield, backing away into the shadows where the other flashlight cast just enough light to glint off the barrel against her skin.

“Stay back!” the gunman hollered.

“Kill the dog!” the man screamed, his voice ragged with desperation. Soda’s jaws were locked around his wrist, leaving him no hope of escape. His face turned ashen with pain as blood oozed over his fingers, dripping steadily onto the cold stone floor.

“Call off your dog,” the gunman’s voice boomed through the lava tube, “or the woman’s dead.”

His voice was steady, and his chokehold around Sienna’s throat spoke of tactical training, not some amateur thug playing at being a tough man. But Rusty had seen enough combat to know the difference between training for battle and consciously taking another person’s life.

The fucker’s white-knuckled trigger finger trembled against the metal, betraying his nerves. The worst kind of dangerous. An experienced shooter with a steady hand was one thing, but a panicked man with a death grip on the trigger was unpredictable and fucking lethal. One startled flinch and that twitchy finger would end Sienna’s life before Rusty could move.

The thought turned his blood to ice.

“Let her go.” He kept his voice level, fighting to stay rational even as eighteen years of buried feelings threatened to crack his control.

“I can’t breathe.” Sienna clawed at the gunman’s arm, but it would be like clawing steel. The bastard was committed, and he had the upper hand.

The fear in her eyes burned acid in his gut.

“Let her go, and we can discuss what you want.”

Behind him, Soda’s target had gone still, wisely choosing not to fight against her crushing bite. The only sounds were Sienna’s harsh breathing and the pathetic whimpers of the asshole in Soda’s grip. Rusty had no idea where Pickle was, but even he’d gone quiet.

“Call off your fucking dog,” the gunman said. A tremor of desperation threaded through the command.

“I will when you let her go.” Rusty’s mind raced through scenarios, each one ending with Sienna dead if he made the wrong move. The gun was aimed for a kill shot, and the angle was all wrong for rushing the gunman. One twitch of that finger and?—

The tunnel felt smaller, the air thick with tension. He needed to make a decision. Fast. Before someone’s nerves snapped, turning this standoff into a bloodbath.

“Take me.” Rusty kept his voice steady and calculating, despite the rage pulsing behind his eyes. “I’m more valuable than a civilian.”

“Let me go!” Sienna thrashed against his grip, driving her elbow back into his ribs. Her heel came down hard on his instep as she twisted, fighting like a wildcat.

The bastard grunted but held firm, pressing the barrel harder against her temple.

“Don’t make her collateral damage.” Rusty let steel enter his voice. “Trust me, you do not want that.”

The attacker’s grip shifted slightly, his breath quickening against Sienna’s long hair. When he peered over her shoulder at the guy trapped in Soda’s crushing jaws, uncertainty flickered in his shadowy eyes and fresh sweat beaded on his forehead.

He’s not the decision maker here. He’s merely muscle following orders.

Good. Let the bastard choke on his indecision while his teammate bleeds.

“Let her walk,” Rusty demanded, taking a step forward with his hands raised. “Take me instead. I’ll come quietly.”

When this was over, if they survived, he would make damn sure they regretted it.

Sienna’s eyes locked onto his—wide and glassy with fear, but there was something else there, too. A silent plea that gutted him. After eighteen years, he could still read every micro-expression across her face. The slight tremor in her lower lip, the way her throat worked as she swallowed. She thinks she’s going to die in these fucking tunnels, and that ripped through him like shrapnel.

The gunman’s breathing changed, faster and uncertain.

A bead of sweat rolled down Sienna’s temple where the barrel pressed against her skin.

Rusty took another step.

The gun wavered slightly as his focus shifted to Rusty. “Stay back!”

Rusty forced himself to stay still, even as every muscle screamed to tear the man apart. He’d promised himself years ago that he would never let anyone hurt Sienna. That promise might have gotten buried under two decades of regret and distance, but watching her tremble in this bastard’s grip brought it roaring back to life.

“For Christ’s sake, shoot the dog!” the man in Soda’s grip screamed. “Just shoot the fucking?—”

His words dissolved into a gurgling cry as Soda gave another warning crush.

With each whimper from her prey, Soda’s jaws tightened, and her massive shoulders bunched, ready to apply more force as blood darkened her muzzle. The man in her grip stopped struggling, but his eyes were wild with panic.

Sienna’s eyes darted to Soda then back to Rusty. Her breathing grew slower, more deliberate, and when her hands dropped from the gunman’s forearm, Rusty thought it was defeat. But then he caught the subtle shift in her stance, the way her feet positioned for optimal balance and her weight settled back just slightly.

His gut clenched with recognition. This wasn’t the na?ve, carefree teenager he’d pissed off all those years ago. This was a woman who’d learned to defend herself, and she was coiling to strike.

When she clenched her jaw, Rusty gave her an almost imperceptible nod and tensed his muscles, ready to unleash two decades of combat training.

In one fluid motion, she drove her heel into the arch of the asshole’s foot while simultaneously ramming her elbow deep into his solar plexus. He gasped, and Pickle shot from the darkness like a furry missile, clamping razor-sharp teeth into his ankle.

As the bastard howled and kicked wildly at the dog, Sienna twisted in his hold, bit his forearm, and wrenched herself free. Rusty charged at him, crossing the distance in two powerful strides, lowering his shoulder like a battering ram and dove at the bastard. The impact drove them both against the tunnel wall as they grappled for the weapon. The gun exploded with a deafening boom as the bullet sparked off stone and whined into darkness.

Pickle held on like a pit bull, savaging the man’s ankle, and the man’s screams echoed off the cave walls as he tried to kick the enraged terrier away. Using the distraction, Rusty slammed the bastard’s wrist against the floor, and the gun skittered across stone, vanishing into the shadows.

Grabbing the bastard’s hair, Rusty rammed his head against the tunnel floor, but the brute was too strong, and they rolled on the ground, trading brutal blows. An elbow caught Rusty’s temple and stars exploded behind his eyes. He countered with a headbutt that crunched cartilage, and blood sprayed from the man’s nose as he howled his fury.

Rusty drove his elbow into the man’s throat but caught a fist to his jaw. Pain speared straight into his brain and stars exploded behind his eyes as copper flooded his mouth.

Growling, he hammered blows into the asshole’s ribs. They rolled over the ground, trading savage punches that echoed off the tunnel walls. The bastard fought with military precision, every strike calculated, despite Pickle still tearing into his ankle like a possessed demon.

With each landed blow, Rusty darted his gaze through the darkness, searching for Sienna, praying to a God he’d stopped believing in years ago that the bullet hadn’t found her.

A punch slammed into his kidneys, and as he bucked against the white-hot agony, he caught a glimpse of Sienna in the shadows. Got her! She was doubled over against the curved wall, gulping air as she clutched her throat.

Thank Christ she’s alive.

“Sienna! Run!” The words tore from his raw throat as he barely blocked a strike aimed at his temple.

But she didn’t run. Instead, she lunged toward them, reaching for Pickle who was still latched onto the man’s leg like a steel trap. The asshole’s boot caught Sienna’s hip with a sickening thud, sending her flying. Her cry of pain cut through Rusty like a blade, igniting something primal in his chest and filling his veins with murderous rage.

Pickle released his grip and darted to her side, his fur bristling as he barked like mad.

“Sienna! Fucking run!” Blood sprayed from Rusty’s lips as he roared the words.

She scooped up Pickle, and defiance blazed in her eyes despite her obvious pain. “I’m not leaving you.”

“Run!”

With rage fueling him, he slammed his forehead into the asshole’s broken nose, feeling cartilage splinter beneath the impact. The man’s head cracked against stone with a wet thud, eyes glazing for a crucial second. In that moment of clarity, Rusty caught Sienna’s shadow disappearing around the cave bend, her footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

Thank Christ she’d listened.

He drove his fist into the bastard’s throat, crushing his windpipe with savage satisfaction. The man bucked beneath him, gasping and clawing at Rusty’s face, but adrenaline dulled the pain.

A metallic glint caught his peripheral vision—the gun, half-hidden under a rocky outcrop, its barrel reflecting in the beam of the last flashlight.

Time to finish this shit.

As he lunged for the weapon, the man moved, too. Their shoulders slammed together as they scrambled across the stone floor, each impact sending shards of agony through Rusty’s battered body. The bastard’s boot connected with his ribs, and something cracked with an audible snap. White-hot pain exploded through Rusty’s chest, and he howled.

Behind them, Soda’s savage growl turned into a thunderous bark that boomed like a cannon. The confined space erupted into chaos—snarls that belonged in the deepest pits of hell, screams of genuine terror, and the sound of flesh tearing.

The man Rusty was fighting froze for a split second, his head snapping toward the horrific sounds. Rusty kicked the back of his legs, dropping him to his knees.

“Get it off me! Help!” the other man shrieked as Soda’s jaws clamped on his neck. Blood sprayed across the stone, and he twisted wildly, swinging his fists in a desperate attempt to fight off the dog.

“Help! Help me!” His cries turned hoarse as he thrashed and kicked.

The roar of blood in Rusty’s ears dulled the cries as he searched for the gun again. There. Four feet away. The other bastard saw it, too, and despite his injuries, he dove for it.

Not fucking happening.

Rusty kicked the man’s broken nose, and the sharp crunch of cartilage was followed by a guttural scream. Using the man’s pain to buy himself a precious second, Rusty ignored his own ribs screaming in protest and dove for the weapon.

As his fingers closed around steel, the fucker’s hand clamped around his wrist, twisting his arm back. White-hot agony shot through Rusty’s arm as tendons stretched to breaking.

“Soda!” The name tore from his throat like a war cry. “Attack!”

Soda released her first victim with a wet snarl and lunged toward her next man like a dark missile. The bastard screamed at the incoming threat. Rusty wrenched his arm free and pivoted as Soda’s jaws clamped down on the brute’s shoulder with bone-crushing force.

The cave filled with an unholy shriek as the bastard thrashed, trying to shake her off.

Rusty scrambled to the gun, and trained the weapon from one man to the next. The first attacker lay in a growing pool of darkness, gurgling wetly through his ruined throat. Good. Let the fucker drown in his own blood.

“Stop it! I give up!” The voice of the man in Soda’s grip cracked with terror as Soda shifted her attack, pinning him down by the throat. “Fuck. Get it off me!”

Rusty spat blood onto the stone floor and strode forward. He aimed the gun in the bastard’s face. “Who sent you?”

“Please! Stop it!”

Soda’s growl deepened, and she shifted her grip so her teeth were inches from the man’s jugular.

“Start talking fast,” Rusty snarled, “or I let her finish what she started.”

Shadows moved behind him, and the hairs on his neck bristled as Rusty turned.

The first attacker who should’ve been fucking dead had pushed himself up on one elbow. Blood poured from his ruined throat, coating his chest in a dark sheen. But his eyes were wide and wild, filled with something beyond pain or fear. Something feral. Unnatural.

In his trembling hand, a compact pistol gleamed in the dim light.

The lava walls amplified the sound of the hammer cocking into a thunderous click.

“Soda! Down!”

Rusty hurled himself at the blood-soaked bastard.

The gun exploded.