Page 37

CHAPTER 37

NICK

Two men with assault rifles splatter the van with a spray of bullets. The windshield won’t last forever.

“Where the fuck are we?” I shout.

Fisher slides the van into reverse, and I scramble to the front. We need a bloody strategy.

“Nick!” Scarlet cries.

“Stay back,” I yell as she steps forward. “Get her back,” I yell at Sophia.

A man carrying a military-grade assault weapon joins the others. Unlike the other blokes, he’s not wearing a balaclava, and he grins an eerie, slow grin.

We crash into something, probably a car. Fisher grinds the gears, and we lurch forward.

I study the weapon in the lunatic’s hands.

“That’s a bloody bazooka.”

A spray of bullets shoots from the side, sending the armed men to our front diving for cover.

The wheels screech as we take off.

“As fast as you can,” I say to Fisher, probably quite unnecessarily.

Scanning the surroundings, I recognize where we are.

“Let’s head to the wharf,” I say, directing the driver, on autopilot.

I point in the direction we should head. I don’t know the street names, but the area’s familiar.

“Shouldn’t they know the bounty’s been dropped?” Scarlet asks.

That’s an interesting question. Could these be some zealots who’ve ignored the updates? Perhaps hoping a kill will still be honored?

No. That text. No coincidences. This is Prophet.

She’s huddled on the floor, but she’s clutching a handgun—Atta girl.

“Did you recognize those men?” The question comes from behind me. Sophia’s got a phone to her ear.

“Negative. Could be bounty seekers, but chances are they’re hired.” I shoot my love a wink as she’s gone quite pale. “We’ll need to nab one. Find out who hired them. My bet is, they’ll lead us to this Prophet bastard.”

Up ahead, the wharf comes into view. It’s late. Warehouse workers will be off-shift. We can nab a fishing boat if we can lose the cocksuckers behind us.

“That way,” I say, pointing to a loading dock.

The back of the van explodes into a burst of flames and skids onto its side.

“We’re hit,” Sophia exclaims.

Well, fuck. So much for outrunning the bazooka.

Metal on asphalt screeches across the pavement.

“Where are the fucking bobbies?” I yell to no one in particular.

I swear to god, spend a lifetime skirting the blokes and when you need them, they’re nowhere to be found.

Gunfire rat-a-tats outside the vehicle.

There’s a hole in the back of the van big enough for us to exit through if it weren’t for the flames lapping the edges.

“Where’s the gas tank on this thing?” I ask.

Fisher kicks out the door, rises up to eye level, and scans the grounds. The van’s on its side, and he’s peering out the door like it’s a tank.

I pass him a gun.

“Help the women out, one by one,” he shouts. “Bring up the rear.”

“Arrow, can you hear me?” Sophia asks. She’s shouting toward the speaker as she arms herself with a rifle, two handguns, and a blade.

There’s no sound from the speaker, not even static.

“Blast disconnected us,” I tell her.

Nearby gunfire from our backup team means we’re not alone.

When we climb out of the rubbish, we’ll need to run. Hopefully, the others are in position to give us clearance.

Rapid-fire gunfire mixes with smoke.

This shit isn’t going according to plan.

Fisher taps me, guns strapped on, and I crouch to assist.

Fisher shoves off my back, climbing out of the hole with a spray of bullets.

“Clear. Move it!” he shouts with the boom of a drill sergeant.

Sophia is next, reaching one arm up to Fisher’s protruding hand. Her foot’s on my shoulder for a brief second before she’s gone, practically airlifted by Fisher out of the hold.

Gunfire splits the air.

The smoke has grown so dense it’s a challenge to see through the back of the van.

Scarlet steps up and I stop her, pulling her close.

“If shit goes sideways, stay with Lina. You’ll be taken care of.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.” Evergreen eyes pierce the shroud. “Believe.”

“I love you.”

“Now’s not the time, Nikolai. Tell me when we’re through this.”

I want to believe. But from inside this tin can, it’s sounding like we got stiffed.

I flatten my lips against hers, memorizing the feel and the pulse through my body. All too fast, it’s over.

I watch as she stretches an arm high above, and I hold my breath, searching for Fisher.

His hand reaches down, and I breathe more easily as I push up on her bum, helping her rise out of the vehicle.

Given the intensifying smoke, this rig could blow any second.

Gunfire returns, and I send a prayer to the heavens that Scarlet’s taken cover and then haul myself out of the hole.

My arm muscles burn as I pull. Fisher’s on the edge, shooting, giving clearance.

I don’t see Scarlet. Nor Sophia.

I roll out of the hole, scrambling down the side.

Both Scarlet and Sophia are crouching on the ground, guns out, firing back.

“How many?” I ask, boots landing with a painful crack on the pavement.

“SITREP unclear,” Fisher shouts. “Visibility zero.”

“SITREP?”

“Situation Report,” Sophia says. “Fish, they aren’t military. You lead, I’ll cover.”

“Negative,” he argues.

Looking over my shoulder, I estimate we’ve got a football field’s length to reach cover. Unless these blokes are shit shots, they’ll fill us with lead before we reach the warehouse.

A boom sounds, and the van shifts, throwing us back against the pavement.

My ears ring.

Smoke’s everywhere.

I swipe my eyes and blink.

High above me, Scarlet takes aim, her hair flaming, a vision in marred white.

Bap. Bap. Bap.

I push up, coming to her side.

To my right, a rifle aims at my angel.

Time stills.

All my senses heighten.

I sail through the air, feet leaving the ground.

I pull the trigger and answer with a barrage of gunfire .

And he’s down.

Sirens ring.

It’s about bloody time.