Page 32 of The Medic (Dominion Hall #6)

CHARLIE

D arkness swallowed me, the Bentley’s cabin a tomb as water surged around my chest, my lungs screaming for air I couldn’t find.

I came to my senses underwater, my head pounding, water clouding my vision, and saw Sloane, her blonde hair floating like a halo, her hands clawing at her seatbelt as shadows moved outside her window.

The shadows in wetsuits wrenched her door open, dragging her out into the abyss, her eyes wide with terror as she vanished into the murk.

My mind clicked into gear, tick-tick-tick, military training kicking in, prioritizing survival over panic—Sloane was their target, and if this was planned, they needed her alive. I had to let her go, had to focus on getting out, because if I died here, she’d have no one.

My seatbelt was stuck, the Bentley’s beastly build unyielding, and I yanked at it, muscles straining, but it wouldn’t budge. Water seeped into my mouth, the pressure crushing, and I cursed, my heart hammering as I fought to stay calm. I needed a way out, and fast, or I’d drown in this fucking cage.

Then it hit me—Atlas’s idea, the one Marcus and the others had razzed him for: a tiny plastic tool stashed in every vehicle, a seatbelt cutter and window smash in one.

I fumbled for the armrest, my fingers numb as I popped it open, the contents—pens, a flashlight, a protein bar—floating up in the water.

My lungs burned, my vision narrowing, but I found it, the small blade glinting in the dim light when I uncapped it, slicing through the seatbelt with a desperate yank.

Free, I pushed against the ceiling to steady myself, and my hand broke the surface—air, a pocket trapped in the cabin’s corner. I shoved my face up, gulping greedy breaths, the oxygen sharp and sweet, and knew I’d live, at least for now.

I gathered myself, ready to take one last breath and swim out the passenger door, when a surge of water rocked the car, sending it rolling.

Fuck.

The world spun, up and down blurring as the current seized the Bentley like a toy, and I wedged myself against the seat, bracing to keep from being spun and crushed.

The car tumbled, glass cracking, metal groaning, and I held on, my body battered by the chaos, my mind racing to time my escape. The rolling slowed, the car tilting nose-down, and I saw my chance—the passenger door, now above me, a dark tunnel to freedom.

Lungs aching, I kicked off, shooting through the door as the car lurched again, narrowly missing me as it spun away. The current grabbed me, buffeting me downstream, and I relaxed into it, conserving energy, knowing I’d get one shot to surface.

My luck held—the water lightened, pressure easing, and I kicked hard, pulling with every ounce of strength, breaking the surface with a gasp, the salt air a lifeline.

A shout cut through the haze—“There he is!”—and the thundering roar of a helicopter drowned out the world, its blades chopping the sky as a rope and harness dropped beside me.

I grabbed it, my hands shaking, pulled the harness over my head and under my arms, and was hauled from the water, the chopper rising, veering back to shore as I dangled, soaked and shivering, but alive.

The helicopter deposited me in a field, the grass soft under my grateful knees, and I collapsed, coughing, my body a map of bruises. Marcus and Noah were there, Marcus’s grin sharp despite the worry in his eyes.

“Nice swim, little brother—thought you were auditioning for a shark flick.”

Noah shot him a glare. “Shut up, Marcus.”

I pushed to my knees, my voice hoarse. “Where’s Sloane?”

They exchanged a look, like I’d lost my mind, and my stomach dropped.

“She’s not in the car,” I said, urgency clawing at me. “They took her—Department 77, Marshall’s men, I saw them drag her out.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed, his voice low. “Holy fuck.”

I staggered to my feet, wobbly, my head spinning, and Noah stepped forward, his hand on my shoulder.

“You need to take it easy, Charlie. You’re in no shape?—”

I cut him off, my voice a growl. “We need to find Sloane now. What’s Elias got?”

Noah’s jaw tightened, his eyes dark. “They played us. Department 77 set the perfect trap—Elias is kicking himself for missing it. He’s got nothing on Marshall or their whereabouts, not yet.”

I shook my head, water dripping from my hair, and started toward the waiting SUVs.

“I’m going to the Carrington estate. Sylvia knows something—she has to.”

Noah grabbed my arm, his voice firm. “You’re not going anywhere like this. Rest, regroup, then we hit them when Elias has a lead.”

I opened my mouth to argue, ready to shove past him, when a caravan of Dominion Defense vehicles roared up, Ryker at the lead, his face grim.

I froze, my eyes catching a familiar figure stepping out of the lead SUV—Quentin, the Carringtons’ bodyguard, his face set, his steps purposeful as he walked straight to me. I started to speak, confusion swirling, but he raised a hand, cutting me off.

“I know where they’ve taken Sloane,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes burning with a resolve that silenced my questions. “I can take you there, but it’s just us two, and we go now.”

Marcus stepped forward, his voice sharp.

“We’re all going—nobody takes our girl without a fight.”

Quentin shook his head, his gaze unwavering. “No. It’s too risky. They’ll see your army coming. Only Charlie and me, or we lose her.”

I didn’t hesitate, the look in Quentin’s eyes a mirror to my own desperation, and I nodded.

“Let’s go.”

We piled into Quentin’s unmarked SUV, the engine roaring as he peeled out, leaving my brothers shouting behind us. I gripped the door handle, my body aching but my mind clear, every second ticking like a bomb.

“Where is she?” I asked, my voice rough, water still dripping from my clothes.

Quentin’s hands tightened on the wheel, his jaw set.

“A safehouse on the outskirts, an old plantation Department 77’s been using for years. I’ve got contacts—ex-Agency, like me—who tipped me off.”

I stared at him, pieces clicking.

“You knew they’d take her?”

He shook his head, his voice low. “Not for sure, but I’ve been watching Marshall, tracking his moves since the country club. My old friends helped with the rest.”

The road blurred past, Charleston’s marshes giving way to dense woods, the SUV’s tires humming as we sped toward the unknown. My mind raced, replaying Sloane’s face, her tears at the park, her fire when she’d vowed to trap Marshall.

I’d failed her, let her slip through my fingers, and the weight of it crushed me, but Quentin’s certainty was a lifeline.

“Why just us?” I asked, my voice steady despite the chaos inside.

He didn’t answer at first, handing me a pistol from underneath his seat along with some extra magazines. Then he looked at me, his eyes blazing fire.

“Because they made it personal.”

That’s all he had to say. We were in this together. And may God have mercy on the souls of anyone who got in our way.