Page 34

thirty-four

Davey’s footfalls echoed against the worn concrete of the service stairwell as he took the steps two at a time.

Sullivan was ahead, moving fast.

Too fast.

That was the problem with adrenaline. It made men reckless. Made them forget what they were trained to do. And Sullivan wasn’t thinking anymore. He was reacting—raw, unfiltered emotion taking the wheel.

Davey hit the last step and burst out onto solid ground. The winter night slammed into his lungs, a shock after the stagnant, metallic rot of the tunnels.

Scan. Process. Control.

They were at the base of the bridge. The massive steel structure spanned the river, its main deck lined with parallel railway tracks, flanked by thick metal beams and cross-braces.

Above, dim industrial floodlights cast weak patches of yellow light onto the steel framework, flickering against the night. A narrow strip of grated steel ran alongside the bridge—some kind of walkway for maintenance workers. It had a single guardrail on the outer edge, and the inner side was open to the rail lines.

No room to run. No room for mistakes.

His gaze tracked upward.

There. The access point.

A rusted metal ladder ran straight up from the support column to the walkway. And halfway up…

Brody.

He was moving fast, not trying for stealth. He didn’t know they were on his heels. He reached the top and hauled himself through a hatch onto the walkway.

Davey’s grip tightened around his rifle. They had the upper hand, the element of surprise. But that only meant something if they used it right.

If Sullivan went in half-cocked, they’d lose that advantage in a heartbeat. Worse, Brody could force a fight on the walkway—a fight where one misstep meant a hundred-foot drop into the icy river.

Not an option.

“Brody!” Sullivan’s voice ripped through the night, sharp as a gunshot.

Davey snapped toward him, heart lurching.

Fuck.

Brody froze and then, slowly, turned. A smirk curled at the edges of his mouth.

The element of surprise was gone.

Davey moved, instinct kicking in. “Sully, hold?—”

But Sullivan wasn’t listening. He was already on the ladder, hauling himself upward in quick, furious movements, his boots clanging against the metal rungs. His rifle was slung across his back, forgotten in his single-minded focus.

Brody watched from above, completely still.

Not running.

Not reaching for a weapon.

Just… watching. Waiting for his brother.

Davey’s gut twisted.

This wasn’t a chase anymore.

This was a confrontation.

Cade swore under his breath. “He’s not even trying to get away.”

“Maybe he thinks he can talk his way out of it?” Dom suggested, ever the optimist, trying to find some hope to hold onto. Trying to believe there was a way this didn’t end with a bullet.

“This is fucked,” Cade said.

Dom exhaled. “Okay, so what’s the plan—tackle Sully, shoot Brody, or just stay here and pray neither of them falls?”

Davey’s jaw tightened. “Brody has a detonator.”

Dom blinked. “Right. Forgot about that.”

Cade gave a short nod. “Let’s move.”

Dom huffed out a breath. “Awesome. Climbing. Love that.” But he followed.

Davey moved swiftly, grabbing the cold metal rungs of the ladder, eyes locked on Sullivan’s back above him as he climbed. The wind whipped around them, carrying the distant sounds of the city.

“Sully!” he called out, but the wind snatched his voice. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

But Sullivan showed no sign of slowing. He reached the top of the ladder, hauling himself onto the narrow walkway with a grunt. Davey cursed under his breath, pushing himself faster. His leg ached, but he ignored it.

As he neared the top, he heard Sullivan’s voice, raw with anger and pain. “You selfish fuck. How could you?”

Davey emerged onto the walkway just in time to see Sullivan lunge at Brody. The two men grappled, teetering dangerously close to the edge. The steel grating creaked ominously beneath their feet.

“Sully, stand down!” Davey barked, raising his rifle. But in the tangle of limbs, he couldn’t get a clear shot.

The night wind whipped through the steel beams, rattling the bridge like bones shaking against one another. The train tracks were silent. No engines, no movement. Just the five of them on that narrow walkway, the river stretching out below.

A fight that had been a long time coming.

Davey’s eyes darted between Sullivan and Brody, his finger hovering near the trigger of his rifle. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. Dom.

His younger brother had jumped onto the train tracks and was edging around the fight, his lean frame hugging the inner edge of the walkway. Dom’s bright blue eyes were narrowed in concentration, his dark hair whipping around his face in the gusting wind.

Davey’s heart rate spiked. “Dom, stop!”

If Dom heard—which he probably had—he ignored the command. He kept moving until he popped up onto the walkway behind Brody and Sullivan.

“Fuck,” he said, voice perfectly clear in Davey’s earpiece despite the wind. “Still no shot.”

Yeah, he’d definitely heard and ignored that command. “Hold your position.” He didn’t want to have to worry about Dom falling, too.

Sullivan’s fist connected with Brody’s jaw, the impact echoing across the bridge. Brody stumbled, his heel catching on the edge of the grating. For a heart-stopping moment, he teetered on the brink, but Sully grabbed a fistful of his jacket, holding him tipped over the low railing.

Davey’s finger tightened on the trigger, ready to take the shot if Brody made a move. But Sullivan was still too close, his body partially shielding Brody from a clean line of fire.

“Don’t have a shot,” Cade said, deadly calm.

“Same,” Dom said.

“Sully, get clear!” Davey commanded, trying to find an opening.

But Sullivan was beyond hearing. His face was a mask of rage as he slammed Brody against the railing. The metal groaned under the impact.

“Why?” Sullivan growled. “Why’d you do it?”

Brody’s teeth flashed in a bloody smile. “You know why.”

His voice wasn’t cocky. Wasn’t mocking. Just calm. Matter-of-fact.

Sullivan’s breath came in sharp and uneven pants. His grip on Brody’s jacket was ironclad, his whole body trembling with the force of holding himself back.

The railing creaked beneath Brody’s weight.

The wind whipped through the steel beams, rattling the bridge.

Even with blood smeared across his mouth, his body half-dangling over the drop, Brody looked at Sullivan like he’d already won.

Like he wanted this.

“I had to pick a side.” His gaze flicked briefly to Davey, to Cade, to Dominic. Then, back to Sullivan. “And you weren’t on it.”

Sullivan flinched. Barely. Just a fraction of a movement, but Brody saw it and laughed. Low. Rough. A little breathless from the fight but still simmering with something ugly underneath.

“Christ, you still don’t get it, do you?”

Sullivan’s hands shook. “You—” His voice caught. He swallowed hard. “You betrayed us.”

Brody’s smile widened, but his eyes were flat, empty. “Yeah.”

“Our friends. Our team. Me. For what? Money?”

Brody barked a laugh. “That’s the excuse, isn’t it?” He licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and tilted his head. “But, really, I just stopped pretending I care.” He leaned in, voice low enough that only Sullivan would be able to hear it if not for their open comm line. “You were always the golden boy, Sully. The one everyone respected. The one everyone trusted. Didn’t matter what I did. Didn’t matter how hard I tried. You were always the first choice. Mom’s. Even our fucking dad’s. Everyone’s.”

Sullivan inhaled like the words had cut deeper than any knife.

Brody laughed again, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or cruel. This time, it sounded almost… broken. Like he hated himself for meaning it. “I tried to be charming, funny, likable, but I was always just… there. In your shadow.”

Sullivan’s grip loosened. Confusion and hurt warred across his face as he backed up a step. “That’s not?—”

“Don’t.” Brody’s voice hardened again, the vulnerability vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Don’t try to tell me it wasn’t true. We both know it was.” He fumbled something out of his pocket.

The detonator.

The air froze in Davey’s lungs as Brody looked right at him and grinned. “But at least now I’ll have their fear.”

Dom lunged, going straight for Brody’s wrist. His fingers locked around the detonator, yanking it away in one clean, fluid motion.

Brody’s eyes widened—the first time his composure cracked. Then he moved. Not to throw a desperate punch. Not to escape. Instead, he went straight for Dom’s sidearm in a clean, calculated play for the kill.

Sullivan saw it, too, raised his weapon, and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked through the night like a thunderclap.

Brody jerked. His feet slipped against the slick grating. For a second, he hung there, his weight tilting toward the edge, his hands reaching for nothing?—

Then he was gone.

Falling.

His body hit the water below with a sickening splash, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Silence.

The four of them stood frozen, staring over the railing, waiting… but nothing broke the surface.

No movement.

No body.

Davey exhaled sharply, chest heaving, his hands tight on his rifle, but his mind was already somewhere else.

Rowan.

His fingers flew to his earpiece. “Hellcat, talk to me.”

Nothing.

“Rowan. Status.”

Still nothing.

Jesus.

The bomb.

Liam.

Had they made it? Had Weston gotten the vest off in time?

“Rowan, answer me.”

Still nothing.

His breath came faster now, pulse thudding against his skull as he switched channels. “Elliot, report.”

The response was immediate. “Liam gave us a scare, but he’s back with us now. He’s stable. Tessa, Bridger, and I are en route to the hospital with him.”

Davey exhaled sharply, some of the tension uncoiling from his spine.

Liam was safe.

But Rowan?—

“Where the hell is Rowan?” His voice came out sharper than intended, but he didn’t care.

A slight pause. “They went back in.”

His heart kicked hard against his ribs. “What do you mean, back in ?”

“They thought they could get to you faster through the tunnels. You know her, man. She wasn’t gonna stay on the sidelines if she thought you were still in danger.”

“How long ago?”

“A few minutes, maybe?” Static crackled, proof that Elliot was getting farther away by the second. “They should’ve reached you by now.”

“Fuck,” Davey growled, his grip tightening on his rifle. He spun to face Dom and Cade. “We need to move. Now.”

Cade was unreadable, but his gaze flicked toward Sullivan’s back. Sully was still staring at the water below, barely breathing.

“You two go,” Cade murmured. “I’ll stay with him.”

In case he decides to follow his twin over the edge.

That second part went unspoken, but the subtext was clear.

Davey nodded sharply, already turning to race back to the ladder.

Dom fell in step behind him. “We’ll find her.”

Davey didn’t point out what happened the last time Dom was optimistic. Just as he reached the ladder, a muffled thump echoed from somewhere beneath the bridge, and he froze.

Listened.

That wasn’t…

Another sound. Sharper this time, faster. Unmistakable.

Automatic gunfire.

His hand flew to his radio. “Rowan!”

Nothing.

“Rowan, do you copy?”

Silence.

A cold weight settled in his chest and wound around his lungs, thick and suffocating. “Weston. Sabin. Somebody fucking answer me!”

Static.

Another gunshot.

Louder. Closer.

Behind him, something shifted. Not movement. Not footsteps. A change in the air itself, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He spun, half-raising his weapon, expecting to see a threat, but it was just Sullivan. He wasn’t staring at the water anymore. The grief was gone. The rage was sealed shut. His breathing had steadied, his stance locked. His hands, still gripping his rifle, were now perfectly still.

When he lifted his head and met Davey’s gaze, his eyes were cold.

Not blank.

Not broken.

Just ice fucking cold.

A man who had done what needed to be done and had nothing left.

A soldier who knew he still had a job to do.

Sullivan had snapped back because their team was in danger, and that was what they were trained to do no matter the loss, no matter the cost. They kept moving. Kept fighting.

Saved who they could.

But could they save Rowan?

Jesus.

He needed to move. Now. But his body wouldn’t obey. His boots seemed to weigh a thousand pounds each. His lungs stuttered, and his vision blurred at the edges.

Heat. Shrapnel. Fire. The blistering shockwave hit like a fist to the chest, tearing the air from his lungs. The Humvee rocking from the blast—no, not rocking—flipping. His body wrenched sideways, everything tilting, spinning, weightless for a breathless second before metal screamed and the roof slammed into the sand.

His ears rang. Too loud. Too sharp. The sound of war pressed into his skull, but beneath it—beneath the chaos—was something worse.

Silence.

Louder than the explosion. Louder than anything.

Because silence meant someone wasn’t screaming anymore.

Silence meant someone hadn’t made it.

And Rowan was silent.

His chest seized. His lungs locked.

Oh, fuck, no.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Steady. Firm. Grounding. He blinked and focused on Sullivan’s hard, cold eyes.

“We gotta move, boss.” Despite the ice in his eyes, his voice was shockingly gentle. “We gotta go save your woman.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer.

Davey’s pulse slammed against his ribs. The gunfire. The silence. The fucking static. His vision blurred at the edges, his mind lagging behind his body. It was still stuck in the Humvee halfway across the world with a dead team and a busted-up leg.

He couldn’t lose Rowan.

Not like that.

Not like them.

Sullivan shoved him. Not gently. A sharp, jolting push. “Davey.”

Adrenaline slammed through him like a goddamn freight train, and his mind finally caught up. He turned to Dom, who was all but vibrating with the need to kick ass. So Davey cut his leash.

“Go. We’re right behind you.”

Dom moved with startling speed, swinging his rifle to his shoulder and taking the ladder so fast he might as well have jumped.

Davey followed. No hesitation. No thought. Just action. Just movement. His boots hit the concrete in time with the pulse hammering in his ears.

Rowan was down there.

And he wasn’t losing her.

Hold on, Hellcat. I’m coming.