Page 35

thirty-five

Breathe.

Rowan inhaled. The subway air was thick—rust, sweat, something stale.

Just breathe.

She exhaled slowly, shifting her weight.

Stay loose. Stay ready.

Despite the pulse thundering in her ears. Despite the bomb at her back. Despite the near-irresistible need to chase after Davey and make sure he was safe.

And breathe again. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four.

She forced the rhythm, grounding herself against the fear. Scanning the dark tunnels. Watching. Waiting.

No movement. Just the occasional rat scurrying along the tracks. No threats. Yet.

Behind her, Weston worked fast, his hands moving with precision as he traced the wires along Liam’s bomb vest. Sabin was crouched beside them, working the last of the locks, his fingers nimble despite the sweat beading along his brow.

Almost there.

Bridger hovered just behind them, silent but watchful, his rifle steady in his hands. He wasn’t pacing—Bridger never paced—but there was something in the tightness of his stance, the way his fingers flexed against his weapon, that told Rowan exactly how much he wanted to.

Liam gritted his teeth as Tessa held pressure to the gash on his head. He was swaying, barely upright, but still holding on.

“We’re still clear,” Rowan murmured. “No movement.”

Sabin hissed through his teeth and paused long enough to swipe at the sweat dripping down the side of his face. “ Merde, cher , why don’t you just ask the universe to smite us while you’re at it?”

A hiccup of a laugh burst out of her with her next exhale. “The universe obviously wants us smited.”

“Isn’t it smote?” Bridger asked.

Liam, voice hoarse, offered, “Smitten?”

“Oh my God,” Tessa said with a nervous laugh.

“Whatever it is, we’re gonna be it soon,” Weston muttered, his attention locked on the final sequence of wires. “This thing has more failsafes than I like.”

“I’d like zero failsafes,” Liam rasped. “If that’s an option.”

“You and me both, mon ami .” Sabin twisted the last lock, the metal clicking softly as the hasp popped free. A heartbeat later, the final restraint keeping the vest in place loosened. “Well, Liam, good news—you are now free from your fashionable straightjacket of death.” He flicked the now-useless padlock onto the ground with a dramatic flourish. “Bad news—it’s still trying to kill you.”

Bridger shot him a flat look. “You’re not funny.”

Sabin placed a hand over his heart like he was mortally wounded. “ Mon ami , that is simply untrue.”

“Sabin, shut up,” Tessa said and looked at Weston. “Can we just take it off him and run?”

Bridger shifted, glancing at the vest like he was considering ripping it off his brother. Weston’s hands never stopped moving, but he didn’t answer immediately.

“What if it has a pressure trigger?” Rowan asked the obvious question since nobody else seemed to want to.

Weston didn’t hesitate. “It doesn’t. I checked.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Sabin asked.

“Then we won’t have to worry about it for long.”

Tessa made a strangled sound. “Oh my God, West.”

Liam huffed out a pained laugh. “Yeah, not comforting, man.”

“Can we take it off him or not?” Rowan asked.

Weston finally looked up, but instead of looking at the rest of them, he met Liam’s exhausted gaze. “I don’t think we should take the time. I only have minutes. If we waste them trying to get it off you, we won’t have time to get clear of the blast zone. But it’s your call, Liam. Either way, I’m here with you until the end.”

Liam swallowed hard. “Diffuse it.”

Weston nodded, his jaw clenched tight as he refocused on the tangle of wires. “The rest of you should leave.”

“Fuck that.” Rowan’s fingers flexed around her weapon. She hated this waiting, but she wasn’t running. “We’re staying.”

“But…” Liam lifted his head sluggishly, his gaze locking onto his brother with quiet determination. “Bridger has to go.”

Bridger crossed his arms. “I think Rowan said it best: Fuck that.”

“Bridge—”

“I’m not leaving.” He signed as he spoke, as if making damn sure his brother understood him. “Stop asking.”

“Stop being stubborn.”

“Stop being an ass.”

Liam exhaled hard, his bloodied face set like stone. “Mom and Dad are not losing both of us tonight.”

Bridger flinched. The words had landed like a physical blow, just as Liam had calculated.

Bridger held his ground, shaking his head. “No.”

“Please,” Liam rasped. “If you stay and we die, it’ll break Mom’s heart. And Dad… I don’t think he’ll survive it. Then she’ll lose all of us.”

A muscle in Bridger’s cheek jumped. His throat bobbed in a hard swallow, his hands flexing at his sides like he was fighting an internal war. Then, finally, his shoulders dropped, and he nodded, once, stiff and reluctant. “Fine.”

His hand came down on Liam’s shoulder, solid, firm, the kind of grip that meant more than words. More than a goodbye. A promise.

Then he turned and walked away.

Rowan saw his face as he passed. His expression was a mask of stone, but his eyes… God, his eyes. They held a raw, desperate pain that made her chest ache. She wanted to say something, offer some kind of comfort, but the words stuck in her throat. There was nothing to say that could ease this moment.

Bridger disappeared into the darkness, his footsteps fading into silence.

A distant rumble echoed through the tunnel, and Rowan’s muscles tensed. Her eyes narrowed at the ceiling, tracking the source of the sound as dust rained down on them.

A train, passing somewhere close.

She relaxed, but only marginally. “How are we doing on time?”

“Uh,” Sabin said and audibly gulped. “West, it’s tickin’ again. Thirty seconds.”

“Go,” Liam whispered. “Leave me.”

Rowan glanced back, her heart in her throat. “No. We’re all walking out of here.”

“Yes, we are. Hang on…” Weston’s fingers moved faster, methodically clipping wires, then moving to the next.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Sabin crossed himself.

Liam closed his eyes.

Rowan held her breath, gripping her rifle tighter, her muscles coiled.

Tessa was frozen—not watching the bomb but watching Weston. Not her patient. Not the danger. Just her little brother.

Weston didn’t look at her. Didn’t do anything but work, his hands steady as ever.

“Tess,” Sabin muttered, side-eyeing her. “Don’t pass out on us.”

She blinked and sucked in a startled breath like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her fingers curled into a white-knuckled fist on Liam’s shoulder, like she was trying to keep herself from reaching out and yanking Weston away from the bomb.

Rowan felt it, too. The helpless ache of knowing someone you love was doing something impossibly dangerous, and all you could do was stand there and watch.

Like Davey.

The thought struck sharp and sudden, burrowing deep.

He was out there right now, running toward danger because that’s what he did. That’s what they did.

Had he made it to Brody yet? Had he caught up? Was he fighting? Bleeding?

Her chest tightened.

Because if she could feel this—this helpless, desperate ache watching Weston work—then what the hell was Davey feeling right now?

Wherever he was, whatever he was facing, he’d be thinking of her.

And she hated knowing that, just like she couldn’t help Weston now, she couldn’t help Davey either.

Weston exhaled sharply. “Final wire.” His wire cutters hovered for half a second, just long enough for Rowan’s pulse to spike, for her breath to catch?—

He snapped the wire in half just as the timer hit zero.

A heartbeat of silence.

Nothing.

No explosion.

No flash of heat.

Weston let out a shaky breath. “We’re clear.”

Sabin and Weston moved as one, grabbing the vest and hauling it away from Liam’s chest like it might still go off.

Liam’s breath shuddered out of him, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Holy shit. I’m not dead.”

Tessa choked out something halfway between a sob and a curse. She didn’t let go of Liam, which was probably a good thing as the guy was white as toothpaste and looked about ready to pass out.

Sabin sat back on his knees and let his head drop back, breathing out a low, shaky laugh. “ Bon Dieu, mon ami … I think I just lost fifteen years off my life.”

“It was bound to be a short one anyway,” Liam muttered.

“This is the thanks I get? I just helped save your miserable ass.”

“You want a medal?”

Sabin smirked. “ Non. Just a stiff drink and a woman who appreciates my sacrifices.”

Weston snorted, wiping sweat from his brow. “Yeah, good luck with that. You praying back there didn’t help your odds.”

Sabin narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“The whole crossing yourself thing,” Weston said, and quirked an eyebrow. “Since when are you Catholic?”

Sabin spread his arms wide. “When explosives are involved, I get real religious.”

Rowan huffed out a breath, finally forcing herself to breathe again. “Right. And when they’re not?”

Sabin grinned. “Then I sin.”

Tessa, still clutching Liam’s arm, shot them all an exasperated look. “Can we go? He’s about to pass out, and I’d rather not have to drag him out of here.”

“I’m fine,” Liam muttered, but his knees wobbled as he tried to push upright.

Tessa caught him before he could list sideways. “Yeah, tell that to the blood dripping down your face, dumbass.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Sabin chirped. “You look amazing, mon ami .”

Liam let out a weak laugh. “Oh yeah?”

“ Bien s?r .” Sabin grinned. “Very edgy. All the ladies love a man who survived an explosion.”

“Shut up and move,” Tessa snapped, practically hauling Liam toward the exit.

Rowan tapped her comms. “Elliot, bomb’s disarmed. We’re on our way to you with Liam.”

A pause—then a sharp exhale. “Jesus Christ. Copy that. Get his ass out of there.”

Sabin pushed to his feet, stretching dramatically. “We all deserve hazard pay.”

Weston grunted as he ducked under Liam’s other arm and took most of his weight. “We don’t have time for your bullshit, Cavalier.”

“There’s always time for bullshit,” Sabin said. “That’s the secret to survival.”

Liam groaned. “I think I’d rather be unconscious.”

“Oh, hell no, you are not checking out now,” Weston said, tightening his grip on Liam as they made their way off the old subway platform. “I didn’t risk my very valuable life and pull off some bomb-diffusing magic just for you to do some dramatic fade-to-black bullshit. Walk it off, cousin.”

“Walking it off might not be the best plan.” Tessa kept a sharp eye on Liam, her grip firm on his waist. “He’s favoring his right side, and his legs are barely keeping up. If he goes down, we’re carrying him.”

Rowan took point, weapon raised, scanning every inch of the tunnels as they made their retreat. Her pulse was still too fast, her nerves still too sharp.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t breathe easy until the first gust of cold night air hit them.

The moment they reached the van, Bridger yanked the back doors open, already reaching for Liam. “Jesus, about time.”

Tessa didn’t even slow down. “Help me get him inside.”

Bridger caught Liam under the arms, hauling him into the van. Tessa climbed in right after him, already tearing open medical supplies.

Elliot paced the sidewalk, rubbing a hand over his face. When he looked up, his relief was evident—but so was his barely restrained frustration.

Rowan grabbed his arm. “Where’s Davey?”

“They’re on the bridge. Last I saw, Sullivan and Brody were throwing punches.”

She exhaled. He wasn’t safe, but he wasn’t in immediate danger. He was okay.

“I’m going back in,” she said.

“Nah, cher ,” Sabin said and cocked a hip, shouldering his rifle with a grin. “ We are going back in.”

“Damn straight,” Weston said.

Elliot’s eyes snapped from one of them to the next, his expression darkening. “Like hell you are.”

Rowan met his glare, unflinching. “We’re not leaving Davey without backup.”

“Hey!” Tessa’s sharp voice cut through the argument from the back of the van as she poked a needle into Liam’s arm, starting an IV. “Liam just lost consciousness. We need to get him to the hospital now! You need to drive, El. I want Bridger back here with me in case his crashes on us.”

Elliot swore under his breath, raking a hand through his hair. He leveled one last glare at the three of them, then turned on his heel and climbed into the van. “Fine. Go. But don’t get yourselves killed. Be smart.”

Sabin grinned, slinging his rifle back into position. “Smart is my middle name.”

Weston shoved his shoulder. “Thought it was Henri.”

Rowan rolled her eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at her lips. She waited until the van peeled away, then turned back to the tunnel and pulled her NVGs back into place. “Let’s move.”

She rolled her shoulders, gripping her rifle tighter, as she stepped back into the tunnel. The darkness swallowed them whole, NVGs shifting the world to an eerie green and black. The air stank of rust and damp concrete, and the old tracks running parallel to them were slick with condensation.

The air felt different down here now—heavier, wrong. The kind of quiet that didn’t just mean an absence of sound. It meant something was waiting.

Her skin prickled.

Her gut twisted.

“Heads on a swivel,” she murmured. “Something?—”

Crack.

The first shot ripped through the tunnel.

Weston slammed into Rowan, driving her sideways. The impact was bone-jarring, the concrete biting into her shoulder as she hit the ground.

A second shot followed. A third. Too many. Too fast.

Sabin fired back, his face grim. “Merde. Where they comin’ from?”

Rowan rolled onto her knees, rifle raised, scanning?—

Figures flickered into view, bleeding out of the shadows like ghosts. No glow of NVGs, no telltale rustle of movement. Just shifting air, like heat rippling over pavement, and…

Solid forms materialized from the darkness. No, they weren’t appearing from the dark. They were already here.

Soldiers dressed in black with rifles. Trained, polished, precise. They moved in sync, their weapons held with a comfort and familiarity that spoke of countless hours of training.

“What the fuck,” she breathed. Either they were magic, or they had access to cloaking technology she’d never seen before.

Weston spun, bringing up his weapon, but then froze as one of the bigger shadows peeled off from the pack and advanced.

Rowan caught the flicker of confusion in his expression, like something wasn’t adding up. His whole body locked up, muscles going rigid, breath catching like he’d just taken a gut punch.

“No, that’s?—”

The shadow attacked. Fast. Precise. Brutal. No hesitation. No pause. Just a blur of motion.

The rifle butt smashed into Weston’s skull with a sickening crack. His head snapped sideways, his knees buckling before his body followed.

Rowan lunged for him, but another shot rang out, forcing her back.

Weston hit the ground hard, blood spattering across the concrete when he landed.

He didn’t move again.

“No! Weston!” His name ripped from her throat as she twisted, trying to get to him?—

A fist crashed into her jaw, rattling her skull. White-hot pain exploded behind her eyes, but sheer willpower kept her upright. She staggered, clenched her teeth, and twisted?—

Another shadow pounced.

God, there were so many of them.

She spun with lightning speed, her arm snapping up in a fierce strike. Her elbow cracked against bone, the impact jarring her down to her teeth. Her attacker barely stumbled.

Not enough.

For every one she fought off, another materialized to take his place.

An arm clamped around her throat from behind like a vise, dragging her against a body made of pure muscle. She bucked wildly, driving her heel down with all her strength, but the hold only tightened. Her boots scraped against the grimy tunnel floor as she tried to find leverage.

Five feet ahead, Sabin moved like a ghost.

One second, he was pivoting, feet braced wide on the uneven track bed, rifle raised—the next, he fired.

The gunshot cracked through the tunnel. A round slammed into the first attacker’s thigh, dropping them hard onto the gravel.

Another figure surged from the dark behind him. Fast. Silent.

Sabin pivoted, but he was too late. A hard strike to his wrist sent his rifle skidding across the tunnel floor, clattering into the shadows.

But he didn’t slow. His hand snapped to his belt, and a knife unsheathed in a blur of silver. He snarled, the sound feral, and brought his blade up in a vicious arc.

Blood sprayed.

His opponent staggered back just as another attacker crashed into them from the side, slamming them both into a steel support column with a sickening clang. Sabin twisted, ripping his knife free, swinging again?—

A rifle butt slammed into his ribs.

Hard.

He grunted, but instead of falling, he used the momentum. Turned into it. Drove his shoulder into his attacker.

The impact sent both of them stumbling—but Sabin stayed on his feet.

Another shadow dropped in behind him.

Rowan saw it before he did.

She twisted violently, trying to scream a warning, but the vise around her throat crushed her airway, turning her warning into a choked rasp. Blood pooled in her mouth.

A boot crashed into the back of Sabin’s knee, and he buckled. The two men moved in on him, fast, efficient, their strikes brutal and precise.

Sabin roared, twisting, his knife still clutched in his hand?—

A rifle butt smashed into his temple.

His whole body jerked.

His knife slipped from his fingers.

He stayed on his knees for a heartbeat longer, his face swelling with each blow, blood flying. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with pain and fury and a flicker of defiance even as they swelled shut.

Then his body sagged.

His breath hitched—like his lungs had just given up.

He pitched forward. The impact was ugly. Final.

Now both Weston and Sabin lay motionless on the grimy tunnel floor. So still. Too still.

And Rowan couldn’t fucking get to them.

Rage and desperation surged through her. She thrashed against her captor, every muscle straining. Her vision started to gray at the edges from lack of oxygen, but she refused to give in, even when a fist slammed into her ribs. She twisted, throwing her weight backward, trying to break the hold on her throat. Her attacker—the same one who had so brutally attacked Weston—didn’t budge. He might as well be made of stone. He tightened his arm across her windpipe, cutting off her air.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Dark spots danced in front of her eyes.

The world tilted.

No!

She clawed at his mask. If she was going to go down, she wanted to see this fucker’s face so she knew who to haunt.

Her lungs burned. The pressure in her skull was unbearable. Dark spots exploded in her vision. Her limbs went lead-heavy.

No.

No.

She willed her body to stay upright, to breathe, to move?—

Then something slammed into the side of her head.

A sharp, concussive crack. A brutal, final blow.

Her knees buckled.

The tunnel tilted.

Warped.

She was falling.

The last thing she saw before darkness enveloped her was the tunnel ahead.

The path to Davey.

He needed to know it was a trap. He needed— needed…

Her thoughts grew disjointed, sluggish, slipping away. She fought against it. Tried to move. Her body betrayed her.

Davey.

He needed to know.

He needed?—

A warning. A chance. A fighting shot.

She couldn’t give it to him.

Her fingers twitched, reaching for the tunnel… for him…

Then the darkness swallowed her whole.