Home > Wicked as Lies (Wicked & Devoted #3)(5)

Wicked as Lies (Wicked & Devoted #3)(5)
Author: Shayla Black

“Yeah, and he’s not empty-handed.”

“Abort!” Cutter screamed over the radio.

The warning had Zy on even higher alert. “Trees?”

He paused, peering through the binoculars before whipping them away and bending to scoop up his pack. “Abort. GTFO now!”

Zy didn’t stop to ask questions, just secured his gear and ran after Trees.

“Did you hear me? Abort!” Cutter’s voice urged over the radio.

“We’re out,” he shouted into the handheld unit, legs pumping across the desert sand.

“Run fast. They’re onto us and they’ve got an RPG.”

Oh, fuck! Somehow, the cartel had figured out they weren’t alone in the middle of nowhere, and they were coming for blood.

Behind him, Zy heard the hum of an engine. The growl told him their vehicles weren’t standard-issue. Unfortunately, he and the rest of the team were a good half mile away from their stashed vehicle—and even longer to reach the chopper.

A dozen questions sat on his tongue, along with at least that many expletives. Now wasn’t the time. If they lived, then he’d want to know what the fuck was going on. Details. An explanation that made sense. The truth.

The sound of tires eating their way up the side of the hill carried over the sawing of his breath and the pounding of his heart. He ran every fucking day, but not at this pace. Not on sand that shifted and slid beneath his feet. It was going to wear him down, probably before the cartel caught up. And that scared the shit out of him. They weren’t known for their hospitality.

To his left, he caught a glimpse of Cutter and Walker sprinting, as he and Trees were, for their vehicle, which stood a few hundred feet in the distance. Behind him, the sounds of the engine grew louder. Next, he heard an explosion, followed by a whine and a whoosh.

An explosive landed in the soil half a football field in front of them, kicking up sand, rocks, and brush. Zy squinted and covered his eyes as he approached the brown cloud of dust, then tried to outrun whatever came next. It would take the crew behind him less than a minute to reload and launch again.

“We’re fucked!” Trees shouted beside him.

“We’re almost there,” he tried to encourage his buddy.

But deep in his heart, Zy feared his buddy was right; they were fucked.

The engines roared closer as the second explosion filled the air. Zy craned his head over his shoulder—and saw the fucking grenade coming straight for them.

“Drop!” he shouted as he rolled to the sand, trying to avoid the explosive’s arc.

Trees hit the deck. Cutter started to do the same, but Walker either didn’t hear or intended to be the hero. At least until his spotter tossed him down with a tug on his arm.

The grenade hit the sand not twenty feet from them, too close to their vehicle for comfort.

“Go, go, go!” Cutter demanded.

They all raced to their feet in an all-out dash for their Jeep. If they couldn’t reach it and hit the gas in the next sixty seconds, they were toast.

Finally, they managed to reach their open-air vehicle and dump all their contents in the back. Over his thudding heart and everyone’s furious breaths, he heard the tick, tick, ticking of a silent clock in his head, counting down the moments to impending death. It blended with the snarl of engines closing in as they tore off the camouflage covering and all hopped in, Cutter taking the briefest glimpse to ensure they’d all piled in before he stomped on the gas and the vehicle lurched forward.

Zy’s ass barely touched the seat before they began tearing through the desert, jockeying their way toward the public road, which was at least ten miles away.

“We’re not going to fucking make it,” Walker spit. “You should have let me shoot the son of a bitch with the RPG.”

“We didn’t have time.”

“The fuck we didn’t! No one made you mission commander, Bryant, and you don’t have the first fucking clue what shots I can make.”

“Stop whining and fire back at these assholes. That’s the only way we’re getting out of here alive.”

Zy whipped his stare around. In between the clouds of dust their race through the desert had kicked up, he saw something that made his blood run cold. “They’ve got a mounted fifty-cal!”

“Motherfucking son of a bitch,” Walker cursed as he jerked out his Glock. “Don’t ever stop my shot again. And if I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”

There was no way anyone was hitting the enemy vehicle with that weapon at that distance. “Are you out of your mind?”

Walker glared at him like a bug to be squashed. “You got a better idea, new guy?”

Zy didn’t, and that sucked, so he closed his mouth, drew his own weapon, and sent up a prayer.

The sun inched up the horizon, and Cutter wisely drove east, straight into the blinding light, fishtailing the back tires to kick up as much dust as possible. They had no other way to obscure their position.

If they got out of this alive, it would be a fucking miracle.

Then came the sound he goddamn dreaded—another bang, followed by another high-pitched howl. Then a flash, followed by a deafening sound as the explosive landed inches from the back right tire, where Zy sat. Then fire ripped into his shoulder and across his back seconds before something bashed in the side of his skull.

Pain exploded. Darkness tunneled his vision. As he fell back, his unsteady gaze landed on Trees, whose eyes widened with horror. He seemed to be shouting, but Zy heard nothing. His panicked friend grabbed him, moved him. All Zy knew was that he suddenly had something solid at his back, something warm trickled down the side of his face, and he’d probably fucking die a failure.

Then…nothing.

 

 

March 16

 

 

Tessa Lawrence sighed as the doorbell rang. She set down the spoon she’d been using to stir her potatoes and kissed her infant daughter, cradled in one arm, as she lowered the heat on the burner. “Hopefully that’s your diaper delivery, sweet pea. You’re running low.”

Hallie slept on, blissfully unaware that being down to a handful of Pampers was something close to an emergency—at least as far as a new single mom was concerned. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Would she have liked to have an extra set of hands to hold Hallie while she cooked? To keep the baby calm while she took a few precious moments for a shower? When her daughter woke up for the third time between midnight and four a.m.? Of course.

But Cash Bennett apparently had better things to do than be a dad to the baby girl he’d unexpectedly fathered on one of their handful of dates last May.

No time to wallow now. Grab the diapers, stir the potatoes, make it through another day. Tomorrow will be better.

At least that’s what Tessa told herself.

As she neared the front door, she peeked out the peephole. No one. The delivery driver must have dumped the box on the porch and left. And honestly that suited Tessa anyway. She’d probably scare everyone but the blind right now. She was still wearing yesterday’s leggings. Her hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. The dark circles under her eyes attested to her lack of sleep. And since Hallie was a few minutes past due for her feeding, her breasts were leaking milk, which must be obvious on her blue shirt.

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