Claim Me(Capture Me: Book 3)(9)

Boom! My ears ring from an explosion, and I swerve instinctively before righting the car and pressing on the gas again. Behind us, one of our SUVs careens into another, and they collide with a squeal of tires before rolling off the road.

“They shot it.” Rosa sounds dazed. “Oh my God, Lucas, the helicopter shot it.”

I shake my head, trying to get rid of the ringing in my ears, but before the noise dies down, there’s another deafening explosion.

The Hummer behind us goes up in flames, leaving two enemy SUVs and the helicopter.

Esguerra came through with one last shot.

Before I can take a breath, a blast rocks the limo. My vision goes dark and my head spins, the ringing in my ears turning into a high-pitched, dizzying whine. Only decades of training enable me to keep my hands on the wheel, and as my vision clears, I register what Rosa is screaming.

“We’re hit, Lucas! We’re hit!”

Fuck, she’s right. There’s smoke rising from the back of the car, and the rear window is shattered.

“Are Esguerra and his family—” I begin hoarsely, but then I see Esguerra pop up in the rearview mirror. He’s covered in blood but clearly alive. Pulling Nora up from the floor, he hands her an AK-47. Behind them, her parents look dazed and bloody, but conscious.

We’re almost to the hangar now, so I take my foot off the gas. I can hear Esguerra giving his wife instructions in the back. He wants her to take her parents and run for the plane as soon as we stop.

“You run with them too, Rosa, you hear me?” I say, not taking my eyes off the road. “You get out, and you run.”

“O-okay.” She sounds like she’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

We plow through the open gates of the hangar, and I slam on the brakes, bringing the limo to a screeching holt.

“Run, Rosa!” I yell, unbuckling my seatbelt, and as she scrambles out of the car, I jump out on my side, grabbing my M16.

“Now, Nora!” Esguerra yells behind me, throwing open the passenger door. “Go now!”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Rosa running after Nora and her parents, but before I can verify they got to the plane, a Sullivan SUV squeals into the building.

I open fire, and Esguerra joins in.

The SUV’s windshield shatters as it screeches to a stop in front of us and armed men pour out.

“Get back! Behind the limo!” I yell at Esguerra, covering his retreat. Then he covers me as I dive behind the limo myself.

“Ready?” I say, and he nods. Synchronizing our movements, we pop up on each side of the limo and unleash a volley of shots before ducking back.

“Four down,” Esguerra says, reloading his own M16. “I think there’s only one left.”

“Cover me,” I say and crawl around the limo. I can feel the sweat dripping into my eyes as I slither on my stomach while Esguerra fires at the SUV to distract the guy. It takes almost a minute before I see an opening and fire at the shooter.

My bullets hit him in the neck, setting off a geyser of blood.

Breathing hard, I climb to my feet. After the nonstop racket of the battle, the silence feels like I’ve gone deaf.

“Good job,” Esguerra says, coming out from behind the limo. “Now if our remaining men got the—”

“Julian!” On the other side of the hangar, Nora is waving her AK-47 above her head. She looks overjoyed. “Over here! Come, let’s go!”

A huge smile lights up Esguerra’s face as she begins running toward him—and then a blast of searing heat sends me flying.





14





Yulia



The second “debriefing” is even more grueling than the first. Obenko and the two agents want me to go over every conversation with Lucas and describe each of our encounters in detail. They want to know how he kept me tied up, at what point he gave me clothes, what kind of meals I cooked, and what his sexual preferences are. I cooperate at first, but after a while, I begin stonewalling them. I can’t bear to have my relationship with my former captor dissected by these men. I don’t want them knowing about my feelings for Lucas or my fantasies about him. Those softer moments between us and the things he promised me—those are mine alone.

What happened during my captivity was wrong and twisted, but it also meant something—to me, at least.

“Yulia,” Obenko says after I evade yet another one of his questions. “This is important. The man with whom you spent two weeks is Esguerra’s second-in-command. From what you’re telling us, it sounds like he, not Esguerra, is the driving force behind them coming after us. It’s crucial that we understand exactly what he wants and how he thinks.”

“I’ve already told you everything I know.” I try not to let my frustration bleed into my voice. “What more do you want from me?”

“How about the truth, Yulia Borisovna?” Mateyenko gives me a penetrating look. “Did Kent send you here? Are you working for him now?”

“What?” My jaw falls open. “Are you serious? I’m the one who warned you. Do you honestly think I would betray my brother’s adoptive family?”

“I don’t know, Yulia Borisovna.” Mateyenko’s expression doesn’t change. “Would you?”

I rise to my feet. “If I were working for him, why would I tell you that he got this information from me? A double agent wouldn’t warn you that she’d cracked—she’d come to you as a hero, not a failure.”

Next to Mateyenko, Sokov crosses his arms. “That would depend on how clever the double agent is, Yulia Borisovna. The best ones always have a story.”

I turn to Obenko. “Is that what you believe as well? That I betrayed you?”

“No, Yulia.” My boss doesn’t blink. “If I did, you’d already be dead. But I do think you’re hiding something. Aren’t you?”

“No.” I hold his gaze. “I’ve told you everything. I don’t know anything else that could help us.”

Obenko’s mouth tightens, but he nods. “All right, then. We’re done for the day.”



* * *



When Mateyenko and Sokov leave, I go back to my room, a tension headache throbbing in my temples. I have no doubt Obenko meant what he said: if he thought I was a double agent, he would’ve killed me.

After surviving Russian prison and Esguerra’s compound, I might die at the hands of my colleagues.

Strangely, the thought doesn’t upset me much. The hollow chill that has settled in my chest numbs everything, even fear. Now that I’m here—now that I’ve done everything I can to ensure my brother’s safety—I can’t work up more than a smidgeon of interest in my own fate. Even the memory of Lucas’s cruelty feels distant and muted, as if it happened years ago instead of days.

When I’m back in my room, I lie down and pull the blanket around me, but I can’t get warm.

Only one thing could chase away this cold.





15





Lucas



Rat-tat-tat!

The sharp crackle of gunfire cuts through the darkness, bringing me back to my senses. My brain feels like it’s swimming in a thick, viscous fog.

Groaning, I roll over onto my stomach, almost puking from the agony in my skull. Where’s Jackson? What happened? We were out on patrol and then… Fuck!

Ignoring the throbbing in my head, I begin crawling on the sand, away from the gunfire. My whole body hurts, the sand particles pelting my eyes and filling my lungs. I feel like I’m made of sand, my skin ready to dissolve and blow away in the harsh, stinging wind.

More gunfire, then a pained cry.

Fear squeezes my chest. “Jackson?”

“I’m hit.” Jackson’s voice is filled with shock. “Oh, fuck, Kent, they got me.”

“Hang on.” I crawl back toward the gunfire, dragging my useless rifle. I ran out of ammo five minutes after we were ambushed, but I don’t want to leave the weapon for the hostiles. “I called it in. They’re coming for us.”

Jackson coughs, but the sound turns into a gurgle. “Too late, Kent. It’s too fucking late. Get back.”

“Shut up.” I crawl faster, the dim light of the moon illuminating a small mound next to our overturned Humvee. Jackson’s voice is coming from that direction, so I know it must be him. “Just hang on.”

“They’re not… They’re not coming, Kent.” Jackson is wheezing now. The bullet must’ve hit his lungs. “Roberts… He wanted this. He ordered this.”

“What are you talking about?” I finally reach him, but when I touch him, all I feel is wet meat and fractured bone. I yank my hand away. “Fuck, Jackson, your leg—”

“You have to”—Jackson sucks in a gurgling breath—“go. They’ll blow this place if they come. Roberts, he… I caught him. I was going to expose him. This isn’t Taliban. Roberts knew”—he coughs wetly—“knew we’d be here. This is his doing.”

“Stop. We’re going to get through this.” I can’t think about what Jackson is saying, can’t process the implications of his words. Our commanding officer couldn’t have betrayed us like that. It’s impossible. “Just hang on, buddy.”

“Too late.” Jackson gurgle-wheezes as I reach for him again. “Roberts…” He chokes, and I feel hot liquid coating my hands as I press them over his stomach.