Sloan dropped Beckett beyond the ridge, shouldered his rifle, and readied himself to run back to cover Rylan—only to watch the man grind to a halt. Instead of blasting open the gate as they’d planned, Rylan dropped to the ground and rolled left. That instinctive action—born out of his years of training with the People’s Army—saved his life. The front gate flew open and a hail of bullets came with it, trying to mow down any and all resistance.
Sloan jumped up, firing and moving before he’d given his body a conscious command to do so. An Enforcer truck was speeding away from the courtyard. Sloan shot twice at the driver’s side, and when the truck swerved, he aimed for the front tires. A crack to his right took out the passenger, courtesy of Sam.
“Cover me.” He tossed the rifle at Beckett, who rolled over on his stomach and laid down suppressive fire while Sloan raced toward Rylan, gun in one hand, knife in the other.
“We need to get to the back gate!” Rylan shouted. He scrambled to his feet and started tearing through the middle of the encampment, his gun at the ready.
Sloan followed, leaving the disabled truck and whatever Enforcers were left inside it to Beck, Sam, and the others.
Reese was at the rear—alone. They needed to get to her.
Behind them and beyond them, they heard engines and gunshots. Then came the roar of a motorcycle. Nash sped by with Davis riding bitch and shooting at an unseen target ahead. That there was something to shoot at gave Sloan an injection of hope, spurring him to sprint forward.
The back gates were open and a cloud of dust billowed from the retreating wheels of a multi-truck convoy speeding away from the gate.
Fear kept Sloan moving. He shot at the tires, the back doors, at anything and everything. The magazine emptied and he slammed another one into place without breaking stride.
Gunfire rained in their direction, but Sloan still didn’t stop. Neither did Rylan, until the last truck in the convoy swerved erratically and then stopped. A stream of Enforcers flowed out of the back.
“Cover me,” Rylan shouted as he ran.
Without hesitation, Sloan blasted every black-clad target. The Enforcers returned fire, but there weren’t as many of them as Sloan had first thought and they weren’t burning with the fire of fear and vengeance like Rylan and Sloan. Within seconds, the only firepower in the air came from the outlaws. Rylan arrived at the truck first and was hauling an Enforcer upright when Sloan reached them.
“Where are they taking her?” he heard Rylan demand.
The Enforcer smiled. The blood around his lips made the movement of his mouth obscene. “West City. They should be at the extraction point in fifteen minutes.”
West City was hours away. Extraction point no doubt meant they had a chopper. Shit. Foxworth had a chopper too, but Foxworth was hours away, and the dust cloud from the Enforcer trucks was already getting smaller.
Rylan bared his teeth and plugged the Enforcer between the eyes. Then he leaned down, swiped the guns, extra ammo, and radio, and headed for the driver’s door that was hanging open. “Come on. Let’s go. They’re getting away.”
Nash idled on the motorcycle and shook his head regretfully. No way the Harley was catching up with those trucks, and even if it did, one man against an Enforcer troop with that many trucks would be suicide.
There was gunfire behind them as Sam and Beck exchanged shots with the truck that had come out the front gate. Sloan jerked his head toward the commotion, and Nash started the bike up immediately.
“Hey, wait—” Rylan bit off his words with a tiny shake of the head. “Right, we don’t need him. We’ll take the truck.”
Sloan looked past Rylan to the vehicles that were taking Reese away from them. He clung to the hope that the council would want to make an example out of her. That they’d plan some big event that would mark their power over all the land. That they’d keep her in some cell that Sloan and Rylan and whoever they had to strong-arm into helping them would break into and free her.
You promised to keep Foxworth safe.
Sweetheart, I haven’t forgotten a single promise I’ve ever made to you.
“We’re not going after her,” Sloan said flatly, crushing all those feelings of fear and helplessness under a single purpose: save Foxworth.
He and Davis would get Sam and Beck and they’d drive these two trucks back to Foxworth; they were going to need the extra vehicles in order to transport everyone in town. He eyed the flat tires. Hopefully there were spares in the bed of the truck or inside the now abandoned station.
“What the hell do you mean we’re not going after her?” Rylan demanded.
Sloan ignored him and moved to the back of the truck. He grabbed a latch and pulled the floor up to find two skinny spares. Good enough.