A rough hand grabbed Sloan’s shoulder. “I’m talking to you!”
His heart thudded against his breastbone. He wanted to tear after Reese too. He wanted to be reckless and stupid and hopeful. But he was none of those things. So he braced himself to face Rylan’s disappointment, his utter disgust. “We’re heading back to Foxworth.”
“You goddamn coward,” Rylan raged as Sloan lifted out one spare and then the other. “You gutless shit. Do you hear me? Where are your fucking balls? Did they shrivel up after you got your rocks off on her?”
Sloan dropped to one knee and slid the jack behind the truck’s rear axle.
“I didn’t realize that fucking me would mean you stopped giving a shit about her safety. If you’re not going in, then I am.”
Sloan thought of the tattoo on Rylan’s side, the one about not going gently into the night. Yeah, this wasn’t a man who did anything gently. It was one of Rylan’s best traits.
It was also one of his worst.
Rylan spun around and headed for the driver’s seat, but before he could climb in, Davis appeared and slammed the butt of his gun against the back of Rylan’s head.
The blond man dropped to the ground like a brick.
“Thanks,” Sloan mumbled.
Davis gave him a grim nod. “How’s Beck?”
“Surface wound but lots of blood.” Sloan jerked on the tough lug nut with so much force he was nearly knocked back on his ass when the metal started spinning free. He reapplied himself to the task, knowing that each extra second he took meant Reese was getting farther away from him. “How many do you think there were?”
Davis squinted in the distance. “There were eight in the truck. Six here. Three trucks got away, so thirty or more,” he calculated.
Thirty or more Enforcers with an armory of guns, radio equipment, and a chopper at the ready? It would’ve been a suicide mission. One that Rylan would’ve gladly died trying to attempt.
Ignoring the self-loathing that was threatening to swallow him whole, Sloan concentrated on the tasks at hand. Change the tire. Get in the truck. Wave to Sam, who’d gotten the other truck moving. Order Davis to attend to Beck. Wrestle Rylan into the passenger seat. Gesture for Nash to lead the way back to Foxworth on the motorcycle.
Forget that the woman he loved was in the hands of a vicious, heartless enemy.
*
Rylan came to an hour into the drive, a flurry of bared teeth and accusations. Sloan let the man rant at him for the next hundred miles. Saving Foxworth instead of Reese ate at him, and his devotion to her wishes never felt—or looked—as ugly as it did under Rylan’s inspection. But he’d made her a promise, damn it. He’d sworn to protect their town.
Every Enforcer in the colony knew who Reese was. There was no doubt in Sloan’s mind that the council would send troops to burn Foxworth to the ground. Hell, they might already be there, for all he knew. He and the others might be walking into another ambush. But it didn’t matter. If there was even the slightest chance of saving Reese’s people, Sloan was taking it.
He thought he’d be grateful when Rylan stopped raging, but the silent condemnation was almost worse. They’d been on the road all night. Nash had nearly wiped out a couple of hours ago from fatigue, so they’d had to stop to load the bike onto the bed of the truck.
Fuck. He couldn’t take this silence anymore. He just couldn’t.
Sloan cleared his throat and glanced at the passenger seat. “Foxworth needs to be evacuated.” But that reason didn’t sound any stronger now than it had when he’d offered it earlier, so he added a few details in the hopes that it would appease Rylan. “Beck is injured. Sam got winged. Davis may have broken his foot, and your ear just stopped bleeding a few miles back.” Their team was a bloody, damaged mess.
“We were fine,” Rylan said stubbornly.
Sloan stifled a sigh. Obviously there was no explanation he could provide that would convince Rylan he’d made the right decision, so he decided to stop talking and save his strength. They’d be coming to Foxworth soon—if there was a Foxworth left—and Sloan knew he wouldn’t be able to lay his head down for another ten hours, at least.
“Connor would’ve never left Hudson behind. He indebted himself to Reese, flew directly into enemy territory, and was prepared to storm the entire fucking city until he saved Hudson.” Rylan flicked the safety of his gun on and off, as if trying to wrestle down the instinct to shoot Sloan in the head, commandeer the truck, and go after Reese. “Goddamn you, Sloan. You said you’d let the town burn if it meant saving Reese.”
His stomach clenched as Rylan threw his own words back in his face. “We both know Reese would castrate me the minute she got back if every member of that town wasn’t completely intact.” He tipped his head toward Rylan. “Is Connor gonna take us in?”
“He owes Reese, doesn’t he?” was Rylan’s stiff answer.
“Yeah. He does.”