Ghostwalker 04 - Conspiracy Game

under cover until the helicopter gets here. It was Ken giving the order.
    Jack and Luther crashed together hard, hands slapping away weapons as they tried to take each other down. They were like two huge bears, Luther roaring, Jack silent as they fought with fists and feet.
    Get Ken out of here. Jack sounded calm, even as he delivered a round kick that drove Luther to the ground. Luther rolled away and came up onto his feet, wiping blood from his temple. He looked at it and smiled.
    Briony spun around, reaching for Ken. Screw running. She snagged his shirt and crouched beside him, pushing the loaded gun into his hands. I still have another clip. How bad, Ken?
    I’m bleeding like a stuck pig.
    We can’t have that. She found the entrance wound, up high on his thigh. It didn’t look good to her. She took a belt and stick and made a quick field tourniquet, twisting tight to cut the flow of precious blood. A few more minutes, Ken, and we’ll have help.
    Get me on my feet. I can make it. It’d be embarrassing if Jack had to carry me out of here.
    Briony felt a surge of strength—of adrenaline—as she helped him up, but his body crumpled, nearly dragging her to the ground. The gun bucked in his hand twice, the sound deafening. I t would be more embarrassing if I had to carry you. On your feet, Ken. We’ve got to go now. She used her sternest voice, feeling him slipping away from her as he wavered toward unconsciousness. Jack was counting on her—trusting her with his beloved brother—and she wouldn’t fail him. She wrapped her arm around him and heaved him to his feet.
    Ken made a Herculean effort, leaning on her, gun firing as they half ran, half limped toward the clearing where the helicopter was setting down. Briony took him as far as the tree line, and when she saw the GhostWalker team leaping from the helicopter, she sat Ken down.
    “He needs a medic right now. He’s losing blood.”
    “Get in the helicopter, Briony,” Kadan ordered.
    It was the safest place on the mountain for her and the babies, but she didn’t even consider it. Instead, she turned without hesitation and raced back to Jack.
    The battle raged—two strong men well versed in hand-to-hand combat. The fight was the most brutal thing she’d ever witnessed—the two men punching and kicking, making every effort to literally smash each other into pieces.
    She was in Jack’s mind and she felt his deadly resolve. He was detached from the fight, but his implacable purpose wasn’t. He was going to kill—there was no other thought in his head. He was going to smash his foot through Luther’s chest—and he did. Briony heard the crunch of bones as Luther went down.
    Her stomach lurched at the sound. Don’t kill him—my sister. He can lead us to my sister.
    Even wheezing and gasping for breath, Luther was lethal, drawing a long, razor-sharp knife from his boot and driving it up toward Jack’s belly. Jack jumped back, circled, and went in for the kill. Briony closed her eyes, but she heard the punch as Jack drove his fist—
    with every bit of enhanced strength behind it—through Luther’s skull, shattering it. The second punch smashed through Luther’s face, reducing the nose and eye sockets to pulpy splinters. It was a methodical, brutal, and deliberate kill, and never once did Jack’s mind shout for him to stop.
    He knelt beside the body and looked up at her. I’m not apologizing for who I am. You can either live with me or you can’t. But he was holding his breath. Terror robbed him of his ability to breathe. If she left him, his life was worthless.
    A soldier ran toward them, leaping over a fallen log. His gun was gone and his shirt torn and bloody, but she suspected he was enhanced. Jack looked exhausted as he knelt beside Luther, looking up at her with a dark, unfathomable expression. Briony didn’t hesitate, reaching past him to jerk the knife from Luther’s fist. She turned and threw it in one smooth motion, using her strength as she never had. I’m not apologizing for loving you. I can live with everything you are, Jack, and then some.

    He stared up at her face, there in the midst of blood and death, with his heart pounding and his mouth dry. I absolutely love you, Briony, and I’m on my knees. So we’re getting married—right? But say it fast before we get shot.
    Only Jack would ask—if you could call it asking—in the middle of a battlefield, with a man lying dead at his feet. You idiot. Get up and let’s get out