Her Rogue Alpha (X-Ops Book 5) (24 page)

She just prayed he’d be able to hold on that long against what seemed like overwhelming odds.

Up ahead, Anya quickly found an exit along the east wing corridor and urged all the girls outside. Layla caught up with them and hurried the group toward the pool area. They’d just gotten there when the concrete in front of them was chewed up with the impact of bullets. The girls screamed and scattered toward the only cover available—the raised flower beds positioned around the near side of the pool.

Layla cursed as she crouched beside Anya. Zolnerov and a handful of his soldiers were heading their way at a fast pace. The men had gotten between them and the south wall like they’d known Layla would be bringing the girls that way.

Zolnerov wasn’t trying to kill them, though. He and his men repeatedly put round after round into the concrete in front of them, driving her and the girls closer to the pool. Layla’s heart sank as she realized that he intended to recapture them. Of course he did. He needed the girls to pay off Kojot. With only two weapons, a limited supply of ammo, and nowhere to escape to, Layla had no doubt the colonel could do it. Even as she watched, some of the girls were forced into the pool as Zolnerov’s men circled around her side of the pool and closed in. It wouldn’t be long before the stone flower bed didn’t provide any cover at all. When that happened, Layla would be forced to surrender.

That didn’t mean she and Anya were going to give up. Maybe the men out there were hesitant to shoot at the girls for fear of injuring their valuable merchandise, but the reverse certainly didn’t apply. Layla took aim with her 9mm and emptied her clip into the handful of soldiers coming at them. Beside her, Anya did the same with her assault rifle. The girl might not be able to shoot very well, but she could sure as hell make the soldiers duck and back up.

Even though Layla hit at least two of Zolnerov’s men, there were too many left to simply run from. Layla loaded her last clip into her pistol and turned to Anya. The Ukrainian girl shook her head. She was almost out of ammo, too.

Layla glanced back at the girls. She couldn’t let Zolnerov get his hands on them again. She had to give them time to get away.

“Anya!” she shouted. “I’m going to distract them. Get the other girls to the wall.”

The Russian girl looked at her like she was insane. Maybe she was. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do except charge at the colonel and his men, focusing their attention on her and praying her speed would make her difficult to hit. It was probably a suicidal plan, but it was the best she could come up with.

Layla was just about to dash forward when a hail of gunfire came from behind her. She was sure it was Jayson, Danica, and Clayne coming to their rescue, but when she turned, she saw Dylan, Olek, and Mikhail running toward them while laying down a steady barrage of bullets from the three Makarovs they’d just learned to shoot.

Layla couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but she wasn’t going to waste their amazing display of courage. She stepped out into the open and popped shots off at Zolnerov and his soldiers. Anya did the same, and suddenly, the tide began to turn. She had no idea if any of Zolnerov’s men were actually hit by all the bullets flying through the air, but it sure as hell freaked them out. Within seconds, the majority of them turned and ran.

Without being told, the girls abandoned the protection of the pool and the flower beds and ran back toward the main house.

“Go after them!” Layla shouted at Dylan and the other boys, gesturing to the girls. “Get them moving toward the east side. Find Clayne and Danica if you can. Just get them out of here.”

Dylan nodded, motioning Anya and the other girls toward him before turning to lead them to safety. Dylan wasn’t the only one taking charge. Olek and Mikhail were helping girls out of the pool and urging them in the right direction.

The move must have pissed off Zolnerov because he began shooting straight at the girls, and this time, he was aiming to kill.

One dark-haired girl, who’d been late getting out of the pool because she’d been helping the others, got caught up in a hail of bullets and froze where she was. Layla turned to race toward her, but Mikhail was already sprinting across the open area. Suddenly, the Russian teen’s leg twisted as bullets tore through his right thigh. Mikhail ignored the injury and lunged at the frightened girl. They both went down as another torrent of rounds annihilated the ground where she’d been standing.

A moment later, Mikhail was sitting up and aiming his Makarov at the nearest soldier, calmly putting a bullet through the man.

By the time Layla got to the two teens, the girl was trying to get Mikhail up on his feet so they could head for cover.

Layla grabbed the big Russian kid by one shoulder and dragged him to his feet, helping him over to the nearest flower bed. She didn’t want to get trapped there again, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of choices. There was no way she was going to get Mikhail out of there, not while they were getting shot at.

The dark-haired girl slipped herself under Mikhail’s other shoulder and helped Ivy hurriedly move him toward the cover of the stonework, talking to Mikhail in Russian the whole time. Through clenched teeth, Mikhail said something back to the girl in their language, but she ignored him. Knowing Mikhail, it was likely something about wanting the girl to save herself and leave him. What a typical male.

Between the two of them, they got Mikhail to safety. Turning, Layla started shooting at Zolnerov and the two men with him again. Despite being injured and in obvious pain, Mikhail fired in their general direction, too. Another militia soldier went down just as the upper slide of her weapon locked back to the rear. Crap. She was out of ammo. She opened her mouth to tell Mikhail to conserve his, but it was too late for that. He was out, too.

Stomach clenching, Layla turned to regard Zolnerov and the last remaining soldier who now stood with him. The Russian colonel was standing fifteen feet away, a large pistol held casually in his hand as he stared back at Layla. In person, he was even more menacing. He and the soldier had moved around the pool area until they had a clear shot at her, Mikhail, and the dark-haired girl who was currently trying to keep the Russian teen from getting up. As crazy as it sounded, the fact that Zolnerov wasn’t shooting them worried her. What was he up to? Whatever it was, she didn’t think she was going to like it.

“You are not the beast I expected when your American friend told me about you,” Zolnerov said.

Layla flinched. He knew she was a shifter.

“I will very much enjoy putting you in a cage and showing you off,” he added, a sinister smile crossing his face. “Your friend said I would likely need to torture you to get the monster inside you to come out, but after what you have done tonight, you have made me very angry, so I think torturing you will be extremely easy.”

She bit back a growl, furious that Powell had betrayed her and Jayson so completely. There was nothing she could do about it now, though. She and Mikhail might be out of ammo, but she still had to figure out how to get them out of this situation. Not only because of what Zolnerov had in store for her, but also because of what he would almost certainly do to Mikhail and the dark-haired girl.

“You two are about to see some things that you won’t understand,” she said to Mikhail and the girl in a soft whisper. “When I distract them, run. It will be your only chance.”

Mikhail and the girl both shook their heads frantically, but she ignored them as she moved to the side, putting as much distance between her and the teens as she could. Every little bit would give them more time to get away.

Layla set down her empty pistol. If she was going to get out of this, she’d need to use her God-given weapons now. She’d done some hand-to-hand combat training with Landon and Ivy, but it had been mostly defensive stuff, like how to break out of a choke hold or separate from an attacker. Using her claws and fangs in a fight wasn’t something Ivy had taught her yet, probably thinking that the idea of tearing into another person wasn’t something Layla was ready for.

Ivy was right. Layla had never imagined having to do something like that to another person, but at the moment, she was out of options. She had to protect herself, give Mikhail and the girl a chance to escape, and most importantly, get back to Jayson.

Zolnerov and the soldier immediately moved toward her. Layla’s body shifted instinctively, her claws and fangs extending. The night exploded with dozens of sensations as her inner feline came out.

Layla heard Mikhail and the girl gasp. The soldier with Zolnerov, on the other hand, looked terrified. She couldn’t blame him. She must have made one hell of a sight standing there with her eyes aglow like a cat.

The soldier mumbled something in Russian, then turned and ran in the other direction.

Zolnerov lifted his weapon and shot the man in the back as casually as another person might turn off a light. The soldier fell to the ground, then lay there moaning for a few seconds before finally going still.

The colonel smiled at Layla. While he didn’t have fangs, there was still plenty of menace there. “It’s better this way, don’t you think? Just the two of us?”

He lifted his weapon again, this time aiming it directly at her.

“Your American friend said your kind can survive a lot of damage and heal quickly. I hope he did not lie to me. I would hate to permanently mar such a pretty trophy.”

If Jayson didn’t move ASAP, he was dead—either at the hands of the guy over by the fireplace or Powell. Unfortunately, he didn’t have many options. Taking a deep breath, he jumped up and vaulted over the couch, doubting either man would expect that. He was right. The hail of bullets that were meant to kill him missed completely.

He hit the marble floor on the other side of the couch in a roll, the twinge of pain in his back a welcome reminder that he wasn’t dead yet. He came up in a crouch, then drilled a long burst of 5.54mm ball rounds through the soldier standing in the western corridor. A clatter of gunfire from his right, along with an explosion of marble fragments, told him that the guy who’d been sneaking up from that side was still there and quickly correcting his aim.

Jayson rolled over the other way and emptied the entire contents of his magazine at the man, sending him backward into the glass enclosure of the fireplace. He didn’t have time to verify if the man was completely out of the fight, though. No doubt Powell was lining up for the kill shot at that very moment.

Jayson dropped his empty assault rifle and rolled to the left, toward Powell, flinching as bullets sliced through the air mere inches above him. By moving closer to Powell, he’d temporarily screwed up the man’s aim and kept the son of a bitch from getting a clean shot. But that trick wouldn’t save him for long. Powell was probably already moving to put himself in a better position to put an ass load of bullets in him.

Jayson reached behind his back and pulled his 9mm, putting three rounds over the top of the couch in the general area he’d last seen Powell. If nothing else, he had a good chance of making the asshole duck at the very least. Then, before he had time to wonder whether it was a good idea or not, he climbed to his feet and leaped back over the same sectional. He could have tried to play hide-and-seek behind the couch, but with ten feet between them, at some point, even a shitty shot like Powell would get off a lucky pop. Jayson would rather take chance out of the equation and get in close to the other man to see if he had the stomach to stand and fight toe-to-toe. Jayson was willing to bet he didn’t.

Powell was just coming up out of his defensive crouch when Jayson slammed into him, taking them both to the floor. In this kind of fight, the pistol Jayson had was better than the submachine gun Powell carried, and he was forced to drop his weapon and focus all his attention on keeping the barrel of Jayson’s gun away from his body.

They struggled there in the middle of the floor, trading punches, head butts, and elbow strikes, both of them grunting and swearing as they tried to kill each other. Even with a weapon in his hand, Jayson couldn’t gain the advantage, but fortunately, neither could Powell.

“Must be nice having your girlfriend out on a mission with you,” Powell sneered. “Getting to bang her whenever you want. So, is Layla a hot lay or what?”

Jayson knew the other man was just talking shit to distract him. That didn’t keep it from working. Cursing, Jayson tried to go for a punch to the throat. The next thing he knew, Powell caught his right arm in an arm bar and got a grip on the pistol at the same time.

“I guess that means she’s not, since you’re getting all sensitive and shit,” Powell mocked. “You ever think that maybe it’s because you’re a cripple? I bet she’d warm up a little more with a real man. What do you think about me banging your kitty?”

Jayson drove his knee into Powell’s gut, but only because he couldn’t reach his balls. It didn’t do much good. Finally, he had to give up his hold on the pistol or let Powell break his wrist. The weapon fell between them and Powell immediately lunged for it.

That was the mistake Jayson had been waiting for. He ignored the weapon and jumped on top of Powell just as the man rolled over, straddling his stomach and getting one hand locked in the man’s hair, jerking his head back. Powell struggled, flailing his fists in an effort to hit him, but Jayson was too close for him to land any real punches. Gaze locked with Powell’s, Jayson slipped his free hand down and got it under the man’s chin.

Powell’s eyes widened in fear. He brought one of his knees up sharply, trying to ram it into Jayson’s back. The position was all wrong, and Powell couldn’t get a clean shot at him. But even getting a knee slammed into his hip was enough to send immediate and intense pain flooding through him. A wave of darkness threatened to envelope him. But Jayson had become so familiar with pain and the shadow of unconsciousness that followed it like an old friend that he was able to fight it down, push it back, and hold it at bay like he had for most of the past year.

He leaned forward until his mouth was only an inch from Powell’s ear. “Fuck you,” he whispered, then yanked with one hand and shoved with the other, snapping the other man’s neck.

The wave of darkness he’d been holding off started to crest over his head then, and he realized he probably wasn’t going to be able to breathe through the pain this time. Powell had damaged something with those jabs to the back. The ache was continuing to grow, not ebb as it usually did.

A single shot sounded from just outside the french doors a few feet away from him. There had been plenty of shooting going on out there but this single shot was more resounding, more menacing than all the previous automatic weapons fire combined.

Layla
.

Jayson grunted, shoving the pain and darkness away. Grabbing the pistol he’d dropped earlier, he ran out the doors toward the pool area just as a second shot echoed in the night, followed by a third. He was halfway there when he caught sight of a scene that froze his heart in his chest and knocked the air from his lungs.

Layla was locked in a hand-to-hand struggle with Zolnerov, much like he’d been with Powell, except the Russian colonel was the one holding a weapon, and Layla was the one fighting to keep the barrel from pointing her way.

She was fast, way faster than Jayson could ever hope to be. She drove a straight punch into the man’s chest, knocking him back a step or two but at the same time giving him the space he needed to get his weapon up and pointed at her.

Shit
. Zolnerov was going to take the shot.

Jayson lifted his weapon and aimed for the man trying to kill the love of his life, but even as he started to pull the trigger, he knew Layla was too close to the target. One wrong move on her part and his bullet would go through her instead of Zolnerov.

“Get down!” he shouted, praying Layla would hear him.

But Layla didn’t take cover like he hoped. Instead, she launched herself through the air as the Russian fired multiple rounds at her. She was so close that there was absolutely no way Zolnerov could miss her, but then she twisted in the air like the big cat she shared her DNA with and, however impossible it seemed, she didn’t get hit.

Jayson’s heart was in his throat as she landed in front of Zolnerov and dropped into a crouch. She lashed out with her hand at the same time Jayson pulled the trigger of his 9mm, her claws slashing Zolnerov across the inner thigh even as the bullet pierced his chest. The Russian stared in shock, his weapon slipping from his nerveless fingers.

Jayson was sprinting toward Layla before Zolnerov hit the ground. Although his back hurt like a son of a bitch, he covered the distance between them faster than he ever thought he could.. Then Layla was in his arms, and he was kissing her even while trying to check her for injuries at the same time. He still couldn’t believe Zolnerov hadn’t hit her, but he was grateful as hell. She was just as interested in checking him out too, fussing over all the cuts and scrapes he’d gotten in the fight with Powell. As a result, the kiss ended up being something a little less than romantic, but Jayson wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

“You really think it’s the best time to be doing that?” a gruff voice said from behind them.

Jayson reluctantly broke the kiss to see Clayne standing there with an impatient look on his face. The wolf shifter’s shirt was shredded to ribbons, and his chest, abs, arms, and shoulders were scratched up all to hell. It looked like he’d wrestled with a cheese grater.

“Damn, Clayne, I hope the other guy looks worse,” he muttered.

Clayne chuckled. “Oh, hell yeah. When Kojot and I ran out of ammo, he thought he could take me down hand to hand. Last mistake that stupid fucker ever made.”

Layla just shook her head, then hurried over to check on Mikhail. The dark-haired girl with him was already tearing strips off the bottom of Mikhail’s T-shirt so she could bind his wounds. Both kids regarded Layla with eyes as round as saucers. Jayson couldn’t blame them. He’d been like that the first time he’d seen Layla shift in front of him, too. And Layla hadn’t just shifted—she’d gone completely ThunderCat in front of them. Jayson only hoped they could trust Mikhail and the girl to keep what they’d seen to themselves.

He turned back to Clayne to find him standing there grinning. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the wolf shifter had arranged events so the fight with Kojot would come down to hand-to-hand combat. He couldn’t imagine Danica had been too thrilled with that.

Jayson frowned. Where
was
Danica? He liked to think Clayne wouldn’t be standing there with a satisfied smile on his face if his fiancée was in danger, but maybe he should check anyway.

“Is Danica okay?” he asked Clayne.

The wolf shifter nodded. “She’s fine. We intercepted Dylan and the rest of the kids as we were finishing up with Kojot. She got them off the estate while I came to help you and Layla. Not that you needed it.” Clayne frowned as he looked at Mikhail. “Except for him. How the hell did he end up shot?”

Jayson was about to say he didn’t have a clue, but the wolf shifter cut him off.

“You can fill me in later.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

“What’s the rush?” Jayson asked. The shooting had all stopped, so that meant everything was over. “If any of Zolnerov’s men survived, they’re long gone.”

“I’m not worried about Zolnerov’s men.” Clayne walked over to Mikhail and bent to pick him up. The Russian teen tried to act like he didn’t need the help, but the wolf shifter ignored him and headed toward the french doors, giving Jayson, Layla, and the young Russian girl no choice but to follow. “It’s the explosives I’m more concerned with. I rigged Zolnerov’s entire munitions storage area to blow.”

“What about the chemical weapons that Kojot brought?” Layla asked. “Won’t explosives spread the chemical agent all over the place?”

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Clayne said. “Zolnerov looked like he was preparing for a really long war. Those buildings out there on the east side of the estate are all stuffed to the gills with high-explosive artillery shells, long-range rockets, hand grenades, and bulk explosives. The crates of chemical rockets Kojot was trying to sell him are sitting right in the middle of all that stuff. When those buildings go up, there won’t be anything left but a big, smoking crater. The chemicals will be incinerated in the fireball, along with most of this estate.”

“How much time do we have?” Jayson asked.

Clayne shifted Mikhail a little in his arms and looked at his watch again. “Five minutes. That’s plenty of time.”

Five minutes didn’t seem like a lot of time to Jayson. Layla and the Russian girl must have agreed because they picked up their pace as they moved through Zolnerov’s former mansion.

Clayne stopped when he saw Powell lying on the floor. “I thought you said Powell was dead already. What’s he doing here?”

Jayson really didn’t feel like talking about it now, but it was obvious Clayne wasn’t going anywhere until he heard the story, even with the clock ticking on a building full of explosives. “He survived and sold us out to Zolnerov for a chance to get another shot at killing me.”

“Huh,” Clayne said.

They found Danica and the kids waiting for them outside the demolished main gate, along with a handful of pickup trucks and Range Rovers parked out on the street with armed men standing all around. That explained where all the gunfire he’d heard earlier had come from. Some of the vehicles had been shot up pretty good and so had some of their occupants, but none of the guys looked like they were seriously wounded. Standing at the head of their group was Victor Garin.

At the sight of them, the old cop ran forward and pulled the dark-haired girl beside Layla into his arms. It wasn’t until Victor said her name that Jayson finally recognized her. She was Victor’s granddaughter, Larissa. When he pulled away, there were tears in his eyes.

“Thank you,” he said to Jayson.

Jayson gave him a nod. “We need to get out of here. Zolnerov’s ammo stores have been rigged to blow and we don’t have a lot of time to get outside the frag distance.”

Victor nodded and started shouting orders in Russian. The men he’d brought with him immediately began getting everyone loaded into the vehicles. Victor started to lead his granddaughter to the truck he was obviously leaving in, but Larissa refused to leave Mikhail’s side. Instead, she helped get the injured teen into the back of the pickup truck first, then climbed in with him.

When Victor gave him and Layla a questioning look, all Jayson could do was shrug. Larissa had obviously developed a strong bond with Mikhail. Having someone risk his life for you could do that.

He and Layla climbed in the back of the truck with the two teens. Moments later, they squealed away along with everyone else. They hadn’t gone more than half a mile when the entire estate went up in a huge fireball that sent a shock wave through the ground that shook the vehicle. Clayne hadn’t been lying when he’d said the explosion would incinerate anything and everything in the blast zone, chemical or otherwise.

Jayson leaned against the cab of the truck, easing the pressure on his aching back and pulling Layla close. She buried her face against his chest and hugged the hell out of him. He knew exactly how she felt. Rescuing those girls had almost killed both of them, but they’d done it. They still had to get Dylan, Olek, and Anya back across the border into Ukrainian-held territory, not to mention get Mikhail medical attention, but after everything else they’d been through, dealing with that didn’t seem all that difficult. It was only after they got back to the States that things would get complicated.