The Betrayed Series: Ultimate Omnibus Collection With EXCLUSIVE Post-Shiva Short Story (152 page)

With a pawing motion, the bull prepared to charge.

Lopez, of course, didn’t slow. Instead, he started honking, angling toward the next barricade. Townspeople leapt for safety as the corporal gunned the car through the wood. Splinters flew up, adding to the debris already lodged in Brandt’s hair.

They had nearly made the sharp turn when the bull hit their rear end. Brandt was nearly thrown clear as the car swerved to the left. Then Lopez course corrected, pushing Brandt’s body back onto the car.

That had been too fucking close.

Lopez accelerated again, putting some serious distance between them and the bulls that charged behind them.

Brandt looked up to find Rebecca smiling at him. He grinned in response. They were home free.

That’s about when the other car hit them.

* * *

Rebecca’s head hit the windshield as the other car slammed into their side. The two cars were locked as they raced down the alleyway. Metal screeched as Lopez tried to get them untangled.

“Gun!” Levont shouted as he raised his own, aiming at the other car. Lopez leaned back as Levont fired past him.

Rebecca ignored the gunfire and looked to Brandt, whose left hand was slipping off the hood. He was falling. And that wasn’t the worst of it. A huge dumpster, heaping full, blocked their side of the alley.

“Roll down your window!” Lopez yelled.

Rebecca didn’t even question the order. Not as Lopez slammed onto the brakes. She hand-cranked the window, even as everyone was tossed forward. The brakes screaming in protest. Brandt flew up the windshield, then onto the roof and down the back window. His hand lashed out, catching the rear doorjam.

The two cars separated as Rebecca reached out and grabbed Brandt’s hand. Levont leaned over the front seat, helping her haul Brandt inside the car. Lopez cornered around the dumpster, hitting the gas.

“Now let’s see how you like it,” Lopez growled as he steered toward the car ahead of them. Only, they didn’t move forward. In fact, they started
tilting
forward.

“That bull really wants a piece of me,” Brandt groaned. Then Rebecca saw what he meant. The bull had used its horns to pick up the back of the car. Their wheels spun useless in the air.

“Four-wheel drive!” Levont shouted.

Lopez ground the gears as bulls surged around them. The smell of burning rubber filled the air. Finally, the front wheels found traction, grinding into the cobblestone. Brandt used the butt of his gun to break open the back window. He fired, but the bull didn’t seem to mind in the least.

* * *

“Let it go!” Brandt yelled at the beast.

Whether it was his appeal, the multiple gunshots, or the fact that the front wheels finally got some purchase, the bull dropped the car and the rear wheels hit the ground spinning. The car popped up, racing forward amongst the other bulls. One slammed the side of its horn into their side, denting the car.

“I know this is tense and all,” Levont said, “but oh my gawd, this is awesome. Talli does
not
know what he is missing.”

Unfortunately, he did not.

“Take the next right,” Brandt urged.

“I’ve got a side of beef in the way,” Lopez informed him.

“Exactly,” Brandt answered.

Lopez’s hand went to the emergency brake, preparing for a hairpin turn. Slamming on the brakes, they turned to the right. The closest bull continued ahead, getting knocked in the hindquarters by a car nearly its own weight. The bull spun out, falling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

The car streaked to the right, ducking into a side alley. The rest of the bulls tried to follow, but the cobblestone was too slick and they ended up in a nice big steak pile.

“Get us—”

Brandt didn’t finish his sentence, as the Disciples’ car had tagged them in the rear, sending them spinning.

Gunfire filled the air.

This was
not
how his honeymoon was supposed to go.

* * *

Davidson shot. He didn’t have time to actually set it up, but by God, he shot. The bullet went wide, disappearing into the alley. Correcting, Davidson shot again, this time shattering the back window of the Disciples’ SUV.

That gave the driver pause. Enough to allow Lopez to control the spin of their car and head down the alley, in the
opposite
direction. That didn’t mean Davidson had lain off. If anything, it gave him more motivation to keep the Disciples right where they were.

With each shot, Davidson increased his precision. Taking out the rearview mirror. Hitting the steering wheel.

It was only a bonus when the bulls caught up with the Disciples’ SUV. They seemed pretty dang determined to vent their frustration on something. Davidson was glad that it was the Disciples.

Figuring the bulls could pin down the SUV as well as he could, Davidson slung his rifle and took off over the rooftop. Leaping, he made the jump and landed on the next tile roof.

Time to head to the rally point.

* * *

Rebecca cried, laughed, and sighed, all at the same time. They had done it. And she supposed that Lopez had footage of their narrow escape. They were halfway across town and not a single bull. That had to be some kind of record.

Brandt looked in front of them, behind them, to each side. Finally satisfied they were safe, he reached over and hugged her.

Then Levont screamed, a chunk of his shoulder flying off and out of the car. Brandt pulled her down as Levont’s hand clutched at the wound, blood pouring between his fingers.

No one asked what had happened. Everyone knew. The Disciples’ sniper.

Lopez made a hard left turn, getting them out of the sniper’s line of sight as he reached over and put pressure on Levont’s wound.

“Dude, it’s a flesh wound, buck up.”

Levont gave a weak smile as he dug his finger into his skin, trying to staunch the flow. Rebecca, a little too familiar with gunshot care, ripped a sleeve off and, keeping her head low, packed the wound.

Then a bullet caught her forearm, taking a piece of seat upholstery on the ricochet. Lopez took the next right.

“How’s he hitting us?” she asked, clutching the wound.

Brandt searched the skies above them. “The steeple.”

The spire of the San Francisco Cloister stood high above the small town. The sniper had direct aim of wherever he wanted.

“In there!” Brandt yelled, pointing to a vacant shop. Lopez didn’t hesitate as he crashed them through the glass window of the store.

He braked hard, stopping them short of the back wall.

Everyone listened as the motor rumbled, waiting on their next orders.

Levont gulped, finally getting the bleeding under control. “Now what?”

“Now?” Brandt responded, helping Rebecca tighten the packing. “We wait for Davidson to do his job.”

* * *

How the hell did the sniper get positioned so quickly? Did it matter, though? He had, and now Davidson had to get him out of the steeple.

With Brandt and the others safely stowed, at least until the town police found them, Davidson took in a deep breath and let the tension course out of his muscles. His hands were tired. His fingers were nearly numb. And he was up against one of the best snipers he’d ever seen. Worsening his slim odds, he was on the wrong side of the cloister to take a kill shot.

Again, none of that mattered. Only the shot mattered. He may have just one. At maximum, two shots. There was no time to find adequate cover. Once Davidson shot, he would be a target. He had to make it good.

Not just good, but perfect.

Davidson blocked out the shouts from the streets. He ignored the revelers fleeing the town center. He ignored everything but the light breeze playing in his hair and that steeple.

Of course, he couldn’t see the sniper. The man was too well hidden beneath the retaining wall. And Davidson noted that the sniper had secured his rifle’s muzzle so there wouldn’t be any shooting the barrel out of the way.

Once again, he was going to have to get inventive. Davidson let the world slip away as he aimed. His heartbeat became his guide. His breath a rhythm to mark time. Then he let loose the shot.

It hit the rope of the bell precisely midway. The cord frayed but did not give. Davidson ejected the shell casing, jerking the bolt to load the chamber, as the Disciples’ sniper turned the muzzle of his rifle toward Davidson. Too bad the sniper had secured it so tightly to the ledge.

Davidson fired again, hitting the rope in exactly the same spot, snapping it in half. The huge bell fell from its assembly, clanging loudly. So loudly Davidson cringed. Imagine how the sniper felt.

Disoriented, the man nearly fell off the ledge. Davidson fired, but the shot went wide as the wind kicked up. Before he could recover, the sniper jerked his rifle from its mooring, sliding down the roof and out of sight.

It wasn’t a kill, but it did get the sniper out of play. Davidson swung his scope around to see Lopez peel the car out from the shop and toward their third rally point.

Time to get out of Cuellar.

CHAPTER 25

══════════════════

Cuellar, Spain

8:29 p.m. (CEST)

Frellan sat on the balcony of their hotel room as he watched the townsmen repair the damage along the bulls’ path. His team waited until sundown so they might slip into the dark and meld together with the forest. Their heads held in shame. There was no need to rush their exit. The girl was gone, with no way to track her.

Centuries of contacts now useless. Yet somewhere in his heart, Frellan still held hope. Their enemies could not keep the Messiah’s location a secret for long. God’s will would force her from hiding. It was Her time. It was
his
time to find her. He felt it in each scar. Each tattoo. Each branding. Even in defeat, he cut a symbol into his flesh. That of a bull to remind him always of his mission in God’s name and grace.

It was hard to concentrate on the sweep of the bull’s back, however, as Benedicto chatted casually with Monnie. The two acted as if the Messiah had not been snatched from their grasp, headed into the unknown.

Instead, the two spoke of ancient religion. Monnie shared such secrets with the priest. Words that had only been spoken within the walls of the sanctuary for millennia. He might have protested if Benedicto’s execution was not hours, if not minutes, off.

Mikhal stood in the shadows of the hotel room. He looked his same stoic self, except for a rather large bruise across his forehead. For all of Frellan’s failings, Mikhal’s were twice that. Yet the Master still seemed to favor him. He had let the Ten Commandments slip through his fingers and now the Messiah. How long could the man hope to stay within the Master’s good graces?

A rattling brought Frellan back to the table where the priest’s cellphone bounced on vibrate. Benedicto picked it up and read the text, then laid it back down.

“Now, where were we? Rehoboam?” he asked Monnie.

“The text?” Frellan prompted, tiring of having to bend to this small man’s whims.

Benedicto shrugged. “My contacts believe they will head to Morocco.”

Frellan squinted against the late-afternoon sun. “Why not to Rota? It is the closest military installation with American jurisdiction.” Morocco was many hours farther.

“Non-extradiction,” the priest explained. “We don’t believe they will head back to the States. Brandt—God bless his Catholic soul—wishes to protect the girl.”

Protect her? To stay within the cobra’s reach? The sergeant was either full of hubris or truly deluded if he thought he could stay ahead of the Disciples in their own backyard.

After his phone danced a bit more, Benedicto reported, “We will have a helicopter at Bilbao. Once we have firm word of Brandt’s destination, we will give pursuit.”

The priest then smiled at Monnie. “Seriously. I must know more of Bathsheba’s son.”

Frellan went back to his carving, letting the blood flow freely.

He wished God to know his unwavering faith.

* * *

Rebecca let the soft clattering of the rail train lull her into relaxation. Out the window, Lourdes streaked by. Vakasa was curled up next to her, playing quietly with a string of bull’s tail. Wonder where she got that.

“Just a few more hours,” Brandt said, hugging her.

To what, though?
Rebecca almost asked but stopped short. It was bad enough Brandt was running from his own government. That they were taking refuge in a non-extradition country until they could figure out how to protect Vakasa long-term.

For now, she enjoyed their almost leisurely trip as they crossed from Spain into France. Davidson and Levont also took the opportunity to stretch their legs across the seats, getting some well-deserved rest. The only one not relishing his downtime was Lopez. He was still sulking. Over Talli’s defection or the fact Brandt wouldn’t let him steal a plane, Rebecca wasn’t sure.

Talli’s defection. Actually, it wasn’t a defection at all. They’d never known Talli or Imel or whatever his name was. She could remember him stepping next to Vanderwalt—with Vakasa at his side, a wide smile on her face.

Vakasa.

Rebecca started awake, disoriented and near panic. She reached for the girl in her arms, but it was just a backpack. She’d been clutching a backpack. Trying to get her bearings, Rebecca glanced around the private compartment. They were on a train, but the men weren’t relaxing. Instead, they were assessing, checking, and loading their weapons.

“You okay, babe?” Brandt asked as he stuffed another gun into his bag.

“Yeah,” she answered automatically, even though she was pretty sure he knew it was a lie. Instead, she felt like her right arm had been ripped off. She’d only known Vakasa for a few hours, yet Rebecca could swear she’d given birth to the girl. It ached to not have her by her side.

“We’ll get her,” Brandt reassured, slapping a clip into his sidearm.

Rebecca gave a wane smile as the train slowed. She looked out the window. Instead of Lourdes, they were pulling into Barcelona. A major metropolitan city. A city that would have the goods they needed to mount a mission to follow Vanderwalt and Vakasa.