Page 82 of Striker
“Good. We should be at the field in a few,” Reaper clipped.
Atlas reached for his canteen and started to unscrew the cap.
Wraith took the bottle from Atlas’s hand and scrunched his eyebrows together. “I ain’t gonna die. You can stop fussin’.”
Atlas lifted a hand in surrender. “Well, you fucking look like you died and came back, so there’s that.”
Wraith pulled off the lid with his teeth, then took a long gulp. “If Viper is coming, where’s Molly?”
“She’s waiting behind for us.”
Wraith widened his eyes. “Are ya stupid? Feck, man. All because I got a graze?”
“That’s not a graze,” he and Reaper said in unison.
“Still. It’s too dangerous.”
“Rex is caught, remember? Hell, he can’t even call any of his men to tell them to go after her—and he doesn’t know where she is.” As he spoke, doubt piled up on his chest. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t hated leaving her. That Wraith wasn’t echoing his own fears.
He swiped his hand over his face, then dug out his satellite phone. Hearing her voice would settle his nerves—and hopefully get Wraith to stop making him feel like a douchebag.
He dialed her number. The line rang in his ear. Once. Twice. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Come on, Molly.
The call cut out on the sixth ring.
He cursed and dialed again. Tension wrapped around his neck like a goddamn noose. No, she was fine. Had to be. He’d just talked to her forty-five minutes ago.
Reaper bumped onto the open field. Cutting the engine, he looped his arm around the headrest. “Did she answer?”
Atlas exhaled. Two sets of judgmental eyes charred his skin. “No.”
Silence. He dialed again, his gaze locked on the passenger seat ahead of him.
Ring, ring, ring.
He hung up. “She’s not answering. She wouldn’t fucking not answer.” His breath came out stale and strangled. He inhaled sharply through his nose, balling his hand into a fist.
Wraith gripped his shoulder weakly. “Maybe the ringer’s off. Don’t panic.”
He pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth. Don’t panic. That was exactly what he was fucking doing. Without a word, he redialed.
Once again, the line rang in his ear. Bile rose up his esophagus. He kicked open the car door and stepped into the long, unkempt grass. Thick, humid air skimmed over his face and heated him from the inside out.
He paced, hooking his wrists on the back of his neck. A headache pushed to the surface and pulsed behind his eyes. His heart rate kicked into overdrive.
Suddenly everything became too much.
Animals screeched, and the high-pitched sounds clawed at his ears. The grass, trees, and vines were too close. The weight of his vest pulled at his shoulders and seemed to tighten around his lungs with every breath he took. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t?—
Whomp, whomp, whomp
The chopper blades carved the night air. Lights as ominous as a UFO appeared in the sky. Wind attacked the trees, sending creatures scurrying for safety. Branches bent and leaves blew as Viper landed square in the field.
Tearing his feet from the earth, Atlas returned to the car and helped Reaper get Wraith out of the back seat. His friend blinked heavily, and his face was even paler than before.
Viper hopped out and ran across the grass. He helped them get Wraith comfortable in the back of the aircraft, then everyone buckled into their seats and put on their headsets.
Viper lifted off the ground smoothly, then barreled over the treetops. Once they were in the sky, Atlas asked Viper when he’d left Molly.
