Page 43 of Raven's Hunt
Buck took a couple in the vest shoving Tierney under a massive truck chassis before diving under another wreck, popping up the other side then vaulting over the top, landing on the guy as he turned.
The bastard got off one more round, knocked the wind out of Buck as they hit the mud. Pain punched through his ribs, fraying his vision at the edges, his next, wheezing breath like liquid fire.
The guy rolled, muddy water splattering their clothes, gravel biting into his skin. He straddled Buck, got in a couple hard punches to his jaw. Black dots danced behind his eyes, his ribs crushing beneath the guy’s weight. A flash of lightning glinted off a knife as the guy ripped it from his sheath, used both hands to drive it toward Buck’s chest.
He caught the merc’s wrists, blade scratching at his vest, the tip already cutting a line through the fabric. Time slowed, Pike’s rifle still rattling in the background, the rounds eating through the truck’s side panel, pinning Tierney beneath it, every crack a reminder of all Buck had to lose. He cinched his hands tighter, bridging his hips as he twisted his shoulders, took a deep slice along his ribs in order to launch the asshole over his shoulders.
The guy rolled with the force, gaining his feet, spinning and drawing his sidearm just as Buck stepped into him. He caught the slide in his palm, shoved it back — ejected the round as he headbutted the jerk, following with two quick throat strikes.
The merc reeled backwards, weapon pointing at the ground, eyes wide as Buck drew his KA-BAR, ran it through the creep’s chest. The merc stilled, back arched, mouth gaped open before crumpling to the ground.
Buck palmed the machine beside him, sucking in some air, when more gunfire whizzed past, sending him scrambling for cover. He hopped into a cab, slid across the peeling, vinyl seat, then out the other side, landing in a spray of mud and gravel. He quickstepped toward the rear bumper, got a bead on Tierney still pinned beneath the crumbling chassis.
She didn’t have much cover left, half the frame lying in tattered ruins on the ground.
He searched the yard, ready to simply launch himself at Pike, when an idea slammed into his head. He darted out, stayed one step ahead of the brass stitching through the air behind him as he sprinted across the open space, slid behind the massive crane on the other side of the shed.
Rounds pelted the cab, shattering the glass, rocking the whole thing sideways before Pike stopped, tossed the spent machine gun on the ground, swung his carbine around to his chest.
Buck used the two second lull, to plant three more rounds in the guy’s armor, knocking him back a few feet. Pike shook it off, returned more fire, the damn gun smoking and sizzling as it barked out rounds.
A few more feet.
That’s all Buck needed to put the last part of his plan in action.
He waited, listening for the hollow click, before jumping out, hitting the guy again. Pike stumbled back, a bullet slicing across his thigh before he snarled, lighting up the crane with a full mag of brass.
Buck looked up, judging the distance between the heavy roll of cable swinging beneath the crane and Pike’s position. But between the rain and the darkness, all he got was the occasional glint when another fork of lightning brightened the sky.
Either Tierney had the same idea, or she’d logged the way Buck kept pushing Pike over because she scooted out, took a huge risk breaking cover, stepping into Pike’s line of sight.
She raised her Sig, hit him twice in the back of the helmet. “Pike.”
He tripped forward as the shots bounced off the plates, his name echoing across the yard, before turning — firing off more brass as he lunged toward her. “Clever, lass.”
Tierney tumbled back, one round hitting the upper corner of her Kevlar, knocking her into the mud a second before Buck stepped out, emptied the last of his mag at the hitch holding the spooled cable in place. Sparks cracked off the metal box, half of the rounds punching through the surface, twisting the unit counterclockwise. An eerie screech whined through the air, the remaining metal crumpling from the strain before the entire unit snapped.
Pike froze, looking up as the cable fell, the line emitting a loud twang as it whipped skyward, curling around the arm, cracking in the wind.
The unit hit the ground, crushing half Pike’s torso, knocking the gun from his hand as mud and gravel shot into the air, obscuring the scene until everything settled, the rain needling off the metal casing.
Buck checked his six, then darted over to Tierney, heart thrashing, his chest squeezed tight. She pushed to her feet, another round embedded in her vest before she waved him off as she aimed her Sig at Pike, slowly closed the distance.
Buck stayed on her six, switching to the spare in his ankle holster, sweeping the tree line, looking for any stray mercs his buddies hadn’t finished. Tierney stopped several feet away from Pike, kicking the weapon off to the side, her barrel pointed at his head, hands shaking. Rain ran off her skin in rivulets, but she simply stood there, staring.
Pike coughed, spitting up blood as he looked up at her. He focused on the gun, grinning. “Go, on, pet. Finish it.”
Tierney inched forward. “Where’s Grieves?”
Pike laughed, the sound morphing into a gurgling rasp. “Vaughan? He’s rotting in a ditch in Medellín. Cartel got him six months after you escaped. I took over the business. And I made it better.”
“You’re lying. I heard his lighter.”
“You mean the one in my pocket?” Another laugh, only it sounded harsh. Cruel. “I took it. He didn’t need it anymore.”
“Who sold out my team?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He coughed again. “Better watch your back, pet. I’m not the only one who knows you’re alive, now, and they might come looking to finish the job.”
