Page 80 of Micah

One of the bastards is dragging Patrick across the floor by his shirt.

Another disappears from the frame.

Towards the main bar.

Towards Sloane.

“Fuck.”

I mash the accelerator harder.

The engine roars.

The tires chirp through the next intersection.

My pulse is steady.

Always steady.

That's what years in Special Operations teaches you.

Heart racing is for afterward.

During?

Everything gets quiet.

Focused.

Cold.

Every possibility runs through my head.

Four hostiles.

Maybe armed.

Civilian inside.

One objective.

Get to Sloane.

The truck fishtails into the gravel lot behind The Watering Hole.

I don't bother shutting the door after I jump out.

It's still swinging open as I sprint toward the service entrance.

The back door's locked.

Good.

She must have locked it.

Then a scream.

Her scream.