Ravaged River (Men of Mercy #6) by Lindsay Cross Read Free Book Online

shattered.
    Fuck, he’d missed. He’d have to get out of the car if either he or Merc wanted to survive.
    He palmed the weapon in his right hand and yanked the recline handle to his bottom left. As soon as the seat fell back, he lifted his feet and shoved against the steering wheel, angling his body to the left and out the door, and rolled up to his feet.
    He crouched behind the open door and grabbed the handle as a wave of dizziness swept over him. The door rocked back once. Twice.
    Hoyt realized that while he wasn’t hearing the sound of gunfire over the roaring in his ears, he was feeling the bullets ping into the door. He crouched and sprung back behind the vehicle, using it as a shield. A few more pings. He chanced a glance over the trunk just in time to see the terrorist holster his pistol and reach into the Honda.
    Fuck.
    He emerged with something a hell of a lot larger and deadlier than a 9mm.
    The AK-15 was big, bad and capable of piercing a steel door.
    And the man was taking aim with it.
    Hoyt didn’t think. Didn’t process. He two-handed his Beretta, broke cover and hammered out three rounds, timing the slight recoil with each step. Closer. Closer. The terrorist dropped.
    Hoyt ran forward, holding his gun ready. He pulled level with the man. His wide sightless eyes stared up at the sky. One in the head, two in the chest. Done.
    Hoyt holstered his gun and squatted. The loud roaring in his head started to fade and he could hear the Hummer’s engine still running behind him. Sirens were approaching from a distance.
    He did a quick check of the man on the ground. He had three things on him. His pistol. His Koran. And his student visa.
    Something warm dripped into Hoyt’s eye, and he reached up wiping his face. When he brought his hand back down, dark red blood shone in the headlights. More ran down his face.
    His peripheral vision flashed white. He felt the rough asphalt beneath his palms and his ass as he realized he was about to black out again. Then another, much subtler sound, registered. Dripping.
    Like the sound of gas dripping out of a wrecked car.
    Dammit.
    He closed his eyes and took a slow, measured breath. His training from the Special Forces and SERE— Survival, Escape, Resistance and Evasion—had taught him how to control his body in survival situations. Even if his every instinct was screaming to slide into oblivion, he couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
    Hoyt concentrated on getting to his feet first. Start small. He took a breath, pulled one foot under him and pushed up. When he was sure he wouldn’t pass out, he got the other foot down and stood, keeping his knees slightly bent. The world tilted around him before righting itself.
    He took a step. Then another. He looked up and stopped. The Jeep was crushed into a nasty figure eight, the result of a Hummer and light-pole sandwich.
    He’d have to pull Merc out of the back seat.
    Not an easy task with a possible concussion, particularly since Merc was so much bigger than him.
    Hoyt made it to the passenger side of the car. The front half of the back door was folded in from the side of the light pole. Hoyt grabbed the handle and yanked. Nothing.
    He cursed the VA again. His weight loss was turning into a real non-asset. He yanked again, and this time there was a little creak. Hoyt inhaled deep and pulled as hard as he could. The door groaned about halfway open and stopped.
    That was as far as it was moving. He got into the back seat, reached around the side to the seat lever and pulled. Merc fell back into Hoyt’s lap, his head lolling around, slinging fresh blood on the material of his headrest. He shoved his hands underneath Merc’s arms and leaned back, dragging the six-foot-five soldier out of the Jeep one excruciating inch at a time. By the time Hoyt had them both a safe distance from the car, he was close to a black out again. The roaring in his ears was back, and it hit a crescendo. He held onto his consciousness long enough to roll