She blinked through the dust, trying to see. What she saw froze her.
The road ahead was gone. A gaping hole tore straight across the asphalt, wide enough to swallow the van whole. Chunks of pavement still crumbled at the edges, sliding into the pit below.
“Jesus,” Cal muttered, pushing himself up from the floor.
Avery’s heart slammed against her ribs. “Mick was right there,” she said, straining to see through the swirling smoke.
Jackson grabbed her arm before she could move. “Stay down.” His voice was steady, but she heard the tension under it.
The van screeched to a stop just short of the crater, the tires spitting gravel into the void. Isla slammed it into reverse, backing them up fast.
“Hold on,” she barked. The van jolted over the uneven road, the engine whining as she fought to keep control.
Then a shout cut through the smoke. “Stop!”
Avery’s head snapped toward the sound. Through the haze, she saw Mick shouting at them. He was stumbling toward them, blood running down his face, his hands tied in front of him. Each step looked painful, awkward.
Her instincts screamed not to trust him. But if he was the kidnapper, he’d just come within feet of a grenade blast. No one fakes that kind of chaos. Well, maybe no one. It was possible that Mick trusted the Brotherhood to keep him alive.
Jackson was already watching, gun up, eyes locked on the figure struggling toward them. “Keep your eyes open,” he warned. “Could be bait.”
Avery kept watching, her heart pounding. Mick’s face was a bloody mess, swollen and raw. His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but his voice was lost in the wind and ringing aftermath of the blast.
He looked half-dead, but he still kept coming.
“Control, this is Prescott,” Isla said into her earpiece, her voice sharp but steady. “We’re backing out. Need to put distance between us and whoever’s got that launcher.”
Noah’s voice crackled back through the comm. “Do you have eyes on the shooter?”
“Negative,” Isla said, glancing through the mirrors. “No visual.”
Avery twisted around in her seat, trying to see through the shattered haze of dirt and dust. “I still see Mick,” she said. “He’s moving.”
He was off the road now, stumbling through the ditch, hands still tied, mud streaked across his face and chest. He looked desperate, like sheer willpower was the only thing keeping him upright.
“Keep going,” Jackson ordered. “If that launcher fires again, we’re done.”
The van bounced hard over a rut. Avery grabbed for balance, eyes locked on Mick. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, just kept pushing toward them through the mud.
Avery’s gut twisted. “He’s following us,” she said quietly. “Still trying to get to us.”
“Could be leading whoever fired the grenade straight to us,” Cal muttered.
The idea hit like a punch. Avery’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t tell if Mick was running for help. Or running them straight into another ambush.
Gunfire cracked through the air, sharp and fast. Avery flinched as the sound echoed off the trees. Mick hit the ground, shouting something she could barely make out through the noise.
“Stop! Don’t shoot!” he yelled, voice hoarse and raw.
Isla cursed under her breath, gripping the wheel tighter. “Orders, Control?”
Noah’s voice came through, calm but clipped. “Stop the van. Pick him up. Check him for weapons first. We might be able to use him.”
Jackson’s reaction was immediate. “We don’t know if he’s leading us into a trap.”
“I know,” Noah said, “but he could have intel. If he really escaped, he might know where the other hostages are.”
Isla slowed the van, the tires crunching over gravel as she drove closer to Mick’s position. Avery’s stomach twisted with unease. She didn’t like this any more than Jackson did, but she understood Noah’s logic.