Ruthless Game (GhostWalkers, #9)(62)

Damn straight.

Coming up now, honey. Top just gave me the word.

She glanced down, although she knew she shouldn’t, to see Kane leap up, gripping the rope. She’d never seen a man climb so fast. Hand over hand, he went straight up as the backwash from the helicopter’s blade blew the rope into a whirling frenzy, not nearly as bad as with her lighter weight. His strength was beyond her comprehension, and she had to force herself to stare into the scope to protect him.

He was more than halfway to the helicopter when two of them with her began shooting rapidly. She spotted a soldier lifting his rifle, and she took the shot, seeing him go down. A volley of shots rang out, and the helicopter jerked.

She gasped and looked down. Kane was right at the entrance, reaching with one hand to pull himself inside. She never actually heard the bullet tear into him, but she saw his body rock back, away from the helicopter, and she flung herself forward and with both hands caught his wrist.

Don’t you let go of that rope! Rose put every ounce of command she had into her voice.

There was blood everywhere, all over him. He was too heavy, much too heavy, and she had no time. One of the men beside her leaned out with her and caught him under his arms.

“Fucking shoot that bastard,” came a command behind her.

“On it, Top,” two voices said simultaneously.

Kane was unconscious, but when the bullet hit, instinct had him clutching the rope, his only lifeline, with his remaining hand. They had to pry it out of his closed hand. Before the sniper could shoot a second time, at least two men behind her fired over her head.

She didn’t have time to identify the man beside her who was keeping Kane from falling to his death. “Get him in. Get him in. We don’t have any time. Set up for a transfusion. Move. Move. I need a medical kit. Open one fast, get out the iodine.”

She put every ounce of strength she had into helping the man beside her haul Kane’s dead weight into the helicopter. She dragged him inside and laid him out, scrambling to kneel beside him, her knife out. She cut away his clothes, exposing his belly. The bullet had torn into his abdomen and ricocheted through his chest.

“Get a needle into him before his veins collapse,” she snapped, not looking at the grim-faced men surrounding her. Her entire being was focused on saving Kane—and she only had minutes. Her palms burned, scorching, unbearably hot.

“Iodine. Hurry, pour it over his belly and my hands and knife.” She held them out, and even as they poured, she cut into Kane’s flesh.

Someone—again, she didn’t know or care who—crowded tight against her back and placed a blade firmly against her neck, a threat one shouldn’t ignore, but she did. If the bastard wanted to kill her, so be it, but she wasn’t going to take even precious seconds to try to make him understand. There was no way to explain how she had known the moment she laid her hands on Kane that the artery was severed and he was bleeding out fast—too fast.

Everything around her faded until she was in that deep tunnel where there were only her hands answering the needs of a critically injured human being. Already the energy was surging through her. Her fingertips tingled and burned. She plunged her hands into his body, unerringly finding the artery. She grasped it between her fingers, slipped on all the blood, and had to fish again. The artery felt like a noodle, or worse, a squid. She wasn’t squeamish unless she allowed herself to think about failing.

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice demanded.

“Don’t distract her.”

That had to be the master gunnery sergeant. She could tell by his voice. It sounded as if from a great distance, but she was aware of all them on some level.

She could hear sounds. Harsh breathing. The blades of the helicopter. The rustle as one of the men fed plasma through an IV, holding the vein open for life-saving blood, if she could just do this. If. There it was. Oh, God, she had it.

Live, Kane. Don’t leave us alone.

She felt the ends and pushed them together, closing her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath and breathing down, through her body, sending the healing heat, that scorching-hot heat through her veins and out the fingers of her hands. She had to fuse the ends together, but it was delicate work to keep the blood flowing through while she held the severed ends with heat.

The intense burn took her breath away, but she held on. For a moment everything went dark, and there were only stars and a fading sensation. Her stomach lurched. She became aware of the blood all over her clothes, of her hands inside Kane. The blood was up to her elbows. She couldn’t fix the rest of the damage done to his organs, but they had a chance of keeping him alive until the surgeon took over, if she could hold on.

“Hurry. Use me for the transfusion. Whitney always gave pairs compatible blood.” Now it was her own voice that came from far away, or maybe from a deep, deep hole. “Have your surgeon meet us. And for God’s sake, hurry. He has to be set up for the operation wherever we land. Can you do that?”

“The doc will be there.”

She turned her head tiredly, and her eyes met a pair of cold black eyes surrounded by ridiculously long lashes.

“Who has my baby?”

“I’ve got him, ma’am,” another voice said. “Name’s Ethan Myers. You must be Rose.”

She was too tired to state the obvious or even look. The knife slowly disappeared from her throat. Only then did she feel the slight sting. The threat had been all too real. She did manage to look up at him from over her shoulder, and her heart dropped. She recognized the one called Javier. Death stared back at her. There was no expression on that face.