Edge of Defiance (Edge of Collapse, #5)

by Kyla Stone

“Noah got them down from that ski lift from hell. He was there when her grandfather died. Noah respected her. He was the father figure she’d been searching for. She needed that in her life. She needed him. Damn him for letting her down. Damn him!”

She longed to run in after the girl and gather her up in her arms. She wanted to wring Noah’s neck for hurting her.

“We decide based on the information we have,” Liam said. “Noah Sheridan doesn’t step onto this street for any reason. No matter what.”

“Thank you for not killing him,” she said in a low voice. “I know he deserved it. You were within your rights to do what you thought was necessary.”

“I can’t make any promises. When the fighting starts—”

“He’s chosen his side. What happe...

Though it had broken her heart, she’d left him with Noah because she’d believed that he was safe with his father. That was no longer true. “What’s wrong?” She glanced up at him, fighting back the fear and anxiety clawing at her chest. “Milo.” His face hardened. “No harm will come to him, I’ll make sure of it. I’ll get him out. Just say the word.”

“He’s a child. Your job is to protect him, whether or not he understands. Eventually, he’ll get it.”

Liam gave her a tight smile. “I’ll do it tonight.”

“And he just went along with it, no questions asked. Some police chief. I miss Briggs. He was a pain in the neck, but at least he had a brain. He never would’ve let this happen.”

“He shot me,” Truitt stuttered, surprise in his voice. “Sutter did it. The scumbag didn’t even hesitate. I still can’t believe it…”

Much of his face was missing, but Liam still recognized him—Wayne Marshall. Corinne’s husband, Jonas’s father.

“Tell that sack of manure Reynoso…tell him…” Truitt wheezed, his eyes bulging, his gaze growing distant. “…he’s a damn fine…cop.” “I’ll tell him.” “Take care…of…take care…” Liam placed a hand over Truitt’s bloodied one. “I will.”

Torn, he glanced down at Truitt. No man deserved to die alone. He’d lost too many brothers in the desert hellholes of Iran and Afghanistan. It was always the good ones, always utterly senseless and infuriating.

He hadn’t known Truitt well or Wayne Marshall at all. They’d both died for the cause he was leading. That was the price freedom demanded. It was paid in blood.

He remained crouched beside Truitt, gripping his blood-slick han...

Quinn cursed. She wouldn’t get anything useful from him. She resisted the urge to shoot him in the balls just for being a colossally selfish jerk.

If the situation hadn’t been so grim, Hannah would’ve smiled. Some might be surprised at Quinn’s ferocity, but she wasn’t. When the going got tough, Quinn got tougher.

She pitied him, but her pity had its limits.

Noah put his faith in people he should have known never to trust. Milo lay in a coma because of Noah’s decisions, Noah’s inaction, Noah’s cowardice. She did not forget that. Not for one second.

“That’s what faith means. To believe in something you can’t see, to trust when the way is difficult. To believe that even on the darkest night, the sun will rise.”

She was too heartbroken to wonder if she should or shouldn’t; she acted on instinct, scooting against him and leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Now, I would lay down my life in a heartbeat. I would trade mine for his, no question, no hesitation. I would drain every drop of blood in my veins if it would bring him back.”

“Are you testing me? ‘Cause I hate tests. I usually fail them.”

Liam narrowed his eyes. “The question is why.”

“Because you know what you’re doing. And you risked your lives to save us.”

“There’s more. Not that it matters now.”

“Sutter said to check that the Sheridan boy’s pill stash was in the house, to make sure it burned with everything else.”

“I was supposed to.”

“This is hydrocortisone. I know it doesn’t matter now, but I was planning to get as much back to Chief Sheridan as I could. I wasn’t alone, so I couldn’t smuggle it all out, but I’ve got two bottles in this pouch and two more in the left pocket of my cargo pants.”

Liam struggled to keep his expression neutral. If Milo woke from his coma, those four bottles would be worth more than gold to Hannah. Which made them priceless to Liam.

“I meant it as a gesture of good faith,” Luther said. “To show you I am genuine. That you can trust me.” Luther looked from Liam to Hannah and back again. “I want your word. If I help you, in exchange, my father and I remain here. We have immunity.”

So far, Luther’s intel appeared to be solid.

The patrols were lazy and exhibited poor discipline. They kept to the street and didn’t bother checking the individual houses.

“I asked you before,” Liam said. “I just need to know where your head is.” Bishop had more than proven himself so far, yet Liam still had difficulty reconciling the religious peacemaker with the skilled warrior in front of him. “I know what needs to be done, and why,” Bishop said, his voice low. “You can trust me, Liam.”

“Thanks, brother. Good to see you’re human after all. Sometimes I wonder.”

The Gerber wasn’t a throwing knife. Tactical knives didn’t have the right balance. It was lucky he’d hit the guy at all. He didn’t tell Bishop that. Besides, he couldn’t afford to be human. Not on nights like this, against an enemy this dangerous.

“Seeking forgiveness for your sins?” “Not for me. I know I’m in the right. I don’t doubt my path. I pray for forgiveness for their sins.” Liam cocked his brows, cynical as ever. “You’re a better man than me.” “I’m not better than anyone. But for the grace of God, I would be one of them. I try to never forget that. If I can’t give them mercy in life, I pray God grants them mercy in death.”

Liam didn’t try to understand him. As long as God didn’t mind Bishop’s killer side, Liam was good.

He couldn’t stand to be inside his own skin.

His discomfort was nothing compared to the pain eating away at his soul. The suffocating shame, a black hole of loss.

After everything he’d sacrificed, everything he’d done. It was all for naught.

He should fight; he should stop the fighting. He should do something. But he couldn’t. He had been rendered immobile, consumed with a terrible, howling grief, a relentless aching numbness. An accusing voice in his head condemning him, over and over.

In the end, it was only you. It was all up to you. The one thing you had to do in your life, your one purpose. To protect your son. To keep him safe. And you didn’t do it, did you? You did not. You did not. You did not.

Bishop watched his six as Liam used a sled he’d found in the garage to lug load after load of weapons, ammo, and gear from the depot to the empty house next door.

If they could, Alpha Team Three would rally at the basement location to load up on gear and fresh ammo.

The militia didn’t have it. That was the important part.

It was up to him to get his hands dirty so others could sleep peacefully in their beds, so children could run and play and their

mothers could smile, so kids like Quinn could paint and draw, instead of taking up guns and going to war. So the people he loved could live their lives.

A hot poker burned his right cheek. Shrapnel was lodged in his face. He ignored it, forced himself to focus.