Edge of Valor (Edge of Collapse, #7)

by Kyla Stone

“Does Hannah know?” “She will.” “Which means she doesn’t know.” Truth was, he couldn’t bear to tell her. He knew what her reaction would be. He didn’t want to say goodbye. Not that she couldn’t handle it—he couldn’t. Their last moments together were perfect. He wanted her to remember him like that. He wanted his last memory of her to be that one. The way her hair looked spilling around her shoulders, the depth of her eyes in the firelight, how dark they turned when she kissed him.

“I’m the only one he won’t kill on sight.” For a long moment, she didn’t say a word. They stared at each other in the darkness, thinking the things neither of them could say out loud. “I need you here. She needs you.” He didn’t need to say who. They both knew. “Okay, Wolverine,” she said finally. “I trust you. So, okay.” He blinked, startled at the strength of the emotion surging in his chest. How badly he wanted to stay, to choose a different path. To watch this sixteen-year-old girl grow into the seasoned warrior she was destined to become. “Protect her,” Liam said. “Protect them.” Quinn lifted her chin. “I will.”

The Governor of Michigan was dead. This time tomorrow, the General would have control of Fall Creek. Liam Coleman’s corpse would be strung on a wall. His great-granddaughter would be his to mold. And the Syndicate would be in his sights. Because the General had convinced Governor Duffield to defy federal orders and keep their military resources local, Michigan was the only state in the Midwest with an army strong enough to put Poe down.

Liquid fear shot through his veins. He’d lost the Black Hawk. Duffield had never supplied him with the mortars he needed. He wasn’t ready. To obliterate the Syndicate required subterfuge and deceit, backstabbing Poe when he and his men least expected it. Poe had backstabbed him first. “Consider yourself checkmated.” “I gave you everything! This is how you repay me?” “This is how you play the game,” Poe said, a sneer in his voice. “And Byron, you’ve been played.”

He tensed as he passed each stalled vehicle along the side of the road. They crouched like slumbering beasts in the darkness. He scanned every direction, anticipating an ambush, but none came. He walked on. The tiny knit hat smoldered like a coal in his jacket pocket. Such a tiny thing represented so much. Its presence motivated him, goaded him, drove him onward.

He was a dead man walking. That was all right. He accepted it. He prayed it would be enough. That his sacrifice would be worth it. He felt eyes on him long before he saw them. Felt their rifles and carbines zeroed in on his chest, his forehead. He couldn’t see or hear them, but his time in a dozen combat zones from Syria to Afghanistan had taught him well. He knew when he was being hunted.

A figure stepped forward, silhouetted against the flashlight glare. It took a moment for Liam’s eyes to adjust. The lanky form of James Luther loomed over him. Luther bent, wrenched the M4 from Liam’s shoulder, and handed it to the soldier behind him. “This is the guy. I told you he’d be here.”

Reynoso cleared his throat. “Liam called me. According to his informant, General Sinclair plans to attack Fall Creek at dawn.” Bishop glanced at his watch. “That’s about five hours.” Gasps sounded around the room. Stricken faces stared at him, mouths agape. Quinn’s ribs constricted like a giant hand was squeezing tighter and tighter. The vaulted ceiling was too low, too close, pressing down on her. It was hard to breathe.

Quinn cleared her throat. “He went after the General.” Hannah whipped toward her. “What?” Louder, she repeated it. “He’s going to kill the General.” “No,” Hannah said, stricken. “No, no, no.” Bishop looked sick. “Don’t tell me he left by himself.” Quinn gave a tight nod. “I came out for a drink of water while he was getting ready. I couldn’t stop him. He said he didn’t want anyone else to die.”

Bishop’s face turned ashen. He shook his head, aghast. They were all thinking the same thing. Liam was a lone man entering the lion’s den. He had little chance of returning. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Principal King asked. Quinn touched the thick, itchy scab on her lip. She wasn’t ashamed of it. It was a battle scar. A sign to everyone that she’d survived that fight and would survive the next one, too. She straightened her shoulders and met Hannah’s gaze. “He asked me not to. He said you would try to stop him, that even though it was the right move, you wouldn’t want him to do it.”

At this moment, the General might be torturing the man they owed their lives to. The man Hannah loved. Quinn blinked back a surge of hot tears. Hell, they all loved Liam. Quinn did. He was freaking Wolverine. Not two weeks ago, he’d risked his hide for a stupid teenager without a second thought. She’d just lost Gran. The prospect of losing Liam was too terrible to contemplate. The cavernous room thrummed with strained silence. No one spoke.

Quinn stepped forward. “If this is Fall Creek’s last stand, let it never be said we didn’t go down without one freaking hell of a fight.”

“We can’t defend ourselves from two opposing forces,” Annette said in a stricken voice. “God help us.” The townspeople exchanged appalled glances. Hannah felt it, a low thrumming terror like a scream locked inside, fighting to get out. Her heart plummeted. Sour-sick acid churned in her belly. The certainty of death bore down on them like a hurtling train. Whatever their preparations, whatever they’d attempted to avoid this fate—how could it be enough? Would her children die today? Scared, calling for their mothers? Was Liam already dead? Was that her destiny, too? Things looked bleak. More like impossible.

Flynn looked shaken. Something changed in his expression—a glimpse of vulnerability, a break in the hardness. A flicker of shame, maybe even remorse. “You’ve been right all along. Ain’t none of us will be spared from this, even if you’re the town they hit first. We’ve seen firsthand what Poe does. It’s evil…he’s evil.” Perez stared at him in shock. Hannah wasn’t surprised. She’d never wavered in the belief that they could unite for a common cause. She’d kept the lines of communication open, and she’d had faith that returning the militia’s stolen supplies was necessary, not only because it was the right thing to do, but for this moment.

Flynn didn’t look away. “Then we’ll fight him, too.” Hannah looked around at the small group, fierce pride beating in her chest. They were afraid, yes, but not panicked. Courage in their faces. Grit and strength. Resolve in their eyes. These weren’t the soft, terrified people of four months ago. They had suffered hunger and the bitter, killing cold. They had endured the tyranny of Rosamond and the cruelty of the militia. They were not trained or hardened soldiers, but they were survivors. They had suffered and lost, but they were still here.

Brisk footsteps sounded outside the freezer. Acne-Scars moved aside as an older man strode into the industrial freezer. Authority exuded from his every movement. He wore black fatigues but no tactical gear. His hair was a shocking white, his hard face lined, but his jaw was still square, his build solid. A sharp intelligence shone in his eyes. He reminded Liam of a grizzled old bear, long in the tooth but still deadly. This must be the General, then.

The General motioned at Acne-Scars. “Redding, please personally escort Luther’s father from Fall Creek once we’re in. We’ll ensure that he receives the best medical care available. Fort Custer has a medical bay, a surgical theater, the works. It’s reserved for military only, but I can pull the necessary strings.” Luther’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Thank you, sir.” The General turned his attention upon Liam. His keen gaze raked over him, assessing him in seconds. “You thought I wouldn’t suspect a trap? All men can be bought. This one just needed a few oxygen tanks.” Liam ground his teeth so hard, his jaws ached. “Go to hell.”