Trapped (The Condemned Series #1) - Alison Aimes Page 0,70

ask how Caine had found her or bother protesting that he put her down. She couldn’t run, and she knew he wouldn’t leave her. They’d only lose precious time arguing. Instead, she surveyed the path to the shuttle and shouted out a warning whenever a prisoner approached. Holding her breath as Caine’s spear whizzed through the air, cutting down anyone who tried to stop them. Whatever happened next, she was just glad to have Caine close, his warm skin pressed against hers, his steady heartbeat thumping in time with hers.

Still, the pounding of his boots on the gangplank was the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

“Don’t shoot. We’re the good guys.” Winthrop waved his arms over his head, seeking to calm the guards manning the gangplank. They’d been mowing down any prisoners who got too close. “Council mission D25642.”

Hope washed over her. They were going to make it.

Then a flash of light, a grunt from Caine, and his hold loosened. She gasped, clutching at his shoulder as she started to fall, but he managed to regain his grip, hoisting her higher. “Don’t worry.” His steady voice was a whisper in her ear. “I got you, fighter girl.”

She was about to smile when Winthrop’s words made her blood run cold. “You’re hit.”

“Where?” Panicking, she ran her palms over Caine’s chest, searching for a wound. “Put me down. You shouldn’t be carrying me. I can make it. We can make it together.”

“It’s a scratch. Nothing to worry about.” But he let her slide down his body.

Blood dripped from his thigh. There wasn’t time to attend to it. Not with the shrieks of the attacking prisoners growing ever closer.

Slipping under his shoulder to offer support, she and Caine limped the last few steps up the gangplank toward the shuttle door. Winthrop right behind. The two guards covering their backs.

Suddenly, Pogue appeared in the doorway. “Not him.” He pointed his gun at Caine. “He’s one of them. A filthy Dragath25 prisoner. Throw him back.”

“No,” she protested, stepping in front of Caine. “You can’t.” She was pulled behind him in the next second.

Winthrop was yelling at the same time. “This man’s a hero. He’s with us.”

Uncertain, the guards’ weapons swung back and forth between Caine and Pogue. They had seconds to make a decision before the next wave of prisoners stormed the gangplank.

“He saved me from being torn apart,” she insisted. “He saved you, too.”

Thankfully, the rescue soldier’s weapon landed back on Pogue.

“Put down your gun,” the soldier told Pogue. “We’re all coming aboard.”

“You’re taking a criminal’s word over mine?” Enraged, Pogue pressed the trigger. “I’m the hero, not him.”

“No!” Bella screamed.

But it was too late.

Even as the soldier’s weapon fire slammed into Pogue and he toppled from the gangplank, his gun discharged, slicing through skin and muscle. The acrid scent of burnt flesh tinged the air.

Winthrop crumpled to the ground.

He’d leapt in front of Caine.

“No.” Bella dropped to her knees, her hand hovering over the gaping wound that had once been her superior’s chest, afraid her touch would only hurt him more. “Don’t—don’t move. It’s going to be alright.” She’d wanted him to get all he wanted. She’d wanted to see him save Earth and find the right girl like he’d always dreamed. She wanted him to be the leader he always could have been.

“Even…even you can't…save me this time.” Winthrop’s voice was a weak rasp, his smile sad and kind, just as when she’d sat beside him on that metal bench so long ago. “At least…I got to be a hero, after all.” His words grew fainter as his eyes sunk shut. “Find Ava…..she deserves a hero, too.”

Bella hadn’t realized she was sobbing until she tried to speak. No words came out.

Then there was no more time as another prisoner leapt on the gangplank. Two more right behind.

“We have to go.” As if choreographed, Caine scooped her up, handing her off to one of the other soldiers. He slung Winthrop over his shoulders. “We’re not leaving him behind.”

The other soldiers seemed to understand. Without another word, they shielded Caine’s back, guarding Winthrop’s body as they crossed the threshold into the shuttle.

“Survivors retrieved,” hollered one of the rescue team as they stumbled inside. “Shut the doors. STAT.”

Bella’s boots vibrated at the shuttle rose, the doors still closing. The screaming below faded over the roar of the engines. The calm, methodical whir of the ship was disorienting after so much chaos. Dazed, she slumped against the metal shuttle wall, balancing gingerly on her one good ankle.

Out