What You See (Sons of the Survivalist #3) - Cherise Sinclair Page 0,111

She’s bleeding inside.”

Already doing the preflight, Hawk simply showed a thumbs-up.

After a last glance at the IV he’d started, Caz slapped Bull’s shoulder. “Later, ’mano. JJ and I’ll make sure Gryff gets back safe.” He jumped out to deal with the minor injuries incurred during the retreat through the forest.

In the passenger seats, Frankie had Aric buckled in beside her. Neither she nor Aric would leave Kit. Although the kid had been cooperative enough until Hawk had set him down.

Bull eased down on the seat beside them and strapped in. A couple of the bullets had hit his vest in the back. Nothing penetrated, but Jesus, he hurt. Then again, the sarge used to tell them if you’re hurting, you know you’re alive, and it sure as hell beats being dead.

After donning headphones, Bull put a set on Frankie. It was the only way to hear anything in a noisy copter.

“Good to go back here,” he told Hawk who already had the rotors spinning.

He got a typical Hawk answer—a grunt.

Bull put protective earmuffs on Aric. Half-asleep, the boy had snuggled as close as possible to Frankie who had her arm around him.

As the helicopter lifted off, Bull saw Dante matching up the rescued with transportation. Clipboard in hand, Lillian was designating escorts, ensuring that each woman and child would be accompanied until the proper authority took charge of them.

Cars were slowly moving down the dirt road, and yes, more of them were on Dall Road, heading for Rescue’s municipal building. By now, the municipal building would be swarming with health professionals as well as the FBI and Alaska State Troopers.

Yeah, the survivors would be handled. For the moment, Bull could focus on Kit, Aric, and Frankie.

“You all right?” Bull stroked his hand over Frankie’s hair. He’d have to make sure someone checked her leg—all of her—while they were in the hospital.

“Sure.” She looked up at him. “You’re moving funny. How about you?”

“Just bruises.” He half smiled. “You did good, woman. And you were right to insist on coming with us.”

“I know. But it helps to hear it from you.” She rubbed her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “Thanks.”

He kissed the top of her head. She was pale, scratched, shot, battered, but still upright. Still watching out for her godson and her friend.

And him.

Burned into his memory was the sight of the pistol turning toward him, and how Frankie abandoned all sense of self-preservation and slammed into the PZ. He could go an entire lifetime without seeing that again or hearing the crack of the pistol as the bastard fired. Jesus.

However, seeing her risk her life for her friend. For him? It was as if the universe had slapped him upside the head, saying, “You think women don’t have the loyalty gene? Here, meet Frankie.”

Who would’ve thought he’d fall for a city girl? A New Yorker, for fuck’s sake.

But she was his city girl, and he’d do his damnedest to talk her into staying in Rescue.

If not…?

Well, maybe he’d like New York.

The anti-Christ libtards had invaded their sacred soil. Stolen their women and children. Killed some of their men.

Put their sinner hands on him.

Fury boiled inside Nabera until he felt as if his head would explode.

Around him, his men were loading up the trucks. Patriots, every one of them. Loyal to the Prophet. To him.

He’d already handed out the directions to the homes of other members, of other properties where they could hunker down and hide until this test of their faith was over.

With a roar, one vehicle started up and moved out.

To think they’d been reduced to fleeing in the middle of the night. His lieutenants had argued with him, wanting to hold the Feds off with their guns and courage.

Fools. The Feds had them outgunned, outnumbered. And the Patriot Zealots no longer had the women or children. The only reason the sieges at Waco and Ruby Ridge were noteworthy was because the bleeding-heart libs hadn’t been willing to sacrifice what they called the “innocent”.

As if a woman with her foul nature and carnal thoughts could be considered innocent.

Nabera had ordered the evacuation. With Parrish in Texas, the compound was his to command.

They’d always been prepared for this eventuality.

He watched as the building holding their weaponry was emptied. Carrying rucksacks, men and the very few women remaining climbed into the trucks.

Luka walked out of the building. “Empty, sir.”

“No one is left, sir,” Conrad called, jogging up.

Nabera nodded. “You have done well. Go, now. I’ll be in contact after