Page 63 of Dark Rebel's Mystery

She'd failed.

But this was not the time to fall apart. These people still needed her, and the young woman from room eight was cowering in the back like she was expecting another blow.

"Don't be afraid," Kyra said. "I'm here to free you. No one is going to harm you."

Her expression must have reinforced her words because the young woman, a girl really, let out a ragged sigh.

Behind Kyra, Soran covered the van's entrance with his rifle, scanning. "We have to hurry. The fighting is still intense."

"We need to carry some of them out. They are not in any shape to climb."

Nodding, Soran hoisted the older man, who could barely walk. Another rebel came to help and grabbed another prisoner. Kyra reached for the battered girl, cutting her bonds with a swift slash of her knife. The woman collapsed into her arms, letting out a sharp cry of pain.

"I'm sorry. You need to hold on for just a little longer."

The girl's lips parted, but no words emerged. A tear slipped down her bruised cheek.

"Come on!" Soran grunted. "Let's move."

Kyra hefted the girl, amazed by how light she felt. She let out a strangled whimper as some wound on her ribs jarred, but she clung to Kyra's shoulders.

With the others covering them, they leaped from the van and ducked behind an overturned crate. Gunfire erupted anew, possibly from the front position. A bullet ricocheted off the crate's side. Kyra shielded the girl with her own body. "Don't worry. I won't let them capture you."

Zara's voice crackled through the shortwave, "Retreat to the ridge behind the big boulder at coordinate three. Go now."

Soran fired a few covering shots while Kyra carried the wounded woman across the rocky ground in a half crouch, with the two other rebels carrying wounded prisoners behind her, along with those who were able to walk on their own.

With each step, the girl's breath rasped, and Kyra glimpsed the tortured lines of her face. She was more badly hurt than Kyra had assumed. The daily torment must have accumulated. Scalding rage soared in her chest.

Somehow, they made it to Hamid, who offered them cover. Their people poured in one by one, slipping into camouflaged vehicles and lurching away from the intensifying firefight. The soldiers followed, but the rebels had planted explosives along the way.

Cars roared to life and sped off in zigzagging directions, kicking up dust. The entire scene was a storm of chaos—smoke drifting from a flaming jeep, the wails of wounded men echoing.

Inside the pickup, Kyra cradled the girl in her lap.

Despite the crushing disappointment over failing to save Twelve, she felt a wave of triumph.

The truck jolted over a rocky outcropping. Soran, from the passenger seat, glanced over his shoulder. "We need to get to the fallback position. The rest of them are scattering. Let's pray we're not followed."

Kyra exhaled and looked down at the unconscious woman, noticing how her clenched hands relaxed in slumber.

She could only imagine how much tighter the security in the compound would be after this operation. Her only option seemed to be to once again don the maid's outfit and somehow manage to trade places with Twelve.

43

MAX

Max sank into the plush leather seat and gazed around the cabin of Kalugal's jet.

Had the guy redecorated the interior?

He'd flown on this jet before but didn't remember it being so lavish—soft, cream-colored carpeting, overhead lighting, and polished walnut accents that gleamed under the ambient glow. The seats were arranged in pairs, each capable of reclining flat to allow for proper sleep, and Max was willing to bet that the overhead compartments contained down-filled pillows and blankets.

Kalugal wasn't the kind of guy who skimped on anything. Not bad for a former Doomer. Never mind that he'd made his money off the stock market using information he'd thralled from people's heads. There were worse ways to earn a living, and Kalugal's illegal activity was not such a big deal.

Hell, if the members of Congress used insider information to make shitloads of money on the stock market withoutconsequence, then in his book, a three-quarter god with a bunch of rescued former warriors to feed was allowed to do so too.

Some seats faced each other across small tables with built-in screens, while others stood apart for those who preferred privacy.

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