Page 29 of Flint's Battle

Flint scrambled onto the board, taking Emery from Carter and positioning her so she wouldn’t slip off or capsize them once Flint started moving. He would have preferred to have started CPR right there, but she was the reason the others were at risk.

Blood. Everywhere. Seeping out of her wetsuit by the back of her shoulder. Dripping from the laceration on her forehead. He hadn’t noticed it while they’d been underwater, but she was losing more than she could survive.

Bowie gave him a shove. “Go. Quinn, Lane and Waylen went after our sniper. With any luck, the immediate area should be clear. And we’ll guard your six.”

Shit. If either of them got hurt because Flint hadn’t trusted his instincts — gone in search of that scratching feeling between his shoulder blades that had plagued him since he’d left Emery’s cottage — he’d never forgive himself.

Not that staying and helping was an option. It had been nearly two minutes since she’d been shot — a full one since she’d run out of air — and he wasn’t sure how many more she had left before any efforts were wasted.

Flint struck off, paddling harder than ever. Using the next wave to ride them into shore in record time. A lone shark must have darted past Carter and Bowie, swimming up next to Flint’s board and bumping it before turning away — likely lining up for the killing strike.

No fucking way he’d let that happen.

Flint stayed vigilant, punching the damn thing in the nose when it came back for that second pass, nearly tipping them both off the board. But he managed to pull them back — ride the last of the wave until he was halfway on shore.

He rose with Emery already cradled in his arms, her body cold and limp against him. He kept his right side facing wherethat asshole had liking been nesting, hoping his sheer size would prevent any hit from reaching her as he stumbled out of the water, running across the sand until he reached Kian.

His buddy had set up a mini triage station behind some surfboards. Not that they’d stop a round, but at least anyone behind a scope would have to guess where they were positioned. Kian checked her vitals as soon as Flint placed her on a towel, already tilting her head for the rescue breaths Flint knew were coming. “How long has she been down?”

“Almost two minutes.”

“Shit.”

That’s all Kian said before he was pumping on her chest, pausing every once and a while to give her a couple breaths. Flint shuffled over, ready to lend a hand when she coughed, puking out water and sand as Kian rolled her on her side, staying close in case she faded again — needed more compressions.

Emery heaved several times before pushing onto her left hand, struggling against Kian’s hold. She sucked in a series of raspy breaths, shaking her head as she blinked until her vision must have cleared.

Not that obviously seeing her surroundings calmed her down. In fact, it had her scanning the area, falling against Kian when she seemed determined to get to her feet. “Shooter. Get…”

Flint moved in beside her, getting level with her head. “We’re as secure as we’re going to get right now. You need to stop fighting so Kian can tend to your shoulder.”

“My shou…” Her eyes widened as her chest heaved, her eyes rolling back slightly.

Kian huffed, cutting away part of her wetsuit. “And that’s the pain punching through all your adrenaline. Trust me, it’s not getting any better.”

“Doesn’t… not safe.” She coughed, half collapsing before pushing back up. “Gotta?—”

“Let us help you before you bleed out.” Flint held her gaze. “This isn’t a request, Emery. You’re barely holding on, and I’ll be damned if I lose you now.”

She met his gaze, eyes glassy, every labored breath wheezing through her chest. She glanced at the water, then back to him, closing her eyes as her chin quivered.

He brushed back her wet hair, leaving a line of sand along her cheek. “Easy, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. Just keep breathing.”

Was she whiter than before? Her skin less taut?

Kian grabbed some supplies, pressing some kind of gauze on her back. She inhaled, glancing back at him as she swayed.

He sighed. “I know. It fucking hurts, but you’re bleeding like a damn faucet, honey, and I need to slow it down before you run out.”

Flint tugged her in close, again, keeping her braced against his chest as Kian ripped open a packet — sprinkled the powder on her skin.

Emery groaned, squeezing Flint’s back as her breath hitched — every muscle in her body clenched tight — nearly giving him a heart attack until she hiccupped and started panting. It sounded wheezy and rough, but at least she was breathing.

Having her go limp in his arms a few seconds later brought all that worry to the surface, again, because he knew it wasn’t from the water, this time.

Kian placed a thick medical sponge on her back, wrapping it up with bandages and gauze. “I called Blake the moment we realized Emery had been hit. She should be here in the chopper in a few minutes. I’ll get an IV and other fluids going once we’re onboard. Do a direct transfer if she doesn’t respond.”

Flint frowned. “I thought Blake was puking too much from the pregnancy to fly?”

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