Page 62 of Flint's Battle

She nodded. “Let’s just make it faster than last time, yeah?”

“Shit. I can only imagine…” He took a breath. “I know it hurts but can you move your legs at all?”

Not that he wanted her to move when he had no idea how badly she’d been injured. If simply wiggling her toes might cause spinal damage. But with the damn vehicle shifting every time one of them moved, they couldn’t wait for the rescue team to arrive.

Emery tried, her eyes rolling back for a few moments before she blinked. “I can move them, but I can’t squeeze out the way I’m positioned.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get you out.”

The vehicle dropped this time. Not more than a few inches, but it felt worse. As if they whole thing was falling out beneath them.

“Any time now, buddy.”

Bowie’s voice echoed from outside the SUV, dulled by the rain and thunder.

Emery looked up at Flint. “If you can’t get me out before this thing gives way… you need to go.”

“Fuck that.”

“No. I can’t be the reason…” Tears slipped down her cheeks as her breath hiccupped. “I love you. So please…”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but you’re stuck with me. We either both live, or we both die. Period.” He met her gaze. “And I love you more. So, let’s get you out of here.”

He twisted enough to scavenge through the equipment, grabbing a crowbar and an oxygen tank. He didn’t know if hecould wedge the seat up enough with Bates’ body weighing it down, but he’d try. Ride that SUV all the way to the rocks before he gave up.

Flint dragged the items through the narrow opening, placing the tank off to the right as he wedged the crowbar under the seat. “Once I get this thing high enough, I’ll slide the tank in to keep it elevated. Then, I’ll simply pull you out. Okay?”

She nodded, fading for a moment before jerking awake, again. Christ, her skin was deathly pale, just like when she’d been shot. And he swore each breath wheezed out of the chest.

Kian would fix her. Or at least, keep her alive while Blake flew them back to the hospital. All Flint needed to do was get her ass out of the damn SUV.

A breath and a quick pep talk to remind him how his entire future was riding on the next few minutes, then he had that crowbar under the seat — was pushing with all his weight. The chair squeaked, moving a bit. Not enough to get her clear but it was a start. Proof that all he needed was to try harder — push past any perceived limits. A grunt and he was pressing on the end of that bar, using his entire body to move it another inch. When it barely budged, he climbed in farther, ignoring Emery’s protests — that he’d get caught and sacrifice himself to free her — using his legs to give a boost from below.

The seat shimmied, grinding against something metallic before shifting up. Not as much as Flint had hoped but he was able to hold the bar steady by jamming his shoulder under it as he rolled the tank over. It took wiggling it back and forth to get it under the seat, but he managed. Was able to move the crowbar over to the other side.

It took several attempts to finally lift it a few inches. What he hoped would be enough to get her out. Emery twisted, clenching her jaw against the obvious pain before reaching for him. Flintwrapped his hand around her forearm, counting down from three.

She moved. Not all the way out but he got half of her before he had to stop — let her rest for a second he knew they didn’t have. The vehicle shuddered again, that telltale shrill echoing around them.

Bowie popped into view beside Emery’s head. “The ledge is giving way, Flint. It’s now or never.”

“Gotta give it one more push, sweetheart. On three.”

Emery sucked in a breath, straining against the seat as Flint yanked from above, using her bad arm to help push. The seat groaned in protest, lifting a bit more as she wiggled out, her legs finally slipping free.

Flint shuffled back, pulling her along as he backed out of the wreckage. Glass dug into his arms, but he kept going, finally slipping out the rear window. Turning to double check his footing.

“Flint!”

He snapped his gaze back just as Morgan grabbed Emery’s ankle, pulling her backwards — the sudden movement shifting the vehicle’s balance. It dipped on that side, tumbling Emery toward Morgan as Flint lost his footing, falling onto the rocks. He scrambled to his feet, diving onto the back end when the SUV slid another foot. Only his team stopping it from continuing the last fifty feet to the rocky shore.

Not that knowing they only had a few seconds before the entire outcrop collapsed stopped him from crawling inside. He’d meant what he’d said. He’d either get Emery out alive, or they’d both die on impact.

He reached for his knife, flipping it in his hand. No way he was firing his Sig inside the vehicle with Emery only a foot away. “Morgan.”

The guy jumped as Flint’s voice carried through the interior, echoing in every direction. He looked up, eyes wide as he scrambled for something on the floor. What Flint assumed was likely his weapon. But it was too little, too late. Flint simply flicked his wrist, hitting the asshole between the eyes. Jerking his head back before his body went limp, those dead eyes staring straight ahead.

Emery snagged Flint’s arm, holding tight as he retreated again, getting halfway clear when the SUV started moving. Sliding and twisting as the rocks gave way, everything falling out beneath them. He reached for something to grab, when Bowie fisted his belt, holding tight as the vehicle careened down the cliff, leaving Emery dangling in the air as it slid past her.

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