Page 92 of Emmy's Ride

She blinked, then nodded. A small, lifeless motion. It wasn’t good enough.

Before I could press her, Jax blew out a loud breath.

“They’re close,” he said, tapping furiously at his keyboard. “I’ve been monitoring their comms. We have maybe twenty minutes before this place is swarming.”

I pushed to my feet.

“Cole?” Riot asked.

I checked my phone. Nothing.

“We can’t wait,” Tank said. “We need to move.”

I exhaled. I knew Tank was right. But where the hell were we supposed to go?

Jax cursed. “I’ve got something. A potential escape route.” He turned the laptop so we could see. A crude map of the area was pulled up, and Jax pointed to a location a few miles away. “This here—it’s an old smuggler’s airstrip. If we can get there, we might be able to bribe our way on a plane.”

I didn’t like the idea of relying on unknowns, but we didn’t have a choice.

I turned to Riot. “You know anyone who can get us a plane?”

He ran a hand over his face. “I might.”

“Make the call.”

Riot nodded and stepped away, already pulling out his phone.

I turned back to the group.

“We move now,” I said. “Quiet. Fast. Anyone not with us gets left behind.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the men, and they began to gather supplies.

I stepped toward Emmy, who was still staring at nothing.

“We’re leaving,” I told her.

She didn’t move.

“Emmy,” I said, firmer this time.

She finally looked at me, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something. But then she closed her mouth and gave another empty nod.

It wasn’t good enough this time either. But it would have to be. I squeezed her shoulder, then turned to check my weapons.

We had a long night ahead.

The airstrip was little more than a cracked runway in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by rusted-out buildings and overgrown brush, but it didn’t matter. It was our way out.

The hired mercenaries stood off to the side, collecting their payment in silence. They were professionals—dangerous men,but men who did their job and moved on. I had no doubt that if we crossed paths again, it could be on opposite sides.

“Pleasure doing business,” one of them muttered, tucking a wad of cash into his vest before signaling for his men to move out.

I barely acknowledged him, my attention shifting to my crew.

Luke was only semi-conscious, his weight supported between Tank and Jax as they guided him toward the plane. He needed serious medical care, and fast.

Emmy stayed close, but she hadn’t spoken since we’d left the safehouse. She followed when directed, moved when needed, but it was like her spirit had been hollowed out.

---