Page 114 of Zorro

Javi, crouched behind the Icee vendor cart, body shielding the two little girls pressed tight within the circle of his arms. Dani was across the corridor with their parents and Bailee, crouched behind the low furniture of the sitting area, already returning fire. The space was too open. Too exposed.

As the Black Dawn fighters bore down on them, a roar filled the hallway.

Bear’s voice tore across the floor like thunder, “Flint, attack!”

A blur of black muscle and teeth launched forward, growling low and savage. Flint went for the nearest threat, jaws locking onto the nearest guy’s forearm, dragging the man down like a hammer from the sky.

Bear followed, guns blazing, his rifle barking rapid fire in clean bursts. Two men dropped before they even understood where death came from. The rest ran for cover.

Zorro shouted, hoarse and desperate, “Javi! Move!”

But Javi was already wavering, blood seeping from his side. Fuck, his brother was hit.

Before he could do or say anything, Bear saw it. Saw the girls. Saw his brother shielding them with his very life.

He never hesitated, moving fast, a fluid surge of muscle and will, covering the distance between them like it meant nothing. He dove. One hand grabbed the first girl. The other caught the second mid-slide. His rear plate caught the round meant for her.

Javi dropped hard. Blood splashed across the tile.

Bear shouted, spinning mid-drop to shield the girls with his body, rolling once, still clutching them tight. Another shot cracked through the air.

Flint yelped. Went down. Bear’s agonized growl filled Zorro’s ears even as he crawled over both girls, arms around them, blood seeping from his ribs. But he didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just shielded them.

Zorro screamed. The world narrowed. He surged forward, but before he could make it more than two steps, a bullet ripped into his left side, just beneath the vest. He gasped, sharp, guttural, staggering back against the wall as the pain bloomed like fire through his chest. He dropped to one knee. His vision doubled. Everything inside him screamed to get up.

To move. To fight. To finish this. But the hallway wavered, and all he could see was Everly, her mouth open in a scream, agony on her face. Blood on the floor. Bear motionless. Flint down. The girls shaking, sobbing beneath him.

He lost his footing, his legs slipping out from under him, his heart filling with agony.

She bent down and pulled Bear’s tactical knife from the sheath on his vest, his eyes like steel, his expression encouraging. Gunfire cracked the air, sharp, vicious, like bones splintering against steel. She ran.

There was nothing but purpose in her movement, no thought but to get to him, a seismic pull to stop this brutal human being from ending Zorro’s life. Her feet slammed into the ground in rhythm with her pulse, her body moving faster than thought, faster than fear.

That unbearable truth detonated in her chest, obliterating everything else. The world funneled into one narrow, harrowing certainty. If she didn’t move, if she didn’t act, if she let terror freeze her in place, Mateo Martinez would die, and she would die with him. She couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t.

All that was left was the impossible rage and aching refusal to live in a world without him.

The knife was slick in her hand, her grip too tight, her knuckles white with fury. She saw the man raise his weapon, saw the line of his body tighten for the shot. She pushed harder. Her body screamed. Her mind shattered. But her heart…

Her heart roared as his teammates glided into the hallway, but they couldn’t help him. Only her.

With a scream that tore from somewhere primal, she closed the distance, dropped low, and with all the precision her trauma training had ever taught her, she slashed, surgical, cruel, efficient, straight through the back of the attacker’s knee.

Tendon and flesh gave way in a single wet, sickening snap.

He went down screaming, his trigger finger jerking too late. The shot fired harmlessly into the ceiling as he crumpled forward in agony.

But she didn’t stop.

Didn’t hesitate.

She pivoted with brutal momentum, dropped down to her knees, both hands wrapped around the hilt now, and drove the blade down. Fast. Hard. Right into the base of his skull. The knife sank to the hilt in a spray of red.

He jerked once. Dead weight crumpled to the floor.

Everly stumbled back a step, chest heaving, hand still clenched around the handle as if she didn’t trust herself to let go. Her breath hitched, caught between a sob and a scream, the copper scent of blood choking the air around her. Her hands shook, her body trembled, her lungs gasped like they couldn’t catch up.

The savagery didn’t vanish. It clung to her like fire, coating her skin, burning beneath her fingernails, radiating through her marrow.

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