Flint’s Battle (Team KOA Bravo #3)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

One second since impact…

She’s dead.

That’s all that went through Flint’s mind as Emery pitched forward off her board, a hollow pop booming through the air as she hit the water, quickly disappearing beneath the massive wave.

Sniper. And she’d definitely been hit.

He didn’t wait to see if she’d resurface. Not as the gunshot echoed around him, the deep tones vibrating through his chest. Even if she’d only been grazed, the board had smacked her in the head, and he was fairly certain she hadn’t gone into the water fully conscious.

Whether it was the way she’d spun around or the instant punch of fear in his gut, he wasn’t sure. Only that he had very little time to find her before the gunshot wound wouldn’t matter because even Kian wouldn’t be able to resuscitate her.

Flint took off, hoping whoever was behind the scope wasn’t nearly as good as he feared. He stayed low, did his best to limit any kind of viable hit as he caught the next wave — used it to get to where she’d gone under before bailing. He’d already released the leash around his ankle, allowing the board to tumble with the wave. He doubted it would reach the shore in one piece with how it cartwheeled over, but he’d gladly buy her a new one if she made it out of the ocean alive.

He couldn’t think that way. Couldn’t believe he was already too late to be the man she needed him to be. Instead, he took a few deep breaths then dove beneath the surface, getting rolled over a second later as the wave broke above him, sending him plunging to the bottom. He hit the ocean floor, the sheer force of the water battering him against the sand and rocks until the wave passed, allowing him to move.

He didn’t surface, using the short break between cycles to start searching. She’d likely suffered the same fate and had gotten pinned to the bottom once the water had pushed her down. But where she’d been dragged after that was a mystery.

Twenty seconds…

The murky water stung his eyes as he swam along the bottom, the pressure from the punishing waves helping to keep him below the surface. But without a weight belt, he wouldn’t be able to fight against his own buoyancy for long. Not to mention he was already running out of air. The sheer effort of countering the current quickly eating up those few breaths he’d grabbed.

Not that he’d resurface before it was absolutely necessary. He couldn’t chance he’d get bowled over again — lose his place. And if he got washed into shore and had to swim back out…

She wouldn’t last that long.

Thirty seconds since she’d hit the water…

Had something moved up ahead? Had he caught a streak of black amidst the turquoise? He headed that way, getting yanked backwards when the next big wave rolled overhead, temporarily smacking him against the rocky bottom. Flint wasn’t sure when it had turned from mostly sand to rock and reef, but the sharp edges abraded his skin, leaving a nasty rash and some small cuts across his chest. None of which mattered when the churning water dissipated the sand and muck clouding his vision, giving him a snapshot of the bottom just fifty feet in front of him. It only lasted for a few moments, but the sight stopped him cold.

Emery — her foot snagged between two pieces of coral as her body was smashed repeatedly against the ocean floor. Whether she hadn’t actually lost consciousness or had regained it a few seconds after submersing he didn’t know, but she was definitely fighting to free her foot. Though, each moment he was stuck watching her battle only highlighted that she was nearly out of air.

The slower movements. The slight pause between each effort to yank her foot free. How she wasn’t able to counter the effects of the wave as much. Another few seconds and she’d be finished.

That got him fighting harder. Struggling to move against the current and massive pressure. Seeing her snap her head his way for a split second before her body jerked as everything went limp had him laser focused. Ignoring the burning in his lungs and the scrape of the shells across his ribs as he pushed forward, using the rocks to help pull him against the current.

Forty seconds since impact…

And he was still twenty feet away. Crawling across the bottom until that wave passed on, giving him one short window to get her free before the next one came.

He didn’t have enough oxygen left to survive another round. Not with the edges of his vision starting to darken. Tiny black dots swimming in from either side.

He reached her as his internal clock hit fifty. On a good day, he’d trained to go a full two minutes underwater. But that was in ideal conditions where he was either swimming with no increased effort or staying still. Fighting the massive current as he got pummeled from above had drastically cut down that time. And he figured he had about ten seconds left to get them to the surface.

It took several just to free her foot, using another rock to smash the reef enough to slide it out. Five more to gather her in his arms — give a shove upwards. They crested the surface with just enough time for him to grab a few breaths — clear his vision — before another wave bowled them over, taking them right back down.

Seventy seconds…

And he was once again pinned to the damn bottom. Sand and gunk swirling around him, nothing visible but Emery’s still face. Her arms and legs moving with the current. She’d been without air for twenty seconds, and if he didn’t get her to Kian soon…

Flint did his best to calm his mind — wait for the ocean to let him up. It would. He knew that. Twenty years as a SEAL had taught him to trust in his training. Another few moments and he’d be able to move. Knowing those were seconds she didn’t have to spare put that training to the test. Had him shoving all that fear into a box. But for the first time in his life, he couldn’t fully lock it away. Separate it.

Not with Emery’s life on the line.

He ignored the voice in his head reminding him she was already dead as he planted his feet on the bottom then propelling himself toward the surface. The current caught him for a moment — dragged him back out thirty feet before he muscled through. Crested the water.

And he would have gotten bowled over again — probably crushed against a nearby reef — but Carter and Bowie appeared out of nowhere. Raging waves and frothing white caps one second, his buddies paddling in beside him the next. Each grabbing an arm and keeping the next roll from taking him under and killing any chance Kian might have to revive Emery.

Carter slipped into the water motioning Flint to give Emery to him. “Get on the board, brother. We’ve got fins in the water.”

Flint glanced over his head, and fuck, Carter wasn’t joking. Sharks on their six. Heading their way and coming in fast.

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 where that 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?”

Kian scoffed. “For Emery, Blake’ll muscle through.”

He nodded toward the sky when a distant whop whop whop echoed around them. “There she is. Let’s hope our buddies got the bastard, because Emery can’t wait for us to know the area’s clear.”

“Asshole will have to shoot through me to get to her again.” Flint glanced at the chopper quickly approaching from the west, when it dawned on him he hadn’t even asked about Moana and the others. “Shit, what about everyone else?”

Had there been more casualties? He didn’t even know if Bowie and Carter had made it back, yet. Though, it only took a quick scan of the beach to realize it was empty. He spotted his two buddies already tossing their boards in the back of Bowie’s truck.

“Raider’s got everyone secured in his vehicle. He won’t let anything happen to them. But I don’t think this was a mass shooting attempt. That asshole only fired once.”

“He came gunning for Emery.”

“I’m betting he’s a professional. Whatever you two got involved in last night is definitely coming back to bite you in the ass.”

Flint scoffed. “How the hell do you know about last night?”

“I’ve got connections. Ones we can discuss later. Time to move.”

Flint gathered Emery close then shuffled to his feet. The scenery swam for a moment, the earlier lack of oxygen going straight to his head. But he managed to force it down — get his feet moving. Emery barely made a sound, drifting in and out of consciousness. But she was still alive, each raspy breath feathering across his chest.

He kept her close, shielding her as Blake landed in the parking lot, spooling the engines down so they could duck in without getting sandblasted. He climbed onboard, laying Emery across one set of seats as Kian moved in behind him, telling Blake to go.

Two seconds, flat and Blake was up and racing across the ground, banking it over then heading toward Kona — the landscape rushing past at some insane speed. Kian went to work — had plasma and a saline solution hooked up in under a minute. Was constantly checking her vitals.

Flint cleared his throat. “Well?”

Kian huffed. “Pressure’s low, and she’s still bleeding. Looks like the bullet ricocheted — came back out.”

“That’s better than being inside, right?”

“Sure, except where it left a fucking crater across her back. I can’t get the damn thing to stop bleeding. Do you know what blood type she is?”

Flint stared at the man. “Sorry, brother. That hasn’t really come up in conversation.”

“Figured as much. What about you?”

“AB neg, which would be fine if I was the one bleeding out but shit for donating.”

“It’s not like I thought my good luck was going to start now.” He tapped his mic. “Blake.”

Blake glanced back at them. Nodded.

The chopper shook then it was going even faster as Blake talked to someone on the radio. She didn’t ask Kian to elaborate just focused on the horizon.

Flint’s stomach dropped. He knew that look. Had seen it more times than he could count when a mission had gone south. Kian was worried.

And not just a bit.

Flint gave the man a tap. “How bad are we talking?”

Kian pursed his lips, glancing at his watch. “Enough I’m not willing to wait.”

He took out more supplies, setting up a tube from his arm to hers in record time. “This won’t solve the issue, but it’ll keep her from going into hemorrhagic shock before we get to the hospital.”

“Of course, you’re O neg.”

He chuckled, though it sounded forced. “It’s a blessing. Or a curse. Pick your poison. You’re good to give me a hand if I get a bit woozy, right? You’re not all show and no go?”

“I’ll carry you both in if that’s what it takes, but…” He swallowed the fear trying to bubble free. “We don’t trade lives, Kian, unless it’s mine for hers.”

“Screw that. I’m not going to give up that much. But right now, she needs it more than I do, and a bit of dizziness isn’t going to kill me. Her, on the other hand.”

“Damn. Just, tell me if there’s anything the docs need to know.”

“I’ll still be coherent. Though, while we’re at it, make sure someone checks you out, too. Your chest looks like a cheese grater.”

“The reef wasn’t very forgiving.”

“It never is.” Kian nodded, adjusting the flow a bit. “You okay otherwise? You were down a long-ass time.”

“Not as long as her.”

“Which isn’t saying much since I had to revive her. Any chance you swallowed some too but are too fucking stubborn to tell me?”

“I’m good. Really, just… focus on Emery. Keep her breathing. Finding her already…”

Kian nodded. “Not something you ever forget.”

Flint met Kian’s gaze. “Sounds like there’s a story there.”

“There is. But we can chat later.”

A burst of static sounded over Flint’s headset, followed by a click of a mic. “We’ll be arriving at Kona in three minutes. Two if I can squeeze a bit more speed out of her.” Blake glanced back at them as she talked. “Trauma team’s waiting next to the grass pad. I’ll keep the chopper ready in case they want to transport her to Honolulu.”

Flint nodded. “Are you sure you’re up for that? You look ten shades of green.”

Blake swallowed hard before turning away. “Like I’d ever let a teammate down over a bit of puking. Endeavor to do more, Flint.”

Flint stared at her. Had she just quoted part of the Coast Guard’s creed? He glanced at Kian, cursing when he swore the guy already looked slightly paler. Not quite Emery’s deathly shade of white, but not flushed like before. And all in an effort to keep Emery from dying right there in front of Flint.

Again.

Flint closed his eyes, but the images followed him — Emery floating with the current, arms waving in the water, hair flowing around her still face. He swore she’d looked at him a split second before running out of air. He didn’t know if she’d actually seen him — knew he was there and coming for her — or if she’d passed out thinking he’d let her drown. That he hadn’t been searching — hadn’t cared enough to follow her down. And he knew, he’d never get those thoughts — that snapshot of her jerking as her lungs had filled with water — out of his mind. That it would haunt him until the day he died.

All the more reason to hunt down the fucker who’d shot her and uncover who was behind the weapons smuggling ring because Kian was right. It was too much of a coincidence to think this didn’t all tie back to those two men who’d gotten away last night. And Flint wasn’t stopping until he’d burned their entire operation to the ground, consequences be damned. They’d made it personal. Taken the first strike. Now, he’d bring the fight to them.