Their Bounty (Four Mercenaries 1)

“It’s okay,” Tank said, leading Clover through darkness dispersed by the moonlight enriched by the red tint of the blinking alarm lamps. They moved with purpose, but Drake sped toward a small shed hidden among a thatch of conifers.

Tank opened its door, and when the moonlight darted inside, Clover spotted all kinds of gardening equipment. He didn’t question his men when they ushered him inside and shut the door. It was dark inside until Tank switched on a tiny orange light attached to his vest.

“We need to find her, Clover. She’s not running away from what she did. I need you to stay put and not make a sound, okay?” he said from behind the balaclava, but even though his features remained hidden, the intensity of his gaze pierced Clover like an arrow.

“B-but…” Clover didn’t know when he’d become such a big baby, but this was too much. The smell of wood and grass filled his lungs in the uninhabited structure, and he rubbed his face, unsure how to proceed.

Tank shushed him, but the first thing Clover saw when he opened his eyes was a gun, which Drake was handing him, grip-first. The drumming of a shootout echoed in the distance, compelling Clover to accept the weapon. Drake touched the side of his head, his mouth tightening as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he pushed the door with his shoulder and carefully looked out through the gap.

“Was that you? We have Clover,” he said, surely communicating with the other guys over the headset.

Clover stood still, overwhelmed by the rescue he’d no longer hoped for, but Tank shook his arm and made Clover’s hands close on the firearm.

"You've got to trust me, boy. I will always come for you,” he said, stroking Clover’s shoulder. “Whatever you do, don’t draw attention to yourself. Only use this if you have no other way to save yourself.”

Clover’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment he didn’t know what to say, plagued by the sense that he’d betrayed his lovers. Only minutes ago, he’d been resigned to his fate. Convinced no one was coming for him. But he should have had faith, and it ate at him that he’d given up so fast.

He squeezed the weapon as fear of a different kind paralyzed his body. “What if you can’t come back? What if you get stuck somewhere? I don’t want you to take any more risk than you have to.”

Tank leaned down and stared into Clover’s eyes with an intensity that communicated more than words could. “There is no risk that would stop me. Understood? Trust me. You’re safer here.”

Clover swallowed, too choked up to answer. Drake watched them from the doorway, lifting his rifle when the shooting ceased in the distance. “Stay hidden. You need to trust us on this.”

Trust. That was something Clover still needed to learn, but he wanted to. Even though his mind remained on the lookout for betrayal, for the first time in his life he was among people he could rely on in the truest sense of the word. And if they were willing to risk their lives for him, then he could offer them at least as much in return.

“I will wait. And I’ll only shoot when I need to protect myself,” he whispered to Tank, because Drake was quietly speaking into the communication device.

Tank watched Clover in silence, and the raw nature of the connection had ants crawling up Clover’s body until Drake raised his voice somewhat.

“Four. Three. Two. One.”

Clover only realized what it was about when an explosion shook the ground under their feet and made the equipment rattle as if it was about to fall off the walls that were at risk of crumbling.

Tank hummed, and Clover could practically see him smile under the mask. “That would be Pyro. Stay here,” he said and switched off the light, drowning the shed in darkness.

Clover wanted to say something, grab Tank’s hand, but that would just prolong the agony of parting. Once they got out of there, he would double—no, triple the effort he put into training so that his men wouldn’t have to constantly watch his back. He would show Tank he was trustworthy and capable, too.

For now, he hugged the gun and kneeled to peek out through a tiny gap between the planks that made up the wall. The barking continued, getting more ferocious as more gunshots erupted in the distance.

Clover’s attention focused on the nearby wall. It was high, but there were no roofs looming behind it, which meant that the small door hidden behind a bush might lead out of the property. A way to freedom.

His flesh burned with the itch to check if it wasn’t open. Maybe he could have even shot the lock and left the danger zone, but the promise he’d made compelled him to wait. He tried to even out his breathing, playing a game where he tried to guess all the smells prevalent in the shed.