Rush: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) by Robin Covington Page A

see Katrina anywhere but Brant waved him over to a window on the opposite side of the door and he eased his way to him. Brant pointed and Rush looked inside, his breathing stuttering at the sight of Katrina lying on the couch in a ball, asleep.
    Thank God. She looked unhurt.
    Another man stood on the other side of the room, scanning the front and back areas, his weapons at the ready. He would be the one to take out first.
    “We both go in. You take out the guy to the left and then the one on the right and I go for Katrina, yeah?” he asked Brant.
    “Roger that.” Brant tapped his earbud and spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper. “We have visual on the girl. Four in the house that we can see. Are you in position?”
    Affirmative responses were received from the two other teams. Rush moved into position at the door, ready to kick it in when Brant gave the signal.
    “We’re going in on the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
    Rush kicked at the door, the spot right above the keyhole, with the heel of his boot and the wood splintered, the door flying open. He moved forward, weapon aimed for the man standing to the right. He pulled the trigger and watched him flail and fall to the ground.
    “Cover me,” he yelled as he sprinted for the now-awake Katrina, who was screaming and had fallen to the floor and skidded behind the couch and out of his sight. “Katrina, stay down!”
    She stood anyway, fear igniting her “flight” urge, and he saw her emerge from behind the sofa just as a fifth man descended the stairs with his weapon drawn and aimed. Rush ran across the space, vaulting his body over the sofa as he watched the confused man focus on Katrina and then himself and then back at Katrina as he lifted his weapon to shoot. He probably had orders not to hurt her but he was reacting to the situation and she was in his sights.
    Rush got to her, shoving her down to the floor under his body just as the first shot ripped through his shoulder, followed by another a little lower. The pain sliced through him but he took his aim with his gun. Before he could get off a shot, Brant took the man down in a hail of bullets.
    He huddled over Katrina’s shaking body and scanned the area, looking for additional men to come out of the woodwork. In the back of the house he could hear shouts as the rest of the team secured the building. Brant came into view, concern written all over his face as he dropped down beside him.
    “Christ, Rush, you’ve been shot,” he said as he pulled back Rush’s shirt and gear to see the wounds. “Fuck, twice.”
    “It always hurts like a motherfucker.”
    “Rush?” Katrina’s small, scared voice ripped him out of his haze of pain as she squirmed out from under his weight to wrap her arms around him and bury her face against his neck. “Rush, you came to get me.”
    “Fuck, Kit-Kat, you knew I would,” he ground out between his clenched teeth, wholly unconcerned that he was cussing in front of her. “Did they hurt you?”
    “No,” she said, the tears starting in earnest now and soaking his skin and mingling with his own sweat. She hugged him harder and he saw stars as she pressed against the wound that Brant was trying to compress as he called Elena for the SUV. “They kept saying that somebody would be mad if I was damaged. They weren’t supposed to hurt me.”
    He closed his eyes in relief as he muttered a “thank God” under his breath. The room swam around him and he realized that his entire front was soaked in blood, his blood. It was coming out pretty fast and he could already feel the effects. Rush forced his eyes open and locked gazes with Brant.
    “Katrina, you’re going to need to go with Mr. Scott, okay?”
    She shook her head and latched on tighter, refusing to look at him or anyone.
    “Yeah, you need to go with him because I’m going to pass out and squish you in about five seconds.”
    He had less than that as he felt the world fall away from beneath him, his last