Blood in the Water

The first explosion shook the dust from the ceiling.

"RPG!" Cain shouted, shoving Dante down.

The front blast door of the bunker buckled. Gunfire erupted from the tree line, peppering the concrete façade.

Cain moved with terrifying efficiency. He positioned himself at the firing slit, unleashing controlled bursts of fire.

"Go, Dante!" Cain roared over the noise. "Back door! Now!"

Dante scrambled toward the rear exit. He put his hand on the latch. He looked out into the swamp. The mangroves were thick, the water dark. He could disappear. He could go back to Miami, spin a story, beg his father for mercy. Maybe he would live.

He looked back.

Cain took a round to the shoulder. He grunted, stumbling back, blood spraying against the grey wall. He didn't stop firing. He switched hands, his face a mask of grim determination. He was dying for Dante.

Dante looked at the gun in his hand.

He thought about his father’s cold eyes. He thought about the empty mornings after the parties. He thought about Cain washing his back in the shower.

* I don't damage what's mine.*

Dante turned around.

He ran back to the firing slit. He leveled the 9mm through the gap and fired blindly at the muzzle flashes in the trees.

Cain looked at him, shock breaking through his focus. "What are you doing? Run!"

"Shut up and reload!" Dante screamed, firing again. "I'm not leaving!"

Cain stared at him for a split second, something blazing in his eyes that looked terrifyingly like love. He nodded.

"The SUV," Cain grunted, clutching his bleeding shoulder. "It’s armored. In the garage. We have to punch through their line."

"Can you walk?"

"I can fight."

They moved to the garage. They climbed into the matte-black armored SUV. Cain slumped in the passenger seat, his face pale.

"You drive," Cain wheezed.

Dante Russo, who had never driven anything but a sports car on paved roads, gripped the wheel. "Hold on."

He slammed the gas. The garage door shattered.

The SUV roared out into the sunlight. Bullets pinged off the armored glass like hail. Dante didn't flinch. He swerved through the mud, aiming for the single dirt road that led to the airstrip.

A black sedan blocked the path.

"Ram it!" Cain shouted.

Dante gritted his teeth. He floored it. The SUV slammed into the sedan, metal shrieking, spinning the blocking car into the swamp.

"Nice driving, Prince," Cain groaned, pressing a trauma pad to his shoulder.

"Shut up," Dante said, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm. "Just stay awake. Do not die on me, Cain. That is an order."