Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 83

Her Obsession

Take Off.

Conner

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76

The low hum of the convoy was too smooth, too quiet. My gut went tight, instincts screaming. In the rearview mirror, I caught headlights sticking too close, too steady. Not traffic. Not a coincidence. I checked my gun, clip, barrel, and safety with smooth, familiar motions. Loaded. Ready. Beside me, Sage already had her blade strapped, pistol in hand, expression sharp as cut glass. Calm. Hungry.

“Jason,” I barked, “step on it. Stay glued to the lead car. We keep Liam, Naomi, Matteo, Winnie, and Ari in our sights. Nobody gets split.”

Jason’s throat worked, but he obeyed, flooring it. The SUV leapt forward, engine growling as the trailing headlights multiplied. Two. No, three vehicles. Closing.

As we hit the road from the airstrip, the first burst of fire hit. Sparks sprayed asphalt. Jason swerved, tires howling as we barreled through the outer gates.

“Move!” Sage’s voice cut like steel as soon as we slammed to a stop. She was already out, weapon raised, body angled smooth into cover fire. Bullets shredded metal and concrete. “I’ll cover you!” she shouted. “Get them on the plane!”

Every cell in me screamed to stay with her. But she was right. She was always fucking right. My ghost was the best chance we had at holding the line. I bolted. Matteo staggered under Ari’s weight, blood soaking his arms. I got my shoulder under her, hauled her higher, while Matteo kept both hands clamped down on her wounds. We staggered together up the steps of the waiting jet.

“Go, go, go!” the pilot screamed, ducking as bullets ricocheted off the hull.

Behind us, Liam and Naomi held the hatch, laying down controlled bursts that cut the closest attackers to ribbons. My men filed in after us, some dragging each other, some already bleeding, but all still firing until the last possible second. Nico appeared next, half–shoving Winnie up the steps ahead of him, her bag of supplies clutched tight against her chest. She stumbled, he caught her, and I pulled her the rest of the way inside.We were almost there. Almost.

“Conner, we’ve gotta close the hatch!” the pilot bellowed. “Now!”

“Not yet!” I roared, turning back into the fire.

Sage was still out there.

My chest locked when I saw her. She wasn’t just covering. She was dragging Jason by his collar, hauling his useless, terrified ass behind her like he weighed nothing. He’d frozen, ducked low behind the SUV, panic written all over him. If she hadn’t grabbed him, he’d be dead already. She fired one–handed, knife in her other, her body moving like smoke through the muzzle flashes. Jason stumbled, nearly went down, and she yanked him back up with a snarl, shoving him forward.

“Run!” I screamed, bracing myself in the hatch.

Jason broke first, scrambling, tripping up the steps into the plane, and collapsing in a heap on the floor. Sage followed, gunfire snapping at her heels. She vaulted the last three steps, knife still bloody, gun still smoking, and landed in my arms. I hauled her in, slammed the hatch shut, and the engines roared louder. The jet lurched forward, tarmac racing beneath us, chaos falling away behind. She was here. Jason was alive because of her. The men were battered but standing. We’d made it out…barely. And all I could think was: what the hell

comes next?

Jason was still on the floor where he’d collapsed, chest heaving, face pale and slick with sweat. After a beat, he pushed himself up on shaky arms, eyes darting around the cabin before landing on Sage.

1/2

12:50 Mon, Oct 20

Take Off

“T–thank you,” he stammered, voice breaking. “I’d be dead out there if you hadn’t…”

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“Damn right,” Sage cut in, still catching her breath but sharp as ever. She leaned forward, her gaze pinning him like a blade to the wall. “And that’s exactly the problem, Jason. You froze. You can’t freeze. You need training, proper training, or next time there won’t be anyone around to drag you out.”

Jason swallowed hard, nodding, shame and relief fighting across his face. “You’re right. I…I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”

“She’s not wrong,” I said, my voice flat but steady. I looked him over, his wide eyes, his trembling hands. He wasn’t useless, not by nature. He just hadn’t been forged the way the rest of us had. Yet. “You need to toughen up, kid. Not just for you. For all of us. Weak links don’t survive in this world.”

Naomi, still reloading a mag at the edge of the cabin, snorted. “About time someone told him.”

Liam jabbed a thumb toward Jason, half–smirking despite the tension. “Guess you just got drafted, mate.”

Jason gave another nod, less shaky this time, like he was anchoring himself to the moment. “Then I’ll learn. I won’t freeze again.”

Sage sat back in a seat, finally wiping a streak of blood off her cheek with the back of her hand, eyes still locked on him. “Good. Because out there? One mistake doesn’t just kill you. It kills everyone around you.”

I wasn’t sure whether to feel excited or scared for him. Looks like he was going to get some serious training in soon.

The engines hummed loudly, the vibration of takeoff still rattling through the cabin. My girl sat slouched against the bulkhead, her eyes closed for the first time in hours. A cut still weeping just beneath her jaw, but she looked peaceful, like she’d finally let herself stop moving. I let her have that moment. God knows she’d earned it. I pushed off the wall, moving down the narrow aisle. The plane was crammed shoulder to shoulder, my men packed into every seat and bit of flooring they could find. Helmets off, rifles propped against knees, faces hollow but alive. They’d fought like hell to get us out. They deserved more than this tin can ride, but it was all I could give them right now. Matteo was kneeling in the center aisle, his med kit gutted open around him, forearms slick with blood. Ari lay stretched out on a makeshift bed of jackets and packs, pale as paper, a web of stitches climbing her side. Winnie crouched at his shoulder, hands steady, passing him needle and gauze with quiet precision. Every so often, Matteo muttered under his breath, clipped medical terms, a sharp curse but he never stopped moving.

“Pressure’s holding,” he said without looking up, voice hard with focus. “She’s lost a lot, but she’s not done yet.”

I dropped a hand to his shoulder, a silent anchor. Nico was at the rear bulkhead, helping one of the rookies tape up a fractured wrist. Even in the chaos, he had a crooked grin plastered on his face, as if making light of it all might convince the kid he wasn’t scared. It was working…barely. Up front, Liam had dropped into the jump seat opposite Naomi, her hand wrapped around his wrist, like she wasn’t letting go anytime soon. He’d never admit it, but the way he leaned into her touch said everything. I turned back, eyes drawn inevitably to the quiet figure against the wall. My ghost. My little storm.

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