Ranger's Sacrifice: a Military Romance (Book 2 of Army Ranger series)

“I don’t like it,” Cory said, scanning the abandoned building through his night-vision goggles.

No movement. No sound.

“What do you want to do?” Chase said.

Cory didn’t answer right away. The hairs on the back of his neck were raised, instinct whispering that something wasn’t right—but nothing he could point to.

“You and Brett take the left side,” he said. “But for God’s sake, be careful.”

Chase bumped his fist in acknowledgment, then motioned to Brett. They moved out in a tight wedge, controlled and silent.

Cory tracked them through his scope.

Chase got to the building first, flattening against the wall. Brett stepped back, lifted his boot—

BOOM!

A fireball punched outward, swallowing the doorway in heat and light.

Cory ducked, but the blast wave hit him like a sledgehammer, lifting him and then slamming him down.

Everything went muted.

Then a dull, heavy thudding inside his skull.

He dragged in a breath, forcing his eyes open.

Darkness… then shapes… then blur.

Fuck, had he been hit?

Move.

He rolled onto his elbows, a grunt tearing loose as pain ripped through his left shoulder. But it wasn’t sharp or penetrating. So, not shrapnel or a bullet. Just the pain of being wrenched from a socket.

He stayed there, fighting through the fog. Smoke hung thick in the air. From the blast? Or was there fire?

Sound filtered in. Coughing. Ricky, somewhere to his right.

Cory turned his head, vision swimming. Where the hell was the rest of his team? He needed to find them and get everyone to safety.

A hand clamped around his elbow.

Ricky talking. Fast. Urgent.

Cory couldn’t hear a word. It didn’t even register that he should have been able to hear him in his headset.

His gaze snapped past Ricky.

Two bodies. Down. Not moving.

No.

Cory shoved himself upright, ignoring the protest in his shoulder. He signaled Ricky for cover, and he moved. Rifle up. Scanning. No visible shooters. No movement.

Then, a sound. Wet and broken.

Cory dropped all caution and sprinted.

He stumbled, nearly going down as he reached them.
Chase’s arm lifted weakly, like he was trying to grab onto something.

Relief hit—then shattered. Chase’s hand—or what was left of it—hung in ruins, barely attached.

“Shit,” Chase mumbled. “I’m… I’m messed up.”

“Only a little,” Cory said.

His training took over. He yanked open his med kit and field-wrapped Chases’ hand as best he could, fast and tight, trying not to think about the blood.

Gunfire cracked, closer than it should be.

Ricky grabbed his arm. “Taliban will be all over us in minutes!” he shouted. He jerked his head toward Brett. “He’s not responding—I don’t know what we’re dealing with internally!”

Cory’s jaw clenched.

No man left behind.

“We’re moving,” he snapped. “Now.”

Ricky didn’t argue. By the time Cory tied off the last wrap on Chase, Ricky had Brett slung over his shoulders.

Cory signaled him forward. “Stay low!”

Then he slung his rifle and turned back to Chase. “Time to go, buddy.”

Chase’s eyes were wide—too wide—shock setting in. Cory hooked his arms under Chase’s shoulders and hauled him up. “Up and at ‘em.”

Chase screamed, and his body collapsed.

Cory barely caught him.

“Easy,” he muttered, shifting his grip as gunfire erupted closer.

“I can’t,” Chase groaned.

“Stay with me.”

Cory shifted his hold and glanced down. He did a double-take, his brain refusing to process what he was seeing. Chase’s left leg was—

Gone.