Palming the launcher, he recalled the sexy woman he had to thank for this beauty. She went by Sugar. He had no idea of her last name or her real name, but, damn, he loved working with her. She handed out grenade-launching hand cannons as gifts. Now if that wasn’t a turn on…

And if this thing saved his life, he would have to come up with a decent way to say thanks for the cover.

He snapped the metal handle into place, loaded up the first 40 mm grenade, eyed Roman, and shot out a blast. The explosion ripped open a possible escape route. Jared slammed the second cartridge into place. Locked and loaded. After a nod to Roman, saying this was their chance, he let it rip.

Jared covered his face and ran toward the hellfire with his super mag firing. Brass casings spurted from his weapon, leaving a trail behind him. He pushed through the burn in his body and the pain in his leg and shoulder, ignoring the heat that seared his clothes. When his magazine clicked empty, he tossed the piece into the flames.

Behind him, pops of firepower said Roman was behind him. Jared took a harsh breath. The smoke burned his throat. Gun pulled from the holster on his thigh, he pivoted and picked off enemy tangoes. They hit with bull’s-eye precision. Sig Sauer deserved a thank you when this shit mission was done.

Their chopper hovered two hundred yards away in the pitch black night, hanging motionless off the side of the mountain. Roman was fast on Jared’s heels, and the two of them beat feet as quick as they could toward the bird.

As Jared closed in, Rocco and Brock became visible, hanging from the opening, providing cover. Bright explosions ripped through the night as bullets rained down behind them. Two rappelling ropes blew in the violent mountain wind. Hell yes!

With no time to overthink his moves, he launched over the edge of the cliff and into the inky-black abyss. He crawled through air, reaching for a lifeline. The seconds took too long. Without the ropes, he knew death was certain. A free fall down into the rocky mountain spikes meant lights-out for good.

Gravity took over, and momentum lost. Jared’s weight began a rapid descent. His skin prickled as he splayed his fingers, reaching—hoping— for success.

One hand fisted the rope, his wounded arm taking the brunt of his body and gear poundage. With a grunt and heave, Jared growled up to a second handhold. He had two hands tight on the rope, and Jared looked over at Roman. Swaying in the obsidian night, Roman screamed, “Hoorah!”

Crazy bastard.

His heart screamed, punching his bruised ribs. The jump was the best damn adrenaline rush he’d had in a long time. Jared took a painfully deep breath as the helo pulled up hard and swam off into the sky.

***