The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 504

The helicopter skimmed dangerously low over the ocean, the violent downdraft from the rotors kicking up a mist that smeared the windshield into a blinding, white haze.

The night was as thick as ink. There was no horizon, no division between the sky and the sea. The only anchor to reality was the glowing green numbers on the dashboard, confirming they were on course. The target was exactly four miles ahead.

Cassandra shoved the flight stick forward. The nose of the chopper dipped, and the speed spiked to 160 mph.

Garrison sat in the co-pilot seat, the heavy harness locking him in place. The cold light of the tablet illuminated the razor-sharp angles of his profile. The red tracker dot was still flashing. Her heart rate had rocketed to ninety-six—fourteen beats faster than twenty minutes ago.

"Lights ahead," Cassandra announced abruptly.

Garrison looked up. Rising from the impenetrable blackness of the sea was a hazy, massive silhouette—a mid-sized vessel. Harsh white searchlights swept across its deck, casting bright, sweeping beams over the water.

There were no markings. No flags. No name. It floated in the international waters like a dead ghost ship.

"That's it," Garrison's voice was a low, absolute growl.

Before Cassandra could even reply, a terrifying string of orange muzzle flashes erupted from the ship's deck.

A split second later, the horrifying screech of metal impacting metal tore through the cabin. *Clang! Clang! Clang!* It sounded as if someone were smashing the underbelly of the helicopter with a sledgehammer.

"They're shooting at us!"

Cassandra screamed, but her hands moved faster than her voice. She aggressively slammed the cyclic stick left while simultaneously stomping the right tail rotor pedal.

The helicopter jerked violently like a startled bird. The fuselage banked hard to the left, the rotors screaming in protest as the aircraft carved a heart-stopping arc through the night sky.

Tracer rounds ripped past the underbelly, leaving streaks of burning red across the pitch-black sky.

Wyatt cursed, leaning down to grab the phone. Cassandra executed another vicious banking turn. Wyatt was tossed to the opposite side of the cabin, his shoulder slamming brutally into the fuselage. He winced, his teeth gritted in pain.

"Cassandra!"

Wyatt roared, clutching his bruised shoulder. "Can you fly steady for two seconds?! I'm on the phone!"

Cassandra didn't even bother looking back. One hand remained locked on the controls. Her eyes were zeroed in on the relentless muzzle flashes lighting up the deck below. A wicked, arrogant smirk cut across her face.

"You want to fly it, Wyatt?"

Before the words fully left her mouth, another spray of bullets tore toward them. Cassandra didn't blink. She stomped the pedal and flicked her wrist. The helicopter slid into a flawless side-slip. The bullets missed the fuselage by inches, plunging into the ocean behind them and tearing up plumes of white water.