Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Talia grunted approvingly, and I dropped down below the window, wondering what the hell I should do—Reese would send help, but how long would it take? Most of the guys were out of town . . . Should I call the cops?
No. Painter didn’t like cops. But Painter was about to end up dead. But hell, even if I called the cops, would they get here in time to save him? If only I had some kind of weapon . . . like the gun hidden on his bike. Could I save him and Duck with it? I wasn’t sure, but I did know one thing—I wasn’t going to save them by doing nothing.
I scrambled along the side of the house, slipping in the mud every few feet. Then I was off and running toward the parked vehicles. The mud sucked at my shoes and I fell twice along the way. None of it mattered. Time was passing—way too much time—and for all I knew they were already dead. After what felt like a year, I finally reached the bike, skidding to a stop next to it. At first I couldn’t find the latch because my fingers were all muddy and numb from the cold. Then it fell open and I was grabbing the gun. With shaking hands, I pulled back the slide, thankful I’d taken the self-defense classes after Todger’s attack last year.
You can do this.
Grabbing the extra clip, I started back toward the house, praying it wasn’t too late. By now I was completely covered in mud, and I’d lost one of my shoes. None of it mattered, though. All that mattered was getting back in time.
Saving them.
But how?
Somehow I forced myself to slow down, to creep toward the window without making any noise—it wasn’t easy. Adrenaline sent my heart racing and my lungs pumped hard. Every breath seemed louder than the last, but I forced myself to calm down. Focus.
Pretend you’re at the ER, running a code, I told myself. You’re cool, you’re professional. Nothing can touch you.
The thought soothed me.
Reaching the window, I peeked up slowly. Oh God. Painter’s face was a mass of blood. Head wounds bleed a lot—don’t panic! Marsh stood over him, casually stretching like a man after a hard day’s work. Then he glanced over toward Deanna.
“You want to do the next one?” he asked. She shrugged, and I tried to read her expression. If anything, she looked almost bored.
“I think you should just shoot him,” she said, pulling out her gun. “I know you like to play with them, but we don’t have a ton of time. His bitch will probably miss him sooner or later. We should get out of here—they’re waiting for us up by the border.”
“Five years, Talia. Five years I’ve been waiting for this moment. Cut me some fuckin’ slack, okay?”
“Whatever,” she said, pouting. “Want a beer?”
“No,” he said, turning back to Painter. “I want to cut his face off.”
I clutched the gun tighter. Should I try to shoot him? But there were two of them, and Deanna—no, Talia—had a gun, too. Would I cause more harm than good?
Talia started toward the fridge and I saw something move on the floor near her foot.
Duck.
His eyes were open, and he was tracking her. Catching my breath, I watched as the old man struck faster than a snake, catching her ankle and jerking her down to the ground. The gun went flying and he dove for it, raising it smoothly. It went off with a roar and Marsh was down.
Like, down—as in the top half of his skull was just missing.
Talia screamed, rushing toward Duck. She started kicking him as she fought for the weapon, and as I watched in shocked horror, the stain on his pants started to grow.
Rapidly.
Blood was pouring down his leg, running across the floor. A flood of it—bright red arterial blood. He didn’t even seem to notice he was bleeding out, he just kept fighting until his body sagged to the floor, a sinking ship in a sea of red. Talia wrenched the gun out of his hands, raising it triumphantly as she shot him in the chest. Then she whirled around to Painter, raising it for another shot.
I raised my gun faster.
My first bullet caught her in the shoulder, shattering the window between us in an explosion of glass. The second went wide, and the third hit her leg. The fourth punched through the floor about six inches from Painter’s foot, and I nearly dropped the gun, shocked by how easy it would be to accidentally kill him.
Talia was screaming and moaning, rolling around on the floor. Darting around the back of the house, I reached for the door, praying it wasn’t locked. It wasn’t, thank God—about time we had some good luck. Running into the kitchen, I launched myself at Talia, slamming her head into the floor as hard as Todger had slammed mine.