“Okay, good. I’m on my way ba—”
Gunshots from across the road have us all ducking a second before we realize it’s not aimed at us.
“Go!” I yell as I lead the group toward the open club compound gate and across the street.
“Shit, babe, get to the safe room now. Run, baby.” Chains hangs up after yelling at his woman but doesn’t put his phone away.
I’m the first to hit the back fence of our rental property and bend down so as not to draw the eyes—or a stray bullet—from the one shooting. The automatic lights are on, and I chance a quick glance over the fence to confirm no one’s in the yard.
“Casper, shots fired at the rental,” Chains says into the phone.
It’s not on speaker, but he’s holding it out for us all to hear as Domino and Kooper also hunch low beside us.
“Can you tell which one it is? Both have cameras installed, but it’ll help me narrow down which one to focus on.” Flint is going to be pissed that he missed this. Especially if Casper messes up his system. He might not be the fastest with technology, but each brother knows how to work thesystem so Flint can take a break from manning the coms all the time.
We all shake our head, but it’s Chains who communicates it. “Negative. We were too far, and the echo played it off. Could be either one.”
Another shot breaks out, and we duck lower as our eyes move over to the fence. We watch as someone stumbles through the screen door on the left property, smashing out the screen as they step backward. The body jerks again a second before the sound registers that another gunshot was fired. And again and again as the person keeps moving back a step or two.
I’ve seen this before, and I’ve also been morbidly curious if the impact of the bullet makes them step back or if the person getting shot is still trying to get away. Doesn’t matter. They miss the steps leading down the porch and fall backward, landing with a solid thud before they stop moving completely.
The creak of the door being opened draws our attention away from the body. Not sure why they opened the door with the man-sized hole there that they could have walked through. Less noise, too, if they didn’t want to alert anyone to their presence.
Amateur.
The automatic lights we installed in the back only do so much—a fact we’ll be correcting after this shit, I’m sure. The person who walked out is still in darkness. We can see an outline, but the features are what’s missing till they take that last step into the floodlight beam on the porch to stare down at the body below. It’s not moving, but that doesn’t stop them from raising their gun and firing one last time. Imight not be right on them, but I recognize a kill shot when I see one.
“Damn. If we find out this chick isn’t half as crazy as she seems, I want dibs,” Domino hisses, and I have half a mind to smack him upside the head.
Not because I think he’s wrong for finding what she just did hot as hell. I’m sporting my own semi in my pants from her actions. More for the instant thought that I wanted to tell him I’d already called dibs. You know, when we were back at the birthday party, and I insulted her kid and forced her to leave early?
But thankfully, I’ve got half a brain. And I might like crazy, but I doubt I’ll likethismuch crazy.
Chapter 4—Milly
Breathe. Just breathe.
I keep telling myself that and hope the ringing in my ears stops soon. This was close—too close. I want to shoot the asshole again, but I know it won’t help anything. The guy’s dead. There’s no walking away from the bullet I just put in his head.
Danny would be proud.
The thought of my brother almost makes me smile as my heart aches. I miss my family, but I need to stay away. It’s for the best. They know it; I know it. Doesn’t mean we like it. I’ll have to figure out a way to let them know that all those summers playing paintball paid off. I’ll leave out the part that I had to get close range to make the shot that Danny tried to train me on since I was old enough to be on his team. He always said the headshot was the only way to get the other team out, and they couldn’t fake it. Didn’t matter that the rules said don’t hit above the neck. My family was never known for playing by the rules anyway.
A noise behind me has me moving out of reflex, but not fast enough. I turn in time but still feel the sting of the bullet in my arm that was meant for my back. I don’t have a chance to curse myself for thinking that there were only two of them; I should have expected that they would start sending more.
On instinct, I lift my left hand to help my right arm aim, cringing from the pain as I fire back. I step back as I do andonly get two shots off before all I hear is the clipping of my own empty gun.
Shit!
I thought I had more bullets, but this isn’t a fucking movie. Nine rounds go fast when you’re fighting for your life. I moved too far away from my bag to get my extra clip, and I’ve got nothing else on me to use as a weapon. My only chance is to dive for the guy’s gun below me and hope he didn’t use all his bullets when he tried to get me earlier. Or I can hide. Which is shit, since there’s nothing on this back porch, and I’m in fucking sunlight with how they installed the porch lights.
I barely have half a second to think, but my body is moving for me as I stumble down the steps just as another shot slides by my head. Either I’m getting better at this, or this third guy is a lousy shot. But it won’t matter much longer if he keeps moving toward me. A body is much easier to hit when it’s close—case in point, the guy on the ground.
I dive for the dead guy a millisecond before I hear another gunshot. Praying the numb feeling is me just going into adrenaline overload and not that I’m shot and dying, I grab the gun off the body I’m lying on and roll to fire back, but no one’s there. Moving my head and wiggling my body around, not caring that I’m on top of a dead body or that I’m getting blood in my hair, I stop when I see boots hanging off the porch’s top step. Tilting my head, I rise to stand. My aim is on the guy the whole time, but I don’t fire. There’s no reason. The guy’s already dead.
One clean headshot.
“Drop it.”
