She gives me one slow, shy smile before she darts off, and I watch her go with a mix of pride and worry. That girl may have just saved our asses for the second time in less than twenty-four hours.
Forcing myself to refocus, I turn back to the fray. This changes everything. I have the firepower to smoke these assholes, trees notwithstanding—I just need Beau to get out of my way.
I pull out my radio, but just as I do, it flicks on, and Beau starts talking into the line before I can get a word in.
“Okay, buddy, this might be it, and I don’t have time to argue with you, so for once you’re just going to have to listen.
You’re the best friend I ever had, the best friend I ever could have had. I know the last while has been rough between us, and I’m sorry about that. I never should have let anyone get between us, and I ain’t proud I let my jealousy get the better of me. I just . . . I want you to be happy, Dom. You deserve it all.”
My throat closes over, and my head starts to spin. It never happens during combat, not ever, but pure horror starts to cloud my senses. I try to speak over him, but he has the line open, not letting me get a word in.
“You take care of our girl, okay? ’Cause that’s what she is, even if your stubborn ass wants to take its sweet time admitting that.”
“You cut this shit, Beau. Cut it right now,” I snap into the radio, but he can’t hear me. There’s no point. I know what this is, and he’s making this one sided. “I can take care of this, idiot, just get your ass gone. Open the damn line.”
“I think I can take these guys out, Dom. Or most of ’em anyway. Jasper and Jayk, they’ll have a bit of time—not a lot, mind, but a bit. Now Lucky’s cleared out the other side, they should have a straight shot to you. Cover them.”
Beau swallows, and it slices through me.
“Take care of yourself, too, Dom. I love you.”
The radio cuts out, and I immediately try to open the line so I can yell at him, stop him, something, but he’s disabled comms like I knew he was going to.
“Fuck!” I shout, shaking.
This is some kind of sick cosmic joke. I have all the firepower I could want, but I can’t use it without guaranteeing his death.
With unsteady movements, I take my rifle and press it to my damp eye, desperately searching through the scope. Sure enough, within minutes I make out a scuffle just beyond the tree line. Shots are fired, metal gleams and surprised, furious shouts follow, though they’re too far for me to make out words.
My finger hovers over the trigger, but I can’t see clearly. It’s too dark and there’s too much smoke. There’s no way of knowing if I’d be shooting Beau or one of the fuckers who were trying to steal my family from me. Despair constricts my lungs.
I lift my head and see the moment Jayk makes the decision to bolt, taking advantage of the reprieve, as he should. He pushes off the shed and runs over to the truck. Someone shoots at him from the far side of the woods, close to where Eden should be, and I swing my rifle round. Visibility is easier on this side, and I pick the too-bold hunter off with a single headshot.
Looking back, I see Jaykob slide in next to Jasper and Lucky like he’s just stolen second base. The spark of relief is momentary. A man backs out of the woods where the commotion is, firing into the trees—at Beau—and I shoot him in the back with ruthless efficiency.
Come on, Beau, get out of there.
Jasper and Jayk seem to be arguing as Jasper pulls Lucky’s limp body over his shoulders.
All of you, move your asses, I urge silently.
Jayk grabs Jasper’s rifle and nods at him, and I brace. They’re going to do it. They’re going to— Something bursts from the trees and takes off at a furious run. The figure is coated in blood and limping, but I’d recognize him anywhere. My heart stutters, and I fire behind him wildly, hoping to deter anyone from sticking their head out, trying to give him every spare second he can get. Jayk spots him too and turns around to join my flurry of shots, covering Beau—and covering Jasper, too, as he starts staggering toward the house with Lucky hanging heavy over his shoulders.
Bullets fly past Beau, and he begins to weave. Deciding Jayk has this for the moment, I grab the bazooka and settle it over my shoulder, lining up my sights.
Men have started to pull out of the trees from several directions, clearly deciding they have our men on the run. Beau clears the truck and keeps going, and Jayk runs backwards with him, firing in every direction. I grimace for a moment, deciding where to aim, when the barn groans.
My grimace turns into a dark, predatory grin.
Perfect.
I line up my shot and wait a few seconds, knowing timing is going to count here. I don’t want to take out our guys by accident. But when the hunters start pressing close to the barn, I fire.
It only takes moments. The fragile barn bursts open like a microwaved peach, spraying burning projectiles across the entire clearing, decimating the tree line in all directions and blasting out half the windows of Bristlebrook. I throw myself down as a plank of wood hurtles through my window and shatters the glass across the music room.
I push myself back up and grab my rifle, breathing hard. Sweat drips down my temples. The entire clearing is annihilated, a true apocalyptic wasteland, complete with fire and bodies and limbs. I spot someone pulling themselves to their feet and blast them down. Nothing else so much as twitches.
I scan the scene but can’t see my guys anywhere. That’s a good thing, given the extermination I’m looking at, but I hesitate, pulse pounding. I should stay put, keep covering from up here in case anyone is stupid enough to decide that this isn’t enough— in case there’s anyone left to make that decision—but that was a big blast, and I have no idea if Beau and the others were clear or not. And then there’s Lucky . . .
I grab a few grenades and my rifle and run downstairs, seeing the sitting room overturned and covered in sparkles of glass.
Lucky is sprawled behind two overturned couches, Jasper crouching over him.
“Where’s Beau, Jasper? And Jaykob?”
Jasper doesn’t even glance up, but I can see the raw terror in every move he makes. He rips open Lucky’s shirt, and blood makes it stick slickly in several places. I go still at what’s revealed.
Lucky’s whole chest is slippery and red, and Jasper’s hands hover over it, shaking.
“Wake up, Lucien,” he commands, and the snap to his voice is pure panic. “Now.”
He begins tearing at his own clothes, then presses the scraps against the pulsing holes, looking lost. Looking at the location of the wounds, and the blue-tinged cast to Lucky’s lips, I’m guessing he has a collapsed lung and that wound is sucking in air dangerously.
Without Beau, without an emergency crike, I doubt he’ll make it. Damn it, where is he?
Cursing, I look around and spot the med kit Beau left out here while he was flirting with Eden. And I can’t believe it, but his crush might actually save the day here.
I yank it out and pull out the sterile dressing we were taught to use for this situation. There’s one here with a valve, but that’s beyond my expertise. It’s been years since I did my first responder training. I clean the wound quickly with Beau’s wipes, dry it, and then place the dressing over the chest wound, securing it on three sides.