Page 10 of Deceit

"No," he deadpans with zero emotion. "Marty was hit.”

My face must give it away because the color of Mills's drains. I see the happy-go-lucky part of him seep through his frame as he waits for me to confirm what we're both dreading.

"That blonde chick is fucking insane," Wade whispers sharply in my ear. "She has a gun to her chin."

Stormi.

"We need to move. Marty is going to lose his shit over his girl.” Mills doesn't wait, steadily moving down the stairs, but when I begin, Wade stops me with his next words.

"Just in case you didn't hear it the first time...I love you," Marty says. "With every fucking thing I got. It's not much, but it's me. You make me want to come out of the shadows and bask in the sun with you. You create a sense of peace that I want to drown in. I want you always."

My jaw clenches in anguish as Marty confesses his love to Stormi. Tears prick the back of my eyes because he's not supposed to be here—none of them are.

Guilt rattles my body because Marty is saying goodbye.

The strong, stubborn, keeps-his-feelings-to-himself Marty believes he's thoroughly fucked in the next room.

"I'm moving to the other side," Mills whispers at my side. He grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze. "Em."

I crane my head to peer at him, hitting his chest first before trailing up to his perfectly cut jawline peppered in light stubble, those gray eyes that mirror storms, and his slight wide nose. Mills replicates a model turned killer.

Something that doesn't happen.

But Mills did precisely that right before my eyes.

"We're gonna get them out," he tells me with confidence. "All of them." I can only bob my head in agreement because as much as I trust Mills with my life, it doesn't haul us out of this predicament.

"I'm going on the other side—" He jerks his head to it. "—that way, we both have room for a shot."

"Emmy, I think that blonde is going to shoot herself in like twenty seconds here," Wade says in my ear.

Fuck.

Mills glimpses around the wall, and I believe I hear him muttershitunder his breath.

With one long step, he slides back over to me. "Marty is encouraging Stormi to shoot him, the stupid fucker."

"When you hear a gunshot," I tell Wade. "Take out Eli. You got one fucking shot, don't miss."

Wade scoffs, and I move, taking a possessive stance behind Mills, knowing that if the dudes with their backs to us come this way, he turns into my number one mission to protect.

Slowly peeking around Mills, I see two linebacker dudes, one standing behind Reagan in her chair, the other at Marty's back.

Then I see bluish-blonde hair—Stormi dyed it with me weeks ago for a change—step into my view.

With a pistol to her chin.

What in the actual fuck is she doing?

"Move that fucking gun right the fuck now." Marty steps forward, and the man behind him orders to stop before pulling out his pistol and shooting Marty in the back of the leg.

He falls to the ground, and the moment Mills and I pull back on our hammers, the sound will only give us a second to act on making our mark.

"Fuck that," Marty snaps loudly. "I'm telling you, woman...do not touch that trigger."

Mills raises up a hand, holding up four fingers in a silent countdown. We know the drill the moment he gets to one is our opportunity to act.

"Stormi!"

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