Page 171 of Oathbreaker

Flames.

The sound of Marcus’ hard boots is loud in my ears, but he walks away from my hiding spot and out the hangar doors to stand on the helipad, facing the house.

“Who the fuck started the fire?” he practically yells into the walkie-talkie.

The reply is immediate. “Brigham’s backup,” the voice suggests.

“Fuck,” Marcus hisses into the air. He marches back over to August, crouching over him for a moment before lifting his head and seemingly staring off into space.

Take the shot, Winter.

I lift my gun again, putting my finger over the trigger, when he stands in an instant and rushes out of the building and into the night.

I count to ten before I inch inside the hangar and over to August.

“August!” I call out softly, not wanting to startle him. He looks up slowly in surprise, his drowsy eyes glimmering with a mixture of hope and uncertainty and sheer terror. He doesn’t look harmed physically, but the slow roll of his head on his neck suggests someone’s drugged him.

His lips part, but no words come out. His thin body trembles, reflecting the fear and exhaustion the last half-hour has brought.

He rocks his head back and forth on the concrete, but I can tell he’s trying to control his movements. His tablet is missing, and that pisses me off to an unreasonable level.

The man I saw in the surveillance footage likely was Marcus Law. The woman…I have guesses. In either event, even though we’re alone now, we won’t be for long.

“Can you walk?” I pant out slowly, pantomiming the action with my hands. August shakes his head no.

Fuck.

Hunter is close. He has to be.

Another boom echoes over the field, and the quick pop-pop-pop of gunfire lets me know there’s a battle going on inside my house.

I can’t get him to the safe room.

I look at the helicopter. That’s not an option because obviously, I can’t fly.

I look over my shoulder. The gun range. If I can get August and myself to the gun range, I can barricade us inside. There’s a whole cache of weapons in there too.

Please, God. Let us make it out of this alive.

With one final deep breath, I pull his arm over my left shoulder so I can hold the gun with my right.

I haven’t shot anything one-handed before, and I hope I have the wrist strength to do it.

August tries to help me, lurching along as I try to drag us toward the room. The hangar is large, but it’s only a few steps ahead.

“You even walk like a cockroach,” an arrogant voice calls out from my right.

Blair.

I whip around at her words, using all my strength to throw August off my body and closer to the door. I raise my gun and fire a shot in the same move.

It’s not quick enough. While my shot goes wide, hers hits its mark, piercing the flesh of my left shoulder.

The pain doesn’t register for a second, but then everything rushes in.

My position is now on the floor—my legs refusing to hold me upright.

The fire, absolute agony, radiating from my shoulder.

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