Page 6 of Welker

“Right. So we’re going with my plan. And FYI, I’m not aiming to kill, only to rattle the bastards and maybe wing a few. They should take off because of the threat, after which either Mason or Mike’s team will intercept them depending on which way they go.”

“Okay. Have at it, Arthur,” she declared.

“Arthur?” Welk questioned. Who the hell?—?

“Yeah. Arthur. You’ve obviously decided you’re the king, so we’ll do it your way.”

Welker strangled back a laugh. He never knew what he’d get from Moira. Normally she was a stolid teammate, but every now and then she’d send him a zinger. Had she done it now because she could sense he was on edge? It had succeeded in loosening up something in his chest.

“Cutting our connection now,” he told her, vowing to get back at her for her irreverence once this was all over. “Count to thirty, then start firing.”

He hung up and pocketed his phone.

Skirting the property while sticking to the tree line, Welker paused and focused on the silhouettes of several men spreading throughout Moira’s yard.

He finished counting down. “…three…two…one.”

He raised his Glock and fired several times, low, while at the same time, he heard answering shots coming from the roof.

Welker ran like a fucking cheetah to a new position and discharged his weapon again, this time targeting the ground around several of the men who’d turned their attention to the peaks of Moira’s home. He continued to shoot as they spun around looking for the threat, then Welker sprinted five yards to his left and opened up again.

There was another round from Moira, covering his move, followed by a high-pitched yelp.

“I’m shot,” a man cried.

Good. Moira had hit one of the assholes.

Welker kept moving and firing, moving and firing, until finally an authoritative voice rang out.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Shadowy figures ran for their bikes, and Welker turned his attention to their rides as he moved closer. It was fricking dark, but he aimed for tires and tanks, hoping he did some damage. Glancing up, he saw Moira’s figure on the roof, and noted she was also aiming in the direction of the metal stable.

After several accurate hits, the entire group took off on the remaining five—undamaged—bikes, lighting out of there like the hounds of hell were after them.

As the pipes faded away in the distance, Welker chuckled and lowered his weapon. The barrel was damned hot from how many times he’d fired, so he wouldn’t be putting it back in his holster any time soon.

He marched from the trees.

“You okay?” he called up to the roof. Welk could just see Moira, currently perched on her porch shingles, her legs hanging over the edge as if she were up there for fun.

“Fine. You?” she asked, in that dry way she had.

“If I told you I’d been shot, what would you say?” he replied cheekily.

“I’d say you’re a terrible liar,” she called down. “Either that or a king who thinks getting his ass capped is all in a night’s work.”

Welker snorted. Except for the king thing, she wasn’t far off the mark. He had a few scars on his body that attested to some firefights he’d been in, but he was glad those days were far behind him.

“You coming down sometime tonight?” he asked, “or are you star-gazing?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s pretty nice up here. And if I come down, I’m going to wish I’d done more than wing one of those pricks once I see what they’ve trashed. I’m assuming my house and belongings are history.”

Welker took a quick look at her front yard, and saw an awful lot of destruction. He hated to think what the inside would look like.

“Maybe you should stay up there,” he suggested.

“Nope.” Her tone was firm. “Nothing’s going to change what’s already been done. I might as well face it, now.”

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