Page 47 of Not This Place

The gunman complied, fear etched into the lines of his face. Sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his temples.

Rachel kept the gun trained on him, every muscle taut, ready to respond.

"Stay down," she ordered the whimpering man on the ground, his hands clutching his wounded knee.

He nodded, teeth gritted against the pain, dark eyes wide with the knowledge of his vulnerability.

"Good." Rachel's nod was curt, her attention never wavering from the surrendered man before her.

Dust swirled around Rachel's boots as she maneuvered the groaning gunman in front of her, a living barrier between her and any further threat. The steel in her voice left no room for argument. "Up. Now." Her command to the others was terse, punctuated by the click of the safety being switched off.

The remaining pair exchanged a glance—one of calculation, one of dread—then slowly rose to their feet, their movements stiff with reluctance. Rachel's eyes flickered between them, the gun unwavering in her steady grip.

"Walk," Rachel said, pushing the human shield forward with measured force.

“We under arrest?” spat the man at her fingertips, still wheezing from where she’d struck him in the solar plexus.

"Not yet," she replied. "You're taking me to your boss."

The three men exchanged frightened glances.

The gunmen moved, the gravel crunching beneath their shifting weight. The sound scraped against the heavy silence that enveloped the scene.

A sudden rustle—a sharp pivot of booted feet on rough terrain. One gunman bolted, a blur of desperation streaking across Rachel's peripheral vision. She swung around, the weapon raised. A single shot cracked the air, a warning that echoed off the sparse trees.

He didn't stop. His figure grew smaller, fear propelling him faster than her bullet had flown. The idea of confronting his boss was more terrifying to him than the idea of lead in his spine.

"Damn," Rachel muttered under her breath, her focus snapping back to the remaining two. The escapee was lost to her, but these two weren't going anywhere. They stood frozen.

"Inside," she barked, herding them toward the vehicle with the authority rooted deep in her bones. Her steps were measured, her gaze never leaving their backs.

The one with the wounded knee kept cursing and spitting, groaning as he moved.

"Their compliance was begrudging, but it was there.

The car's interior was stifling, the leather of the front seats cracked from sun. Rachel's eyes fixed on the two men as they settled into them, hands shaking ever so slightly. She slid into the back seat, the muzzle of her gun a cold promise aimed at the backs of their heads.

"Start the engine," she said. They flinched, but obeyed. The car roared to life, a vibration that traveled through the chassis and into Rachel's bones.

At her side, her confiscated items.

She reached for the radio, fingers closing around its familiar shape. A hiss of static burst from the speaker before she pressed the button, her thumb steady despite the adrenaline that thrummed through her veins.

"Ethan, it's Rae."

"Rae? Where are you?" Ethan's voice crackled, concern threading each syllable.

"Followed a lead to a farm out by Barker’s plot. There's been a murder. Two, actually." Her report was succinct, each fact laid out with precision.

"God, Rae, are you—"

"Two gunmen in custody. Was three. One got spooked, took off across the fields." She kept her tone level, clinical.

"Are you hurt?"

"Negative," she replied. But she didn't elaborate.

"Stay put, I'm bringing backup."

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