Page 55 of Easton’s Claim

“We’ll go in the house,” his dad said. “You boys go. We’ll be okay.”

Screw that. Easton swiveled and faced the house’s back porch. That damn light on was going to get someone killed if they tried to get back inside now.

Seeing no other alternative, he picked up his rifle and aimed it at the porch light. Glass shattered as the bullet hit, plunging the back yard into relative darkness. The flickering flames on the barn were dying out, but there was no time to waste. They’d have to risk moving now. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed Piper’s hand and hauled her to her feet. “You run straight across the backyard and into the kitchen. Don’t stop, no matter what happens. Got me?”

“Yes,” she answered.

When he turned to look at the others Austen already had his dad on his feet, her arm solid around his waist. Wyatt had Greg draped over his wide shoulders. “I’ll cover all of you.” He moved toward the burning end of the barn, raised his rifle to his shoulder and aimed into the darkness beyond toward the western pasture. “Go.”

They ran. Their rushing steps hustled over the grass and gravel behind him as he fired several closely-spaced shots to keep any would-be shooters pinned down. The back screen door slapped shut. “Wyatt?” he called out, loud as he dared.

“Meet you in the eastern pasture in a minute.”

Perfect.

Leaving Piper and the others in the best cover he could offer at the moment, he turned and ran through the darkness toward the eastern pasture. Wyatt burst out of the cellar trap door and ran toward him, weapon up and ready.

The report of a rifle echoed through the night and a round sizzled past his head.

Easton whirled toward the direction the shot had come from, savage satisfaction roaring through him.You just gave yourself away, asshole.A fatal mistake.

Rage pumped hot in Easton’s veins but he forced it back and kept his gaze trained on the darkened tree line beyond the pasture. The shooter was out there somewhere, and Easton hoped it was Gallant. Because Easton was going to hunt him down.

Up ahead beyond the pasture, the dense band of forest beckoned. He knew every inch of the ground here. Gallant and his men might have the advantage of surprise, concealment and night vision capability, but they didn’t know the land like he and Wyatt did. Didn’t know the trails and the shortcuts that led to the road, where the shooter was likely heading.

And now that Easton and Wyatt were both coming after him, the bastard would either have to risk attacking them flat out, or run.

He slipped into the woods, carefully placing his steps to make the least amount of noise possible on the carpet of fallen leaves. The sweet, earthy scent wrapped around him, giving him comfort and added strength. He’d been hunting out here since he was a kid, knew every inch of this property.

A gnarled, ancient oak tree that marked the start of a footpath stood sentinel to his right, its huge canopy of spreading branches still adorned with turning leaves. Easton slipped behind the massive trunk and waited, listening, while Wyatt paused behind a broken trunk a few yards away.

Gallant was nothing but a thug who’d run with gangsters and wannabes on the streets. Now he was cut off from his men and up against two SOF trained Marines in the dark, on their home turf. Easton hoped the bastard was the one in front of him right now, and that Gallant was shitting his pants.

Nothing moved in the stillness on the forest floor. The only sound was the breeze blowing through the branches overhead, a gentle sighing with an occasional creak.

Easton paused, pulse beating steady and slow as he waited for his quarry to make a move. The underbrush was too thick for a man to move through without giving himself away and slowing him down. That left the footpath as his only remaining escape route to the road, other than trying to get past Easton and Wyatt.

Either way, he wasn’t making it out of here tonight.

A quiet snap sounded behind him and slightly to the left. Easton turned his head a fraction and focused on the spot, waiting in place. A minute later, leaves rustled.

Nice and calm, Easton eased around the huge tree trunk and angled his upper body to get a look. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement to his left.

Gotcha.

He stepped out from behind cover and swung the barrel of his rifle toward the noise as he moved forward, knowing Wyatt would be close behind him. It was too dark for him to see his target. He had to rely on only sound and instinct as he followed his prey along the edge of the footpath, tracking him through the darkened forest.

Just as they neared the edge of the road that bordered the eastern side of their property, Easton saw a man’s silhouette dart between the trees. He ran forward, caught sight of his target again and fired once.

A sharp cry mixed with the report of the rifle, followed by a dull thud as the man hit the ground.

Rifle to his shoulder, Easton rushed straight for the wounded man, who was sprawled on his side, unmoving. Branches snapped as someone ran off to the right.

Two of them.

Easton spun to take aim at the second man, dropped to one knee as a shot rang out, striking the tree behind him. The road was only forty or fifty feet up the path now.

---