Page 76 of Fast Kill

Her back slammed into a rock. She cried out but didn’t stop. She was possessed, even when Dillon’s hands wrapped around her throat. She glared up at him, letting the fury take over as he stared down at her with eyes so dark they were nearly black.

The thud of running footsteps registered dimly in her ears. A blur of motion swept past her field of vision, then Dillon grunted as Logan slammed into him in a flying tackle.

Taylor gasped as she was knocked backward, landing hard on her side. She scrambled to her feet just as the men began rolling in the grass in a lethal wrestling match. Their fists slammed into each other, too fast for Taylor to keep track of as they rolled and twisted over and over, Logan on top one moment, Dillon the next.

Pushing to her feet, she found her footing and frantically searched for Dillon’s fallen pistol, her vision slightly blurry without her glasses.

She spotted Logan’s rifle lying a few yards away. It must have been knocked loose when he’d tackled Dillon.

Taylor lunged for it, her legs stiff, almost wooden. Her body was on autopilot, her brain hazy as she grasped the weapon and whirled back toward the men.

Muscle memory took over. Stock snug against her shoulder, she sighted down the barrel, her finger resting on the trigger.

I don’t want to kill you, Dillon.She wanted him to stop, so she wouldn’t have to do this. Because shewoulddo it if it meant saving Logan.

A glint of metal caught in the sunlight and her heart constricted when she saw Dillon had that wicked-looking blade in his hand. He swung it toward Logan in a deadly arc, and Logan barely wrenched to the side in time to stop it from plowing straight into his back. It tore across the back of his left arm instead, and blood streaked out of the wound.

Taylor fought to calm her breathing and widened her stance, watching for a tiny opening. Her target was blurry, her nearsightedness making it impossible to see clearly. She was shaking all over, terrified of hitting Logan if she fired, but more afraid of Dillon killing Logan before she could fire.

The two men twisted again in the grass, and this time Logan got the upper hand. His big body momentarily held Dillon beneath him, and Taylor saw all of Dillon’s face.

Holding her breath, she fired.

Both men jerked and a spray of blood went up. Dillon lurched to his feet and took a running step away from her.

“Logan,” she cried, horrified. She started to lower the weapon, but then jerked it back up to her shoulder. Taking aim at Dillon, she fired again just as Logan dove at him, taking him to the grass with a thud that shook the ground.

This time they both stilled.

Logan paused and came to his knees, straddling Dillon, one bloody fist raised to strike. Then he eased back enough for her to see the hole in the side of Dillon’s throat.

He was choking, mouth opening and closing. Blood spilled out in a thin stream from his nose and mouth, flowed out of the wound in his neck. His dark eyes fixed on her, and the look on his face was one of pure accusation and betrayal.

Tears she hadn’t even realized had formed spilled down her cheeks as she stared back at him, unable to look away. Suddenly the rifle felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Her arms dropped and it tumbled from her numb fingers.

Sickened, she dropped to her knees and turned away from the sight, covering her face with her hands. Her legs gave out.

She slid to the ground and curled up on her side, overcome with horror by what she’d just done. What she’d been forced to do. And because right up until the end, part of her still hadn’t wanted to pull the trigger.

“Taylor.”

A tight, painful sob ripped free as Logan pulled her upright, his powerful arms contracting around her in a desperate grip as he crushed her to his chest. “Jesus, Taylor. Baby, are you all right?” His hand grasped her chin and forced her head up, making her meet his gaze.

Taylor looked at him through swimming eyes, another sob tearing loose. He was so dear to her, she’d had so little time with him and yet she’d almost lost him.

Logan cupped her face between his hands, his worried eyes searching her face. “Sweetheart, are you hurt anywhere?” He let go of her to run his hands over her shoulders, her sides and over her back.

She shook her head, the motion jerky. Her teeth chattered. Everything was shaking. She couldn’t stop it. Had no control over what was happening to her body. “N-no.”

He expelled a relieved breath and grabbed the back of her head with one hand, tucking her face against his shoulder. She could smell blood.

“Y-you,” she stammered. “You’re h-hurt.”

“I’m okay. Shhh, I’m okay. Just sit here with me for a minute and don’t move, okay?” He drew a deep breath and released it slowly, burying his face in her hair.

She made herself nod again, then squeezed her eyes shut and shoved her nose against the base of his throat, breathing him in with every shaky inhalation. Her hands curled into the front of his uniform and clenched tight, holding on for dear life to the only thing anchoring her through the storm of shock and desolation inside her.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his hold never lessening.

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