Page 107 of Hunted, Season Three

Yelling leads to the man that has his arm curled around her throat whipping their frames slightly in my direction, her body being used like a fucking shield.

What kind of fucking coward uses a pregnant woman as a shield?!

“I’m coming!!!!” With my weapon drawn, I hastily weave around the property, gaze oscillating between scouring for ice patches to avoid and melted spots to take, the reminder bellowing out of my chest once more.“I’m coming, Rabbit!!!!”

“Nolan!” Post unexpectedly shouts from somewhere behind me.“Three o’clock!”

There’s barely a second to register the announcement before the bullet darts directly under my chin, damn near clipping me in the throat.Instantly, turning to eliminate the issue isn’t necessary due to Post returning the same shot – with actual success – unfortunately, his focus on the assailant attackingmeblinds him to the one firing on his six.

“Watchout!” I holler in tandem with realigning my aim.

Our sheriff manages to dodge taking one to the chest yet gets himself clipped in the portion of his shoulder not covered by his vest.“Fuccckkkk!” Rather than fall to the ground or hesitate to retaliate, he fires at the same time I do, landing two in the guy’s dick while I get two in the center of his face.My mouth isn’t even granted the opportunity to move to verify his status when he flails his head forward.“Go!Go!Go!”

With Post covering my ass, I continue to close the distance from one end as Little November and Kid come in from the other.

Like the warrior she’s always been, Bunny twists and jerks.

Jerks and wrestles.

Does everything possible to try to free herself.

Sadly, the harder she fights, the harder it is to get any sort of shot.

“You won’t hurt her,” the buzzed head team leader robotically declares during his retreating.“But Iwillbreak her fucking neck.”

“You break her neck you don’t get paid!”Little November retorts, veering wider in search of an opening.

“I just gotta deliver her body.”He grunts with a smug grin on a tightening of his arm.“Contract doesn’t specify it has to be alive.I checked.”

“November?” I call out, my maneuvering mimicking his.

“No clean shot!” he promptly replies.

“Kid?”

“No!”

“You’re not gonna get a clean shot,” informs the male that’s got our wiggling woman plastered to the front of him, proving to be the best worst vest a person could ever ask for.“You go for my arm; you could clip her.”He shifts ever so slightly.“You go for my leg, and you could hit one of her femoral arteries.She’d bleed out.”The sadistic smirk that slides onto his face has my finger even more anxious to pull the trigger.“You’d have to watch her die!”

Slight movement out of the corner of my eye causes me to snap my glare to my fiancé and command, “Don’t, Kid!”

His head immediately moves in resistance.

“Don’t you fuckin’ do it!”

“It’s what he wants, Woods,” Little November explains.“He wants you to get pissed-”

“I am pissed!”

“He wants you to react,” our personal gun for hire swiftly proceeds.“He wants you to shoot, miss, worry about where you hit her and then shootyouwith that Dessert Eagle that’s not holstered anymore.”

My glare cuts to his other hand that’s now comfortably gripping a pistol it wasn’t split seconds ago.

Fuckme.

What do we do?

Do we risk her life?

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