We fan out, the four of us aiming our guns at their heads, but they’ve got weapons, too. Connor has a shotgun, and his buddies both hold .38 revolvers in shaking hands. Their commitment to this endeavor is nowhere near Connor’s. I see it in their eyes.
“Got four more men outside, front and back,” my father says. “Don’t be fools, boys. You got your whole lives ahead of you. No need to make this worse than it already is. As long as you haven’t killed the girl, you won’t face murder charges. Anything under that, you’ll get off easy.”
I hear the words coming out of my father’s mouth and know they’re all bullshit. The club has no intention of turning these jerks over to law enforcement.
“Put down your guns, and kick them over here. Then let her out of that trunk, and we all go our separate ways. Easy peasy,” he continues.
The other two start to comply, but Connor snaps at them.
“Don’t fucking believe him.”
They both hesitate, not knowing who to listen to. I take advantage of that, and step closer on the right side. My eyes shift to Billy, and he nods almost imperceptibly and does the same on the left.
Kyle moves with me, and my father stands stock still.
“Which one of you has the keys?” he asks.
The other two look at each other, and one raises his hand.
I hold my hand palm up and jerk my two fingers toward me, motioning for him to hand them over.
The kid doesn’t lower his weapon, but he does reach into his pocket and pull out the keys.
“You stupid fuck,” Connor turns to scream at the boy, and as soon as he does, I charge him, taking Connor to the floor with a gun butt to the head. His weapon discharges, and my brother groans. Billy and my father disarm the other two, who cower with their hands up.
My brother drops to a knee, clutching his side. “Fuck, I’m hit.”
“Get on the ground, face down,” my father roars, and the other two comply, their hands shaking.
“Oh, God. Don’t kill us. Don’t shoot us in the back of the head,” one begs.
“I’ve got ‘em,” Billy says, and my father rushes to Kyle, holding him up.
“Where are you hit, son?”
“My side.” He pulls his hand back, and it’s covered in blood.
I slam the butt of my gun into Connor’s head again, knocking him out and kicking his shotgun out of reach. Then I race to the trunk and unlock it.
Tori huddles with her hands in front of her head, terror written across her face.
I lift her out and wrap my arms around her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” I pull back, taking her in. Her face looks like she took a few hits, and her shirt is torn open down the middle, revealing her lavender bra. My blood boils at the sight, and I want to put a bullet in Connor.
“Rafe? You came.”
“Of course, I did. Are you hurt? Did they…?” I drift off, unable to finish the words.
She shakes her head. “No. I think he was going to, but then we heard the sound of the boat, and he dragged me down here and shoved me in the trunk.”
“He’s a dead man.” My voice comes out in an icy whisper.
“Rafe, your sister was here. She got away last night.”
“I know. She’s the one who called us.”
“She made it? She’s safe?”
“Yeah, babe, she’s fine.”