Page 239 of American Hellhound
“Get to cover,” Harry said, he and Roman setting up at the end of a parked car, guns trained on the door.
Maggie spotted an ambulance parked at the curb and ducked around it, towing her mom and Kris with her. Denise was past the point of speaking, clinging to Maggie like a child.
Maggie pulled her phone out and her sweat-damp fingers fumbled across the screen, trying to call Ava so she could sound the alarm at home. She could hear sirens in the distance, approaching…and the clang of the door opening. Followed by a rapid barrage of shots.
Her brain tried to fly into full-on panic, a desperate, chemical reaction, nerves singing. Get away, get away. But years of self-control pulled her back on track. She could panic later. Right now, she slid her phone away, call not made, and listening as bullets pinged off cars and concrete. She had to figure out how many men they were dealing with, and if the boys were okay.
She dropped to her hands and knees, leaning low to peer under the ambulance. She saw five sets of boots: Harry and Roman behind the car, and three attackers.
Several more shots popped off, and then a body hit the ground. Harry, clutching his arm. Alive for the moment.
Maggie pulled her Glock from her bag as she stood, one smooth movement.
“No!” Denise hissed.
She waved for her mom to hold back and rounded the back of the ambulance. She saw one of the fake Dogs go down, shot by Roman. The remaining two appeared to be out of ammo, reaching for extra mags in their pockets.
In a flash of sudden movement, the one closest to Roman dropped his gun and charged.
Roman squeezed off a shot, but the attacker knocked his arm, sending the round up into the air. The momentum of the tackle knocked Roman to the ground. Maggie saw the flash of a knife.
The other attacker leveled his gun on Harry.
And Maggie put two neat rounds through his torso.
Textbook shots. He collapsed, spitting blood, both lungs punctured.
The man with the knife twisted to look toward the sound of gunshots.
Maggie stepped over the one she’d shot, pausing to shoot him again, right in the heart, and then aimed at the knife-wielder’s head.
“Drop it.”
He did.
She shot him anyway.
He went limp on top of Roman, landing with his head pillowed on Roman’s chest. Maggie would have laughed if circumstances were different.
She scanned the lot around them, searching for and not finding any additional threats. The sirens were on top of them now, patrol cars screeching into the parking lot up front. They’d be back here soon.
Harry sat up, still holding his arm. “I’m alright?” he said. “Just need a few stitches.”
She turned back to Roman, who was in the process of rolling the fake Dog off himself with a grimace.
“You okay?” she asked.
He patted down his t-shirt, hand coming away red. His face was pale, and going paler. “Yeah, not really.”
~*~
Ghost heard shouts, scuffles, and gunshots around him, but his world was narrowed down to one thing: getting to Badger. The bastard wasn’t going to live to make anyone’s life more difficult. Not a chance.
He thanked God he’d been working out more and laying off the smokes, because his body responded when he pushed it, sprinting for the side of the building, the narrow alley between the perimeter wall and the brick façade of the funeral home. Badger was a big man, and no doubt strong, but Ghost was leaner, faster. He caught him as Badger was trying to find hand- and toe-holds along the back of the wall, trapped at a dead end beside the dumpsters.
Ghost grabbed him by the jacket and dragged him back, threw him down on the pavement. He kicked him in the nuts, hard – Badger curled up and gagged – and pulled one of his Colts.
The urge to pull the trigger was staggering in its intensity. This man had was a threat to his family – his blood family and club family, all the men and women and children who relied on his leadership to keep them safe and financially stable. So it wasn’t guilt that stayed his hand, but doubt. A touch of fear. The lingering worry that hestilldidn’t understand this whole Dark Saints/Roman situation.
