Page 124 of Luck of the Devil
Would it be enough? I had no idea how many people with guns were up there, how many bullets they had, or how long we could last down here. There was no way we had thirty minutes. Hell, I wasn’t sure we had thirty seconds before they decided to end this standoff.
It was dark, an advantage for hiding, but it also meant I'd have a hard time spotting them unless they moved. And then, they’d probably be firing their weapons.
He turned his head slightly and stared hard at me. “You should make a run for the trees. I’ll hold them off while you go.”
Outrage raced through me. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not leaving you here.”
“Look,” he said, blinking as he tried to focus. “I suspect if I try to run, I’ll fall flat on my face. I feel like I’m on a high-speed merry-go-round, and I already want to puke from just sitting here. I’ll slow you down if we both try to go. You can run into the trees and bide your time until backup arrives.”
“Fuck you,” I spat out, good and pissed. “You think I’d just leave you here?”
“You can take the rifle,” he said, ignoring my protest. “Leave me the handgun. I’ll distract them with some shots.”
“Apparently that hit to your head affected your hearing too.” I leaned closer, my anger flaring. “I’m. Not. Leaving. You. James,” I said through gritted teeth. “So, if this is your weird way of trying to prove you’re a good person, stop wasting our time. We need a plan to hold them off, and I suspect you have more experience with this than I do.”
His mouth stretched into a pained grin. “You really are a stubborn bitch.”
“That’s right,” I said, the muscles in my back beginning to unknot. I already had a battle to deal with without having to fight him too. “I heard a car pull up. It sounded loud, so I think it’s the second SUV that jumped out in front of us. I have no idea what we’re up against, but there’s at least two gunmen up there, probably more. The fact they haven’t started shooting is a bad sign. They’re probably planning something. Maybe coming through the trees to surround us?”
“That’s what I’d do.”
“So, we hope they’re not as smart as you?” I said, half-teasing, but I was already scanning the trees. The headlights of James’s car were still shining in the woods, so at least we knew they weren’t there.
“They’re never as smart as me,” he scoffed, “but I’m not running on all cylinders, so there’s a chance they could get the jump on us.”
“Dammit,” I muttered under my breath, trying to figure out our options. Instinctively, I wanted to put us both back in the car, but if they had high-powered rifles, James’s car wouldn’t provide much protection.
I needed to think like James—ruthless, calculating, always two steps ahead. What would he do if he wasn’t seeing double?
I scanned him over again, reassessing our situation. We couldn’t stay here, and I couldn’t carry him. He probably had eighty pounds on me. And if we ran for the trees, they’d pick us off like we were target practice. Sure, they might not kill us. They might take a lesson from my book and shoot us in the legs.
I needed a distraction, and I’d be damned if James staying behind was it.
“Where’s the flask?” I asked as an idea hit me.
He snorted. “I guess now’s as good a time for a drink as any. Maybe even more so.”
“James. Focus. Where is it?”
He patted around on his chest, but he wasn’t wearing his jacket. “In the car. Side pocket.”
Which meant it could be anywhere since the car had rolled over multiple times. It could have even fallen out the partially open driver’s window. But I didn’t have any other ideas, so I opened the back door again.
“What’re you doin’?” he asked, his voice sounding fainter.
I leaned over and patted his cheek. “Stay with me, James. I’m looking for the flask.”
“I’ll take a drink when you get it.”
“You can have the first one,” I said as I crawled into the back of the car. I didn’t dare turn my flashlight on, so I patted the seat, then the floor, reaching under the seats and sweeping my hand around so I didn’t miss it. I was about to try to crawl into the front when the tip of my finger brushed against cold metal. I stretched my arm out farther, my already sore shoulder grinding painfully against the seat frame, but I ignored the spike of pain as I wrapped my fingers around the canister. I tugged it free, relief swamping me as I realized it felt at least half full.
I quickly scooted out backward and softly pushed the door closed.
James reached out a hand in an uncoordinated movement. “I’ll take that drink now.”
“Sorry,” I said, still formulating a plan. “I think I’m going to need all of it.” The idea was to make a Molotov cocktail, but a metal flask wouldn’t exactly pull that off.
“This is payback for all the times I cut you off, isn’t it?” he said with a smile, his eyes half closed.
