Page 31 of Unmasked Anarchy
He curls his hand around the back of my neck, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then he’s gone.
Now, it’s up to me to fix this.
And fix it, I will.
7
Ilock myself in thestorage shed and breathe, just once, to steady my nerves.The rifle Kael handed me is heavy.My hands know how to move around a long gun, it’s almost muscle memory.The click of the safety, the cold black of the barrel.I check: loaded, round chambered.Through the windows of the shed, I study the scene.Wolfe’s men assembling in the open, the two men out front barking threats, Mera’s red hair clenched in the fist of a stranger who hasn’t lived long enough to hate the world properly.
I do quick math, making sure I’m in the perfect position.The men are screaming for their guns, and the MC boys are tossing weapons out, but they want more, they want their stash, the ones they are selling.Zane looks ready to charge regardless, but Kael, posted just behind a line of barrels, holds him back with a quick snap of his fingers.I can’t hear what’s said, but I know he isn’t going to risk Mera’s life.
Closer to the gate, the second Cartel guy prowls, waving his piece at the crew and barking in Spanish.He’s sloppier than the man on Mera, keeps his finger way off the trigger, always looking behind him like he expects company.Rookie.That’s a good thing.It means I only need a clean shot on the guy with Mera—the second one will go down easy.
The man holding Mera barks, “Eighty seconds to comply or I blow her fucking head off.I want your entire stash.Here.Now.”I listen as the club drags out their arsenal, stacking it in the dirt.A black duffel bag, a scatter of handguns, a dozen gleaming rifles.
If they count them, they will know one is missing.
Because it is in my hands right now.
I shift toward the open window, leaning down and angling the rifle on a crate.My old man used to say, “You aim to shoot once, and once only.Any more than that, and you’ve failed.”I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.Either way, my hands are steady and my whole body is glass, waiting for the right moment.
Mera isn’t crying, not even fighting, just standing with her chin up, glare set on the man’s face.
She’s a god damned warrior.
I know how scared she is, but she’s refusing to show it.
My finger slips easy onto the trigger.I drop my eye down to the scope, carefully placing it on the man’s temple, waiting for the right shot.If he twitches, if he even flinches, Mera’s face is gone.I have one shot.One only.
He screams the count: “Fifty, forty-nine...”
The other guy bends to the duffel, raking through the pile, barely looking at the crowd.His head is right down, offering me a clear line to move to him once I take the main man out.
I take a deep, shaky breath.
The world goes quiet.I aim for the man holding Mera, lining him up perfectly, and squeeze.
