Page 110 of With A Little Luck
Fuck.
I’m not cut out for this kind of life.
I’m still not going to stand by and do nothing.
Or even worse…run.
When I was at peak performance, I could throw a football consistently between fifty and sixty miles an hour. It’s like a shot to the gut if you’re not prepared for something flying at you with that kind of velocity.
The only weapons I can spot are the small bricks lining the sidewalk. They’re half buried in the snow-covered gravel that separates the fence and the walkway.
Adrenaline ravishes through my system, just like it used to before a big game.
“Behind you,” I say, keeping my voice low as I drop to a crouch like I’m about to tie my shoe. I make a mad grab for a brick instead, prying it out of the ground and testing the weight in my hand.
“Run,” Ridge growls, dropping Quincy. She hits her feet, and he gives her a solid push. She stumbles, barely keeping herself from falling.
A lowwhooshingsound breaks through the air, and Ridge flies forward.
His low growl follows, but he keeps his back to the threat, continuing to block Quincy with his massive form.
The bright red blood that spills from his shoulder makes Quincy scream, but I refocus on the man in the mask. He raises his arm—about to take another shot.
I don’t hesitate.
Bringing my arm up, I rear back and throw the brick as hard as I can, aiming for the side of the man’s head.
It flies through the air, connecting with a vicious crunching sound that I doubt I’ll ever be able to forget.
The man slumps against the wall as another bullet flies from his gun, but this one lands in the dirt a few feet away from Ridge.
Quincy runs into my chest, and I let out anoomphas she knocks the air from my lungs. I struggle to catch a breath and grimace, spotting how badly Ridge is bleeding. He’s right-handed—I know from us assembling furniture yesterday—but he raises a gun in his left hand, shooting toward the area on the left side of the house where I initially saw movement.
“Fucking adrenaline. That shit is not actually helping.” He continues cursing and brings his right hand up to stabilize his left before taking another shot followed quickly by another. “Anyone else want to pop out and get their head taken off? Because I can do this all damn day.”
“Get her into the vehicle,” Trigg growls, walking by with a gun in his left hand. He aims at the guy I hit with the brick, pulling the trigger three times.
I take a step back, yanking Quincy with me with my arms still locked around her back.
Trigg is fucking terrifying. His face remains placid—unbothered, almost—and that shit is not normal.
I make the mistake of looking at the guy I pegged, and his blood and brain now cover the wall.
Well, either I didn’t kill him, or Trigg was just making sure he’s super fucking dead.
I blink, trying to force myself to move, but I’ve never seen this kind of carnage before.
Quincy trembles against my chest, and I’m still frozen, staring at the gore.
“I said,get her out of here!” Trigg barks.
My head whips to the side just in time to catch Ridge stagger.
He hits a knee on the ground, holding his gun up like he’s still appraising for threats. “Fuck, this one might be worse than I thought.”
With all the blood?
Jesus Christ.
