Page 88 of The Order of Disorder
All three of them draw guns, matte black and complicated-looking, like weapons from a sci-fi movie.
Nobody moves. Silas raises his gun and smiles.
“Put the girl down,” he says, almost sweetly, “and hands where I can see them, please.”
Damian lowers me onto a nearby couch, gently, but quick. Then he raises his hands up carefully. Jake and Wyatt raise theirs, too. Wyatt winces. His arm is bleeding through the fabric of his shirt.
Silas steps closer, gun sweeping across them, savoring his power. His gaze lands on me.
I blink up at him. I think I’m blinking.
He whistles low.
“Jesus, sweetheart.” He tilts his head, mock-concerned. “We better get you to bed before you start foaming at the mouth.”
He laughs to himself. Dutch joins in with a low chuckle. Ray just watches, twitchy.
Silas turns back to the others. “This is typical for her, in case you didn’t know.Didyou know?” He rubs his chin like he’s scratching a beard. “Hard to say. You all know each other?”
No one moves. The air is needle-thin.
“And you, you slimy fucking traitor,” he says to Wyatt, his voice dripping with scorn and triumph. “I knew it. From the second you walked through that door all ‘yes, boss,’ I smelled it on you. Something wasn’t right. And now here you are, dragged out of your cage by your little team of spooks. Billy wouldn’t believe me, you know? Billy thought the sun rose and set on your ass. Billy was a fucking idiot, though, which is why this club was fucking going to shit.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “Before tonight. You, Ryan,” he continues, “I should’ve put a bullet in your head weeks ago. But as I made it clear earlier, I intend to keep you alive until I get a full confession from you. Who the fuck are you, who the fuck were you caught radioing in Rawlins, and who have you been trying to send pictures of theclubhouse to.” He pauses, turns and looks at Jake and Damian dramatically. “Oh wait,” he says. “I think I know.”
Damian tilts his chin up.
“No weapons. You win,” he says evenly. “What now? You gonna shoot us one by one, or drag us back to your little torture shed and take turns?”
Silas’s smile twists. “Taking turns sounds fun. That’s what Dutch and Ray were hoping to do tonight too, weren’t you, boys?” He turns his head to look at me. “Looks like Max will make that pretty easy.”
But I’m watching Jake and Damian and Wyatt. These three men I love have come to rescue me. And it’s all for naught, but they tried. That’s why I see Jake’s hand flick at his side, because I’m watching him.
Click.Flash.
The world explodes in white and a crack like thunder rings out.
Dutch and Ray duck. Silas shouts.
Jake moves.
He dives at Dutch, slamming into him. They crash to the floor, grappling. Wyatt lunges low, grabs Ray’s arm, wrestles the gun free. He brings it down on Ray’s head with a sickening crack, and he crumples.
Silas fires once, wildly. The shot misses and punches a hole in the couch above me, and then Damian is on him, fists flying. Silas fights back dirty—gouges, knees, teeth. He breaks free just long enough to grab something from the floor, and then he spins and grabs me, one hand yanking me upright by the arm, the other jamming something hard against my temple.
It’s a gun.
My limbs are paper soft, my head lolling to one side. Silas braces me against his chest like a shield, panting so hard I can feel his lungs working against me.
But I can’t speak. Can’t move. The cold barrel stays pressed to my head and I find I have no fear at all.
“Get on your knees,” he spits at Wyatt, at Damian. “You even breathe wrong, I’ll blow her pretty little head open.”
My vision goes sharp, then soft. Blurry. But movement catches my eye and makes me refocus.
A figure crashes in from the shadows—huge, fast, silent. He slams into Silas with bone-breaking force, tearing me free.
I collapse back on the couch but slide off, unable to hold myself up. The floor rushes up. Cold concrete. My cheek hits it and stays there and then Silas hits the ground too, right at my eye level, the breath knocked from him in a grunt. For one stunned second, we stare at each other. Then he’s rolled onto his back by a massive blond Viking and a fist slams into his face.
I want to call out, but nothing comes. Just a whimper, drowned in the chaos.
