Page 47 of Wicked Devotion
“Move,” he barks at me, slinging his rifle onto his back before he grabs his machine gun and starts running down the slope.
We’re almost at the run-down shack when bullets splinter the rotten wood in front of us. Unless these guys somehow acquired magical boomerang bullets, we have a fucking problem.
“Ambush,” I yell. “Taking cover south of the cabin.”
I see the guy on top of the hill a moment too late, and instead of striking his head, I only hit his shoulder. He cries out and aimlessly fires at me for the few seconds it takes me to regain my focus. My next shot is a perfect hit, and the man falls down. The two guys who run toward him to help meet the same fate not long after.
Once the rain of bullets around me stops, a searing pain drags my attention to my left arm.
Shit.
Inside the cabin, Logan screams at someone, and I deem him distracted enough for the next five minutes. I take off my vest and my jacket to rip off a piece of fabric from my shirt and wrap the makeshift bandage around my arm.
It’s just a graze wound, and while this treatment is less than ideal, it’s still better than the risk of letting Logan see that I’m injured.
“You guys are good?” Sam asks over comms, a little out of breath.
“Fantastic,” Logan answers, so I put my gear back on and hurry inside the cabin to make sure he’s not flaying someone.
“Red’s gonna need to make some space in his warehouse ’cause we found the rest of their stock,” Sam says. “We’ll stay here in case more surprises are waiting for us. Unless you guys need our help—“
“We’re fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “Should be able to regroup in ten.”
A bloodbath greets me as I enter the cabin. Logan looms over the last living guy who holds his bleeding arm, and I bet he wishes Logan had aimed at his head instead. If he doesn’t, he’s going to wish for it in approximately two seconds.
The man tries to crawl away until Logan stops the sad attempt by stepping over him. Gently, he nudges his face with the muzzle of his rifle.
“How many?”
“Son of a bitch,” the guy spits out. Logan laughs, which seems to agitate the man. “Do you think I’d fire at my own fucking men?”
“Not the answer to my question,” Logan says with a sigh, his foot hovering over the man’s shoulder. “Is there something wrong with the way I phrase my questions lately, sunshine? Or are people just getting dumber?”
He steps down hard, and the man lets out a scream so loud I’m sure even Sam and Rockwell heard it.
“How fucking many, asshole?”
When he doesn’t get an answer, Logan aims at the man’s forehead. “Got a rat in your team then.”
The guy pleads for his life in a way that forces me to swallow the lump in my throat.
“We should take him with us, maybe Red can—“
Bang.
“Was that necessary?” I ask, looking the other way.
“Necessary, and an act of mercy. At least I made it quick,” Logan says dryly. “Come on, let’s check if there are any left outside.”
We leave the cabin, and I remind myself to stay on Logan’s left side as we walk back up the hill.
“What is it with you today?” he asks, nudging my shoulder with his.
“The heat,” I groan, praying he doesn’t press the issue further.
Cautiously, I let my gaze wander over the thick greenery. I’m not convinced we got all of them because there’s no way in hell someone would try to hijack a transport like this one with just a handful of guys.
Logan is the first to reach the top of the slope, almost stumbling over the small pile of bodies.
