Page 16 of The Last Sanctuary
“Carl—” Phil begged.
Carl reached for the hidden weapon.
Dekker shot Carl point-blank in the face.
The blast of the gunshot exploded against Raven’s ears. She clasped both hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
Carl’s face disappeared in a mist of red. His body dropped to the floor behind the counter and hit the tile with a thud. Blood splattered across the counter, nearby shelves, and the sunglasses rack. Red droplets sprayed Phil’s pristine white lab coat, his face mask, and his white puff of hair.
Phil stood frozen beside his son’s body, his arms still raised in supplication, his eyes wide and startled.
A gasp escaped Raven’s lips. Shock went through her like an electric charge. They’d just killed someone. They’d murdered Carl for no good reason at all. Her pulse thumped loud in her ears. Acid burned the back of her throat. She’d watched a man die while she hid. Did that make her a coward? Hot tears stung her eyes.
Covering her mouth with one hand, Raven shrank back against the shelves, accidentally bumping the lowest one withher knee. A shampoo bottle wavered, about to crash onto the tile. She managed to grab it before it fell.
She held her breath, her heart thumping, but no one turned around. No one but Phil knew she was there. The bikers had their backs turned when she’d walked in. They’d been busy emptying the vending machine, so loud they likely hadn’t heard her, either.
Scorpio grunted. He wiped a faint spray of blood off his face with the flap of his shirt. He looked at Dekker with a disgruntled scowl. “Did you have to do that?”
“I did,” Dekker said, his face impassive. “He offended my… honor.”
Scorpio shook his head. “There will be talk about this. Vaughn won’t be pleased.”
Dekker swiveled and pointed the gun at Phil. He sneered, his features twisting in derision. Something was missing, something empty in his gaze. His eyes were dull as lead. “We'd better not leave any witnesses, then.”
“I’ve got this,” said a younger guy she hadn’t noticed until now. He’d hung back, silent and watchful. Metal glinted at his lip and brow. Several intricate tattoos inked his arms. He looked to be about twenty, tall and lanky, with a head of short russet-red hair. His narrow, pointy face and cunning eyes reminded her distinctly of a fox. A very handsome fox.
The fox lifted the rifle that had been slung over his shoulder and aimed it at Phil. “Get what we asked for, or you’ll regret it.”
“You heard Damien.” Dekker’s lip curled in faint amusement. He holstered his gun. “I’ll have him blow your kneecaps, then your ankles, then your hands, one by one, and then we’ll watch you bleed out and die like a stuck pig. Or, do what he says, and maybe you’ll live to bury your ugly son.”
Raven waited, every muscle taut, fear and adrenaline pumping through her veins. Phil turned without a word.Trembling, he bagged the remaining medications. A couple of bottles fell off the counter and rolled onto the floor.
“Faster!” Damien snarled, gesturing with the gun.
Dekker slapped Damien on the back, grinning. “Looky there. The young pup is coming into his own!”
Damien gave a hard little grin as if he was enjoying this. They all were. “Get the damn meds, old man.”
Minutes felt like hours. Finally, the bikers got what they wanted. Phil crammed the last of the bottles and boxes into the backpack. Every step he took, he was forced to walk in Carl’s blood. His whole body was shaking. His face drained of color. He looked like a ghost. “That—that’s it.”
Damien cursed at him. The other men laughed, jeering and mocking.
Phil cowered. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t hurt me. Please.”
“You’re just a pathetic old man.” Damien leaned over the counter and jabbed the barrel of the rifle hard into Phil’s chest.
From her hiding place, Raven cringed, half-expecting him to shoot Phil for the fun of it. Phil went rigid, closing his eyes, as if he expected the same thing. Maybe a part of him wanted it, so he wouldn’t have to bear the pain of living in a shattered world without his son. Despite his fear and grief, he did not look in Raven’s direction or reveal her presence.
Her free hand drifted toward the tranq gun sticking up from her pocket. It used a pressurized gas system that utilized carbon dioxide in an air-driven system to launch the darts from up to 150 feet. She could hit one of these thugs easily, take him down. Maybe she’d get two or three before they discovered her and did worse to her than to Carl.
Only tranquilizers didn’t work right away, not like in the movies. The potent levels of xylazine in each dart would stop ahuman heart, but not necessarily before one of them strangled her to death.
She couldn’t fight them all. Carl was beyond saving. Was Phil? Her hand tightened on the gun. Was she brave enough to try to save him, after his kindness toward her and her father? Could she stand by and let another innocent person die?
Her muscles tensed. She hunched even lower. No. She was a coward. She would do what her father had said. She would stay small and invisible to save herself.
Damien poked Phil again in the chest, but Phil didn’t respond. He stood, still and silent, waiting for whatever would come next—death, or the next agonizing breath, the next minutes and hours in a world bereft of his son.
