Page 80 of Jasper
Two of them are down but moving before they even know what hit them. The others scatter, dragging their injured away. I don’t give them time to regroup.
“Onyx,” I shout, “flank right.”
He’s already moving, boots hitting the floor with a loud thud. I break from the window and move with him, keeping low, watching for silhouettes through the haze. The heavy gunner who has been chewing up the walls with a mounted drum-fed weapon finally shows himself again, pushing through the side gate with backup. He’s wearing body armor and clearly has a death wish tonight.
Once they’re out in the open below our overhead lights, I drop to one knee behind a collapsed pillar and quickly take the shot. First round splits his jaw. The second lodges deep in his throat. He drops the weapon as he falls, and his men falter, looking around for someone to follow.
Mica calls out from the side hallway, but his voice is strained. I turn and see him limping, blood soaking through his jeans. That explains why he never went back up to his original assignment on the roof. He can’t fucking make it back up the stairs. But he’s still firing with his handgun, trying to cover our old man near the stairs, but it’s clear he’s been hit bad.
I vault over the banister and slide in beside him, my hand already pressing to the torn flesh above his knee. Blood’s pouring fast.
“Sit down and shut up,” I mutter, yanking the tourniquet from my vest.
“I’m not out,” he hisses. “I can do this.”
“Not with a gaping leg wound, you can’t. None of us could. Let me tie the fucker off.”
I cinch the strap and twist until he jerks, then tie it off tight while he leans his head back and grimaces through the pain.
There’s no time to check if it’s enough, so I toss him a full mag and tap his shoulder once.
“Hold the hallway. You drop dead and I’ll drag your ass back from hell to finish the job.” I ruffle his hair just to piss him off because an angry Mica is sharper in a battle.
He nods, jaw clenched and takes his place behind the overturned bench we’re using for partial cover. “Fuck all the way off, Jasper. You all treat me like I’m a fucking kid.”
I turn away, unwilling to argue about him being the youngest again. My youngest brother has a gigantic chip on his shoulder, and I’m getting fuckin’ tired of it.
Outside, the fire’s still burning. The smoke is spreading faster now, curling through the yard, making it harder for the Hyenas to see us. We have the home court advantage and know every inch of this ground. They’ve lost their leader, and with it, their edge. The Hyenas are starting to desert a few at a time. Meanwhile, we’re just getting started. The front door finally gives.
The front door holds long enough for us to get in position but then splinters open with a mighty groan when they try to ram a pickup truck through.
“Fall back,” I call. “The narrow corridor will create a bottleneck. Don’t let any of them pass.”
We retreat through the dining room and take up positions again near the stairs. The hallway is so tight we can barely move side to side. It’s what we planned for. A kill zone. They’ll come through single file here, thinking it’s an advantage. It isn’t.
Onyx reloads his shotgun with quiet precision. Slate’s blade gleams in the dim light. Mica’s limping but holding strong at the back end. I press my last mag into place and brace against the doorframe.
The first Hyena through catches a bullet to the chest. The next takes Slate’s blade across the face. There’s no time for clean shots now. This is muscle memory, trying to protect the one’sdown below. Blood is creeping into the cracks of the floor. I fire until I’m dry, then draw my knife without thinking.
The next one grabs at me. He’s got big hands, and that telltale red bandana around his arm. Marquez! He’s older, gnarled and reeks of sweat and tobacco. His eyes go wide when he sees me because clearly, he didn’t want to end up face-to-face with me. Too damn bad, I think to myself, as I drive the blade into the soft place under his jaw, all the way up until his body goes limp against mine. I shove him off, noticing that my hand is now slick with his blood. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing I killed the man who started this whole mess, by threatening everything I hold dear.
I hear a loud shout behind me. It’s Onyx, swinging a steel pipe that cracks a man’s forearm clean in two. The break makes a sound I won’t forget, but Onyx doesn’t even flinch. He keeps moving forward, driving his shoulder into the next one hard enough to knock him to the floor. With one sickening crunch, my brother finishes him off.
I don’t feel tired. Instead, I feel energized and focused. There’s clarity in this kind of battle.
Another volley breaks out across the yard, short bursts of weapons fire from new positions. Jesus, not more of these fuckers. They’re in tight clusters and aiming with precision. I know the pattern. That’s club-trained shooting. Not Hyena chaos. That means it’s our people.
“Friendly contact, east side!” someone yells.
And just like that, the tide begins to turn. Twenty bikes must’ve flown down the ridge trail without headlights, cutting through the trees like ghosts. It’s the affiliate club from Iron Ridge, patched men who got word that there were interloperstrying to steal territory from us. They wanted blood and raced to get their share. They don’t waste a second. They flank the Hyenas from behind, mowing down the back ranks before the bastards even know what’s hit them.
The chaos outside shifts fast. Hyenas scream orders, falling over themselves to regroup, but it’s already too late. Their perimeter’s broken. Their advantage is gone.
And then, above it all, the mechanical whine of a drone trying to lock a target.
I glance up. It hovers just past the roofline, camera sweeping low.
“Third one,” I mutter, raising my rifle.
