Page 83 of Tabitha

“Banks is completely distracted by pussy,” Bruce gripes, glaring at the surrounding trees, looking for an enemy to shoot. I don’t miss that he has a gun strapped to his thigh. “We should be focusing on the mission.”

Steward leans against a tree opposite me, cleaning his nails with a bowie knife. “He knows what he’s doing. We need the girl.”

“There are other ways—”

Bruce is cut off when a bright splotch of red appears center mass, right over his heart. He curses, and the rest of the men stand to attention. I spot Bast and Pierce running through the trees, and they all give chase, except for Bruce. He takes a step to follow, then plants his foot back down and glances at the flag.

He lifts his paintball gun, ready to take aim as he scans his surroundings.

When Gage steps into the clearing, both men fire off a single shot within a split second of each other.

Both kill shots.

Then Bruce drops his paintball gun and reaches for the weapon at his side. “I’m tired of living in this shit town. This ends now.”

My heart leaps in my throat as the barrel of his gun leaves the holster.

I’m moving across the clearing before I even register it, my blade in my hand. Gage gives away my presence when his eyes widen, then he curses and charges toward Bruce from the opposite direction. Bruce whirls, bringing up his gun just as I come within striking distance.

The blast of the gun echoes in my head just as my blade sinks into his shoulder. He roars in my face, then grabs my arms and flings me away from him. I hit the ground hard, rolling across the clearing, seeming to hit every rock and branch along the way. By the time my momentum slows enough for me to pick myself up off the ground, I see Gage and Bruce facing off in a vicious battle, the gun lost in the fight.

I stand, grimacing when pain ripples along my side and steals my breath. I glance down, then scowl when I see a bullet has grazed my side, cutting a shallow channel along the flesh of my lower ribs. The wound is deep enough to sting, but not severe enough to put me out of commission.

Ignoring the injury, I take a step toward the men, then pause—I can’t risk distracting Gage.

As they exchange blows, I frantically search the ground for the missing gun. I locate it halfway between me and the men. I rush forward and drop to my knees, scooping it up as I skid along the ground.

Just as I bring up the barrel, I yell, “Down.”

Gage doesn’t even hesitate, flinging himself sideways just as I pull the trigger.

The blast echoes in the clearing as Gage crashes to the ground. Bruce looks stunned for a moment, touches the wound that has burrowed through the center of his chest, then stares uncomprehendingly at the blood coating his fingers.

He staggers back a step, then the strength goes out of his legs and he topples backward.

He’s dead before he hits the ground.

Gage turns toward me, his chest heaving, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he’s on his feet, taking the gun from my fingers and drawing me up against his chest. His grip is brutal, his whole frame trembling, and I cling to him just as hard, my heartbeat thundering in my ears. Then his hands are on my shoulders, easing me away when I would much rather be back in his arms.

“Are you hurt?” When I don’t answer fast enough for him, he gives me a little shake. He drops his eyes, scanning me from head to foot, then stops dead when he spots the blood coating my side.

“Fuck!” He immediately pales and starts fussing, helping me sit on the ground before he peels up my shirt. When he gets a look at the damage, he blows out a harsh breath, appearing both relieved and sick at the same time. “Just a flesh wound.”

I catch his hands before he can continue. “We don’t have time. We need to grab the flag and get back to the others.”

He scowls, opening his mouth to argue, but I’m already on my feet. I’m just pulling down the flag when a dozen people flood the area. While my men are splattered with paint, they’re not dripping in it like Banks and his crew, and I’m a little disappointed that I missed seeing my guys in action. Bast and Pierce are immediately at my side, drawing weapons they’ve stashed on their persons. Gage appropriates the forgotten gun and faces off with the others in the showdown.

Banks takes in the scene at a glance, pausing when his eyes lands on the corpse, then his gaze comes to rest on me. He takes note of the flag in my hand before dropping his attention to my blood soaked shirt. His mouth tightens, his eyes going flat, and I speak before he can throw blame. “He shot first.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw for a moment, tension thick in the air, then he nods. “It seems I owe you another apology. You have my word, none of my men will dare lay a finger on you, or I will kill them myself.”

He’s done it before, so I know it’s not an empty threat. I should feel better at the deadly warning, but I only feel the walls of my cage closing in on me. Whatever he expected to happen today failed, and my intuition is screaming that he’s done waiting.

* * *

Banks and his men reluctantly leave after we not-so-graciously refuse their kind offer of an escort off the mountain. River has yet to return, and I have no intention of leaving until he’s back. After ten minutes of wringing my hands, I can’t sit still a second longer. “I don’t like this. He should’ve been here by now. I’m going to look for him.”

A grim expression crosses Bast’s face, a muscle ticking in his jaw, and he reluctantly nods. “We stick together.”

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