Page 82 of Tabitha

Tabitha was correct—Pierce is horrible at traveling through the woods. Broken shrubs, branches, and snapped twigs lead the mercenaries directly toward them, even with all her help. I grab my paintball gun, testing the range that it can shoot, then frown. I will have to get closer than I’d like to take them out.

I glare at the gun, wishing it was my trusty M40 sniper rifle.

This is supposed to be a game, but I no longer care. I would take them out in a heartbeat, without a hint of remorse, if it meant keeping Tabitha safe. I no longer give a fuck about the mission, I just want to take Tabitha as far away from here as possible. Logically, I know I can’t keep her from danger. Hell, she practically thrives on it. I don’t want to change her, I just want to be standing by her side while she faces it.

I don’t like this splitting up bullshit.

We should be sticking together, and the desire has nothing to do with the way my skin itches when she’s not near or the way my mind goes to dark places when I can’t breathe in her lavender scent. I quickly turn off those thoughts and focus on what I do best—eliminating the enemy.

It’s not long before I’ve tagged the five men. They fire back, paint splattering me with how close they manage to get, but no one lands a direct hit. Instead of quitting, they continue their hunt, so begins the game of painting them red from head to toe.

Their restraint finally snaps. They forget about my Tabitha and hunt me in earnest. I take off, leading them on a merry chase. The fuckers are good, and I take more than one bullet that paints me a neon pink.

Cheating fuckers.

The dark red blends in with the leaves and bark, but pink stands out like a beacon. After another five minutes of leading them away from Tabitha, I switch gears and circle back. I only manage three yards before Banks steps out from behind a tree and cracks the butt of his rifle across my face.

Then everything goes black.

Chapter Twenty-five

TABITHA

Pierce and I arrive at the burned-out husk of the cabin without running into any opposition. Halfway to our destination, a barrage of shots was exchanged. It was only Pierce’s tight grip on my hand that kept me from turning back.

No doubt, River disobeyed my order and doubled back to protect our retreat. While I’m grateful, I don’t like that he’s basically in enemy territory by himself.

Unprotected.

I don’t trust Banks as far as I can throw him. The man is up to something, and the more time I’m away from the guys, the more my senses tingle in warning. The moment we step into the clearing, Bast and Gage casually stroll into view.

I don’t even wait for them to reach us. “We need to go back for River.”

Bast glances in the direction of the shots, then shakes his head. “We push forward.”

Before I can protest, Bast catches my arm. “Even if we find him, River won’t return with us. He’s determined to cover our backs. The only way to stop them from hunting us is if we get that flag.”

While part of me knows he’s right, every instinct says it’s the wrong decision.

Stupid feelings!

With my emotions clouding my judgment, I’m not sure what’s right.

Bast grabs the back of my neck, then presses his forehead against mine. “Trust me. We need to get you to that flag. It’s the only way.”

I didn’t know a game of paintball could feel so life or death, where one wrong move could cost us everything. As much as I want to protest leaving River behind, I can’t refute his logic. Gritting my teeth, I nod. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I take point, the guys spreading out behind me to keep us from being such a large target. The woods fall eerily silent, like the world is holding its breath. The training I received from my father urges me to hunker down and wait out the threat, but we don’t have the luxury of time.

I compromise and slow my pace to a crawl, ghosting in and out of the trees. Though the men are good, they’re not trained. I motion to the guys to stop, then I leave them behind. Their fury beats against me, but I don’t give them a choice, disappearing before they can stop me.

Creeping toward the spot on the map where they marked the flag, I hear the men before I see them. I count seven of them, including Bruce and Steward, and I hunker down to wait.

Against my will, my attention is drawn toward the dilapidated building in the distance, and the giant willow looming over it. There isn’t much that remains of my home. The roof collapsed long ago, the edges of the porch have buckled, while the walls practically sway in the breeze.

Memories of the past flicker through my mind like a nightmare that I can’t quite shake, threatening to drag me back to a time I thought I had put behind me. If I listen hard enough, I can almost hear my father ranting over some chore that needs to be done. My skin tightens as phantom bruises along my body ache, reminding me of when I failed to complete my tasks in his precise way.

I’m drowning in the memories when an argument brings me back to the present, leaving me disoriented as I struggle to sort out the past from the present. I’m crouched near the base of a tree, the men so close, I can almost reach out and touch them.

---