Page 46 of Entangled

Kill every fucker who threatens what’s yours.

Agirlscreams, and it’s like getting nailed in the gut with a semi-auto.

I don’t do well with women screaming. Never have. But that voice ain’t a woman’s. It’s young—too young—and it makes some locked-up part of my chest kick back hard in anger.

It takes seconds to reach the man who has her pressed into the earth, and just two more to yank him back and put a bullet through the back of his head.

Of course, the shot makes his wasted brain matter spew from his forehead, coating the kid in a fountain of blood.

Her scream cuts off, and she stares up at me with wide eyes. There are chunks in her hair, and I scowl at the sight. Stupid. Probably just bought the brat a lifetime of therapy with that move.

I expect her to flinch back, but apparently she’s stupider than she looks, cause those big eyes are filled with gratitude.

It makes me itchy.

“Hide, kid,” I growl, menacing as I can make it. With any luck, she’ll run right back to kindergarten. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

“Can everyone stop saying that?” she mutters. She shakes her hair out like a dog. “I’m fourteen.”

“Is that achild?”

Shock makes the posh prince sound scandalized. Jasper comes in from behind me and reaches out to help the kid up. The fight rages all around us, and I itch to bail.

Catching my gaze, he nods at me to move on. He seems calm enough, and he hassomeskill with that gun. More than nothing. But still, I hesitate as the kid gives Jasper’s hand a suspicious look.

She glances up at me. “You know this grandpa?”

That startles a snort out of me. “He can’t see or hear worth a shit, so keep an eye on him.”

Jasper muffles a sigh, but the girl laughs as she takes his hand. Seeing that he has her, I turn back into the fray.

This scene in front of me is chaos. There are bodies everywhere. Men, women—I can’t make out shit. Dom plugs a man through the shoulder with his dagger, and Bentley takes the Sinner’s head off in one brutal swing of his sword.

Just lops a fuckingheadoff.

An arrow slams into the tree beside me while I’m staring at the dismembered head, and I only glance at the arrow for half a second before I fire back in the direction it was shot.

Thefuck is this? Swords, and now goddamnedarrows?

The hunters—Sinners, whatever they’re called—had plenty of gear. Why the hell would they be using arrows?

Feeling like we’ve just stepped into the middle of a shitshow, I run toward the tree where the arrow was fired from. Something hard smacks me on my bicep, and I grunt, spinning. There are people everywhere.

“You killed him!”

“No!”

I freeze.

“You killed all of them! Lukas said?—”

“I didn’t! Mateo, I didn’t?—”

A howl of rage cuts off that urgent, husky voice, and I don’t bother going around the branches and underbrush—I go through them. The man lets out a string of Spanish, and I use it to zero in on them.

...and then I see her.

Five feet away, a man has a gun to Eden’s temple.

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