Jason

“Holy shit.” With the gun cocked and ready, I look at Cole, who’s hiding in the closet. “Who’s out there?” I ask the cowering bastard.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Shh. Keep your voice down.”

“I wanted to die. I wanted to die with her.”

I have a good mind to take him out of his misery. The fucker shouldn’t live. He caused all of this. Our lost years. Her pain. The fucker tried to kill her. Drown her. I want to take him out so badly. But something about the two warning shots fired in the living room make me think he’s not the one I need to worry about right now.

The door to the bedroom is still open, but I’ve turned the lights outs. I have Cole’s gun, which has one bullet. Fucker. I’m guessing he intended to play a game of Russian roulette. My gun is in my truck but that means getting out of here undetected to retrieve it.

With the shades up on either side of the bed, enough light filters in from the lights on the side of the house outside to see Cutler wet and shivering. “Cutler,” I whisper between gritted teeth. He’s useless as he buries himself behind the clothes. Fucking coward.

My body stills when I hear the floors creaking down the hall. My mind ticks through the escape routes of this house.

Front door through the living room.

Window out onto the roof upstairs.

The backdoor in the kitchen.

I’ve become complacent. My mind rushing to the obvious instead of what I can actually get to undetected.

Two windows in either corner.

One larger one at the end of the hall.

Small horizontal window in the shower.

Fuck.

The windows in here are my only hope. I just hope there’s not a surprise waiting for me outside. When I hear another set of footsteps, I run. Needing all my strength, I set the gun on the bed, unlock the latch, and pull.

Fuck!

The window is stuck. Yanking again, it doesn’t budge. I run my finger along the seam, and that’s when I see it’s been painted closed. Who the hell would do that? Glancing over to the other window, I see the same thing.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I grab the gun and head to the door. Backing up to the wall, the gun is against my chest, my finger loose on the trigger.

One bullet.

One.

Delilah.

Images of her carefree and hanging out of my truck, as if there was nothing that could stop her from loving life. She deserves that.

She’s who I’m living for, so I hope she’s long gone. Please to fuck, let her have listened this one time. Ricardo will keep her safe.

I suck in a slow and steady breath that fills my chest, and then round the corner, running to the window at the end of the hall. Glad I wasn’t wearing boots. The rubber of my sneakers dampens the sound of my feet as I run. The fucking wood floors give away my precise location, if you know the house as well as I do. The latch is released with one hand and I reach down pulling it open and dive out. I hit the grass and roll before maneuvering to the side and pressing against the siding of the house.

My breathing is too loud. I’ve let myself go, trusting I was safe. Will I ever be? Have I brought danger here? Are they here to take me out?

I eye the large trunk of an oak tree. It will give me a better vantage point of the house and get closer to my truck.

Three.

Two.

One.

Running with all my power, I grab the tree and bring myself to a stop. The house has been quiet since they called out, “Come out. Come out,” and fired the two shots. I can’t see any movement through the open curtains of the living room, but I stay still. Looking over to my truck, I’ve got a good seventy-five feet to cover to reach it. Wide open with nowhere to hide.

Fuck.

I keep to the shadowy parts of the lawn but run like I’ve never run before. If someone wants me dead, this is prime time. Skidding to a stop at the back of the truck, I duck down behind it and try to catch my breath while listening for any commotion outside or action inside. What the hell are they waiting for? If it’s Cutler they’re actually after, they can hear him, surely.

I hurry to the front of the truck, thankful I’ve disabled the internal light and that damn buzzing that comes on when I open the door. I click open the driver’s door and grab my gun from inside a blanket shoved in the corner behind the passenger’s seat. Dropping to the ground with both guns in hand, I regulate my breathing.

In the distance, across the field, I see the shining beacon of Ricardo and Paloma’s house. My heart steadies as I take a gun in each hand ready for the battle ahead. One bullet in Cole’s. Six in mine.

Seven opportunities to take down two intruders. With adrenaline pumping, my breathing sounds like water rushing through my ears. Standing up, I position myself to the side so I can’t be seen from the house. I peer through the truck windshield at the brightly lit front porch, then blink.

What the hell?

I swear that’s Delilah running onto the porch. Shit. I run to the front of the truck both guns ready to fire. “Delilah!” I whisper-yell.

But she’s too determined and makes it to the front door before she hears me. I run. There’s no waiting for a perfect moment to take these fuckers down.

It’s them or Delilah and it better not be her.

My heart is beating a mile a minute as I hear shots fired but no screaming. What are these fuckers after?

I take the front porch steps by three and have the screen door swinging open by the count of four. The lights go out when I hit the floor and slide between the couch and the coffee table. Crouched down, I listen for sounds in the house besides the door screeching closed.

A tap on my ass causes me to jump, turn around, and aim both guns right into the blue eyes of my girl. Lowering my guns, I whisper, “For fuck’s sake, Delilah. What are you doing?”

“I was coming in to help you.”

“I told you to go to Ricardo’s and wait.”

“I did, but then I heard the gunshots and came back.” Her eyes are glassy, and her bottom lip trembles. “I thought they were going to hurt you.”

“Now they’ll hurt you, too. Fuck. Why didn’t you listen to me?” We can’t argue about this now. I’ve got to get her out of here.

When we hear muffled voices we still our bodies so we can listen. Glancing back to her, she points upstairs. I mouth, “You sure?”

She nods.

“I’m going up. You go to Ricardo’s and do not stop for anything. Do you understand?”

“Stay alive. For me.” Nodding again, she tugs on my jeans. “I love you.”

“Love you. Now go.”

As soon as she’s moving, I’m up covering her as she runs back out the door. I hit the wall that leads upstairs. It’s going to be damn hard to not get shot if I go up there. I need to wait them out. I need to be near a door and the living room has no coverage when they come down, so I head for the kitchen. I turn and stare right into the cylinder of a silencer.

“Guess that wasn’t you shooting up the place?”

“Drop the guns.”

I give the gun one long look, and then I drop my guns because unfortunately, escaping isn’t an option when you’re staring the Grim Reaper in the face.

“Cole Cutler, you owe my boss $57,850. You are being served a death sentence—”

“Wrong guy.” As relieved I am to know they aren’t here to kill me, figures that fucker is responsible for this shitstorm.

“What?”

Tilting his head to the side, his face comes into view. “I’m not Cutler.”

“You’re in his house.”

“I’m in his ex-wife’s house.”

“Ex?” He sighs, but doesn’t lower the gun. In fact, he nudges my nose with it.

“Well, you’re in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.”

I hear the cock of the gun and hope to God Delilah is safely across that field.

“Benson, you down there?”

Saved by the sidekick. Using the distraction, I jack my knee into his groin as hard as I can. He falls as a bullet whizzes by my ear when I drop to grab my guns. Seconds feel like minutes until I find myself standing over him with both guns aimed down—one at his head and one at his dick.

“What’s happening, Benson?”

He groans in response but his partner stays put with the upstairs advantage. I have the darkness as mine.

“Shut the fuck up, Brooks, and kill this fucker.”

When this guy’s greeted with silence, I toe him in the shoulder. “Your buddy’s not too worried about you. Why does Cutler owe you money?”

“He owes my boss money. Backroom poker tournaments. He’s a shit card player.”

I could shoot this guy in the head right now and take out his partner, even in the dark.

But what do I do with Cole? I’m going to have to deal with him differently despite my desire to end him.

“Stand up. Slowly. Keep your hands up and visible. Tell your buddy to come down here.”

“Get down here, Brooks.”

“What?”

“Get the fuck down here.”

He comes down the stairs and his gun is lowered to his side. I add, “Get next to your partner. Lose your gun.” The guy drops his gun to the floor.

The first guy says, “Look, buddy. It was a simple mistake. Show us where Cutler is.”

“You’re not letting me walk out of here, so let’s not pretend.”

Before I can decide what to do with these guys, Cole comes barreling down the hall screaming and pounding his chest. What the hell is he doing? They’re knocked to the ground and Brooks takes me down with him. All the guns scatter across the floor. Fuck.

I grab one and turn on my ass to find a gun already pointed at me. The sound of a weapon discharging echoes through the air, and for one brief second I close my eyes and wait for the hit.