“I’m not just going to let this bitch kill my brother,” Felix said, voice raw. “I’m not going to let them kill you.”
“Nobody’s going to get killed,” Noah said.
“That’s an order,” Calliope chimed in. “We’re going to figure this out.”
Atticus was in the hallway now, inching closer to the nurses station. The view from the left was completely obscured by the corner of the wall and Jericho’s body. Atticus went right. It wasn’t much better. Seven stood closely behind Jericho.
Atticus felt, more than saw, his brothers fanning out, each of them trying to get the best shot.
“Seven, can you take a small step to your left?” Atticus asked.
Seven couldn’t answer, but he slowly, carefully, swayed to one side, carefully lifting his foot and placing it an inch to the left before swaying back and repeating the movement with his opposite leg. It was imperceptible to Agnes, but it finally allowed Atticus a view of Agnes’s blonde hair.
Atticus raised his gun, leveling his sight on the very top of her head, the only thing visible. Everything seemed like it was moving too slow and too fast at the same time. Fuck. Atticus couldn’t lose him. Not to that bitch.
“Drop the guns,” Agnes shouted over Jericho’s shoulder, her voice taut like a wire close to snapping. “All of you.”
She was barely hanging on. If Atticus didn’t do something, she was going to snap and Jericho was going to die.
Jericho dropped his gun to the floor. “That’s not going to happen, Agnes. These guys aren’t my friends. They’re willing to sacrifice me to get you. Just put the gun down and go. We won’t follow you.”
“Goddammit. I need a bigger fucking target,” Atticus growled, frustration leaching into his tone.
Atticus watched Jericho’s shoulders rise, heard him take a huge breath, heard him let it out, his shoulders falling. That was for Atticus. Somehow, Atticus knew that was Jericho calming him down.
“But you do have a target?” Adam asked.
Atticus shook his head. “Barely. Jericho, is there any way you could shift to your left like Seven.”
Jericho gave the barest shake of his head. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could see the top of her head just over Jericho’s shoulder, but if he was even a hair off, he would shoot Jericho in either the shoulder or the throat. One could maim him, the other could kill him. Atticus couldn’t live with himself if he was the reason Jericho died.
“Can you make the shot or not?” Asa asked.
“You know he’s not a great shooter,” Avi muttered.
“Both of you shut up,” August snapped. “You can do this, Atticus. Even if you only graze her, it will be enough for Jericho to get the jump on her.”
Atticus swallowed the lump in his throat. “But if I miss, I’ll kill him.”
“So, don’t miss,” August said, voice as calm and rational as always.
Sure. Don’t miss. That seemed easy enough. Atticus, the guy who fucked up half his kills, just had to take a nearly impossible shot that could potentially kill the only person who ever loved him. “I can’t do it.”
“You can.” Atticus snapped his head to where Adam stood. “Youwon’tmiss,” Adam reiterated. “You’ve got this.”
Atticus couldn’t recall a single time when Adam had ever implied that Atticus was anything more than incompetent. Maybe Adam figured Atticus would hit and kill Jericho and then he wouldn’t have to worry about dealing with him. That seemed too extreme even for Adam. But the alternative was Adam saying something nice about Atticus, which seemed equally absurd.
Atticus refocused on Jericho, narrowing his vision until the only thing he saw was the top of that blonde head. He took a deep breath and let it out.
“You won’t miss,” Jericho said, shifting his body weight just enough to give Atticus a target. “Now.”
Agnes had barely enough time to register his words. “Wha—?”
Atticus pulled the trigger, eyes going wide as a perfect hole formed between her brows. She hung there suspended like a puppet on a string before she dropped out of site.
“What happened?” Noah shouted.
“Target eliminated,” August said. “No casualties.”
