Bryson swore and tried to push himself up. But it was as if his body was glued to the floor.
The sound of a roaring engine had both of them jerking their heads toward the front windows. Bryson’s pickup crashed through the house, tossing one of the couches across the room like kindling, and slamming into Lowe so hard he flew across the room.
Someone hopped out, but all he saw was a blur.
“Bryson! Bryson, I’m coming. Hold on.”
Teagan.
She crawled over the destruction she’d wrought on his house. He wanted to yell at her for risking her life yet again for him. But he was so glad to see her, alive, and safe, because she’d killed Lowe. He didn’t yell. He was too proud of his little warrior to risk hurting the tender feelings that she tried to hide with her sassy quips. He despised himself that it took dying for him to realize just what she meant to him.
And that he loved her.
Her shoes squeaked and slid across the wet floor as she scrambled toward him. He tried to tell her that he loved her, that he was proud of her. But he wasn’t sure if the words came out or not. He was so tired. And cold. At least the awful pain had faded. He barely felt anything anymore. He closed his eyes, at peace, knowing that she was safe. That she would be okay.
TEAGANGRABBEDTHEdiscarded gun she’d spotted on the floor next to a smashed piece of electronics that she could only guess was whatever Lowe had used to jam the cell signals. But Lowe was no longer a threat. He was lying in a lifeless heap about ten feet away.
After a treacherous slippery slide across the blood-streaked floor, she dropped to her knees beside Bryson, gun still clutched in her left hand as she knelt over him. “Can you hear me? Speak to me,” she ordered through a cascade of tears.
He blinked, then slowly opened his eyes. “Teagan?” Her name was slurred. He seemed confused as he struggled to focus on her face.
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” She set the pistol down and leaned over him, pressing her hands against the floor on each side of him to keep her balance. Something bumped against her arm. She pulled back in horror to see the handle of a knife sticking out from his left side, embedded all the way to the hilt. Blood pooled beneath him, forming macabre rivulets across the formerly polished white floor. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.”
“You...okay?” he whispered, his lips an odd, bluish tinge. “Where’s... Lowe? The...gun?”
She motioned toward the body on the other side of the room as she tore at the duct tape holding the towels around her left arm. “I hit the piece of scum with your truck. I drove it right up the front steps. Your gun’s right here.” She patted the floor beside him. “Don’t worry. He can’t hurt you again.”
He blinked. “Truck?” He rolled his head to the side, obviously trying to make sense of what she was saying.
She finally freed the towel and leaned across him, pressing it around the wound while trying to not move the knife and make it worse.
“Down!” he rasped.
She automatically ducked as the sound of a guttural yell sounded off to the side. Bryson swept the pistol up and fired over and over and over. Then his hand dropped to his side and the pistol skittered across the floor. It was as if he’d gathered all the strength he had left to protect her, once again, and was completely spent.
She looked over her shoulder. Lowe was impossibly close to them, just a few feet away. She’d thought she’d killed him. She must have only knocked him out. Or he’d pretended to be unconscious. Neither of which mattered now. Bryson’s aim had been true. He’d shot him in the head.
A sob escaped her. “I can’t believe it. After seeing him through the window, holding that pistol, I drove through a wall to save you. But once again, you saved me.” She turned back toward him, smiling through her tears.
His eyes were closed.
His jaw was slack.
“Bryson?” She frantically bent over him. “Open your eyes. Bryson?”
“Move. Get out of the way.”
She whirled around, shocked to see Gage Bishop kneeling beside her. Behind him, Brielle, Dalton and Han had just stepped in through the ruined wall and were sweeping their pistols back and forth, looking for threats.
“Move.” Bishop none too gently shoved her out of the way. He pressed his fingers against the side of Bryson’s neck.
“Come on.” Brielle was beside her now. “Let’s give him room. The police and an ambulance are on their way. Mason told us he’d tried to call Bryson back and couldn’t get through. He called us, then 911.”
Teagan pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from screaming.
Bishop was performing CPR.
Chapter Twenty-Six
