Without pausing, he took one step, put his gun to the back of one of Spence’s brothers’ skulls and pulled the trigger.
Boom!
It wasn’t a normal gun that he was using. The sound vibrated through the warehouse.
At the same time, Lassiter moved out from behind him, wielding a knife. He stepped up behind Spence’s other brother and brought his knife cleanly across the front of his throat. He slit him, stepped back, and left him to fall as blood began gushing from his throat.
Everyone had been focused on me.
Now they turned, seeing who had joined us, but Creighton wasn’t fucking around.
Spence forgot he had a gun and raised both of his hands, as if to stop what was coming his way. It stopped nothing. Creighton aimed at Spence and pulled the trigger, this time shooting through the front of the skull.
Three men were dead within a matter of seconds.
Creighton turned his gun on Tristian West next. He would’ve pulled the trigger a third time except while I’d been distracted, Ashton Walden, who I realized had already been heading toward me because he wanted to save his guard, stepped inside my cell and raised his voice, “Lane.”
Creighton froze, seeing that while I had a gun to my head, so did Walden. He added, his voice low and calm, knowing he’d be heard clearly, “I wouldn’t.” As he said that, he took the weapon from my hand and put his own gun’s muzzle against my head. He swiftly moved so he was standing behind me, his gun now touching the back of my head. Seeing he had Creighton’s undivided attention, he whistled approvingly under his breath. “Now who’s a good boy?”
Creighton’s eyes went feral.
He was going to kill him. Creighton was a good shot, but not good enough to get off a shot before four other guns turned on him. I didn’t want to math anymore. Even with Lassiter’s help, it wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to lose any of them.
“Eight!”
He stopped, his eyes flicking to mine.
He was slipping. Seeing me with a gun to my head pushed him off the edge. He was free-falling. And now with Walden’s gun taking its place, Creighton was almost to the bottom where he was determined to set everyone on fire if it meant that I’d be the only one to get out alive.
“Creighton,” I whispered now. “Stop.”
His eyes flashed, ominously dark. His face hardened. He had lifted his mask. He was letting everyone see the real him, and I cursed under my breath because I didn’t know what he was going to do. He switched direction, and his gun was placed next to Tristian West’s head. Right behind the ear. He said back, in a monotone, “Put your gun down, Walden.”
Ashton sucked in some air, fury raining from him. Wave after wave of it. He growled, a short savage sound, before he yanked me againsthis chest, and repositioned himself so he could comfortably hold the gun against me.
I closed my eyes, saying a prayer, because he messed up in doing that movement. Walden didn’t know it. West didn’t know it. I knew it. Levi knew it. Lassiter knew it. And Creighton knew it. Because I was trained to get out of holds like this. It was extremely easy to do.
It was all down to me.
I held still and opened my eyes, meeting Creighton’s. He was waiting, expecting me to slip out, and that’s when he would shoot Walden.
I stayed.
He raised an eyebrow. “Quokka.”
I shook my head. My voice came out soft. “No.”
“Blake.” His held a command.
“No.” My chin lifted. “We’re going to stand here, and we’re going to talk this out.”
“He has a gun to your head.”
“You have one to his friend.”
“Not the same.”
“How is it not?”
