The Irish must have a real hatred for my family to go to such extents to find me.
I got up on my knees to find a sharp knife, opening the cutlery drawer and rifling through until I found something that would work. The knife wouldn’t do much damage but could maim someone enough to give me a chance to get away. That was, of course, if they didn’t shoot me first.
I dropped down to my belly and crawled to the bathroom, pushing the cage in front of me, cursing my family with each painstaking movement. Couldn’t they have had normal jobs? Accountants made good money.
I was halfway to the bathroom when the windows shattered all around me and bullets sprayed inside the cabin. I covered my head with my hands, hoping they weren’t aiming at me but just wildly shooting at whatever they could.
Icy fear twisted around my heart at the thought of Gunner out there by himself. I wished I had my Smith & Wesson Bodyguard with me. The small gun fit into my handbag and was light enough for me to use without losing all feeling in my arm when shooting it.
But no, it was sitting nice and cozy in my bedside table in Ferguson, collecting dust.
Killer was madly jumping around in his cage, liking the bullets as much as I did. I shuffled us back to the end of the bed, deciding the path to the bathroom would leave me too exposed. I peered over the edge, able to see through the shattered window from my hiding spot.
Figures were moving around outside, and I counted at least five bodies. That was too many. Gunner was good, but he wasn’t invincible. And there was more movement in the woods, meaning there were more bad guys on the way.
The door opened with a creak, and I sat paralyzed for a moment. Then I lifted the shaky hand that was holding the knife and pushed myself against the bed, hoping I could surprise whoever made it inside.
I saw a booted foot first and felt as if my breath had been cut off. When a body followed, I lunged, hoping to hit a major artery.
“Fucking hell, what are you doing?” an enraged voice shouted before disarming me in one swift move.
I fell back on my butt and stared up at the person in front of me. “What—”
He held up his arm, and I saw the blood running down. “Are you really still mad at me? I told you I didn’t mean to burn your Barbie. It was an accident.”
I stared at him. “Gabriel?”
“Did you hit your head?” he asked, snapping his fingers in front of me, then holding out his pointer. “Follow my finger.”
He moved it back and forth in front of my face, and when I finally regained my senses, I batted it away. “Stop it. I’m fine.”
He ruffled my hair, making me growl in response. I always hated when he did that. Which was preciselywhyhe did it.
Gabriel turned back to the hallway and picked something up, lifting it onto his shoulder and turning to the window.
“Is that a bazooka?” I shrieked, eyes popping out of my head.
He grinned at me. “Glad you haven’t forgotten what a rocket launcher looks like while living in bumfuck nowhere.”
I regained my composure and stared as he lined up his shot. “What are you doing here?”
“Dad sent us. Said you were in trouble.”
I scoffed. Of course he did. I slumped back to the floor next to Killer, knowing it would be best to let my brother do his thing.
A body dropped down next to me, shaving a few years off my life.
“Hey, sis,” Jude greeted me. “Is that a bunny?”
If Jude was here, then Liam wouldn’t be far.
Great. I guess we're having a family reunion.
“This is entirely unnecessary,” I griped, pointing at all the guns and ammo strapped to my brother’s body.
“I beg to differ,” Gabriel said and then fired the bazooka.
I dove to the ground with a yelp. “A little warning would have been nice.”
