Harrison’s voice came out a bare whisper: “Jesus Christ. You have enemies?”
I almost laughed. “Not as many as I used to,” I said, then turned my attention to Jojo, who was pinned under my arm and trembling so hard his teeth chattered against my shoulder.
I cupped his jaw, forced his eyes up to mine. “You hurt?”
He shook his head, but his hands were clutching my shirt, knuckles gone bone white.
“My baby—” he said, the words slipping out raw, not even a question.
My hand slid down, palm over his stomach, feeling the heat of him even through the cotton. He looked at me with something close to terror, but it wasn’t for himself. He was scared for the speck of life he carried.
That’s when it happened.
The fear didn’t evaporate—it sharpened. The world narrowed to a single goal, every other variable discarded. I felt something snap, a leash coming off inside my chest. My voice, when I spoke, was barely human. “Nobody touches you. Or him.”
He nodded, eyes huge, and I let myself press my forehead to his, just for a second. A benediction, or maybe just a transfer of rage.
The next shot ripped into the kitchen, splintering the cupboard above us, raining flour and wood. I covered Jojo’s head with my arm, fingers digging into the base of his skull, and waited for the beat between shots.
Macon moved fast, crawling to the far window, then sighting along the barrel. “Wind’s picking up,” he muttered. “These guys are serious.”
Burke was already out of sight, moving along the upstairs hall, likely to the “eagle’s nest” window in the master bedroom. If there was a weakness in the house, he’d find it first.
I scanned the room for Harrison and Barrett. Both were crouched behind the couch, but now the old man’s bravado had cracked. His hands trembled, sweat plastering his hair to his temples.
“Stay down,” I said. “If you have a problem with that, you can go stand in the field and negotiate.”
He glared, but didn’t argue.
I risked another glance out the bay window. I could see movement—three men, at least, leapfrogging from the tractor to the cover of the woodpile. They were good. Not SEAL good, but ex-military for sure.
I tried to recognize the patterns, the spacing, the way they hugged cover. It didn’t scream Hargrove, but I knew his kind: money to hire pros, dumb enough to think force could solve everything.
Jojo tried to move. “I can help,” he said, voice shaky but determined. “I know the back entry—if they come around, I can warn—”
“No,” I said, harsher than I meant. “Your job is to live. Understood?”
He opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but I cut him off with a look. Something in my face must have gotten through, because he nodded, slow, then curled up tighter.
The next shot came through the side window, spraying the staircase with bits of plaster and something sharp that stung my forearm.
Macon muttered, “Motherfucker,” then returned two quick shots, left-handed. A grunt in the dark, and I knew at least one bullet had found a target.
Burke’s voice came down the stairs, low but excited. “We got a breach on the east side, ground level. Possible two more.”
My brain did the math. Three outside, maybe two at the back—classic pincer, try to force us to split attention.
I shifted position, pulling Jojo with me behind the bulk of the fridge, then drew the old Mossberg from under the pantry shelf. Not ideal for range, but perfect for the close-quarters siege they were about to bring.
“Lights stay off,” I said, “unless you want to get ventilated.”
Barrett whimpered. Harrison cursed. Macon laughed, the sound dry and sharp.
Through the dark, I heard footsteps on the porch—soft, deliberate. The glass in the front door shimmered, then a hard, flat object smashed through, clearing a hole at waist height. Someone shoved a canister through the opening, then yanked it back at the last second. A test, to see if we’d react.
Macon lobbed a flashbang from the coat closet—improvised, but still lethal if you don’t know what’s coming. The next second, the porch was a sheet of light, followed by the sound of someone vomiting.
I used the chaos to drag Jojo back toward the hallway, away from the main approach. I pressed him into the linen closet.
