Glass shattered again as the west-side team breached the old sun porch, feet clomping on the tile. I crouched, aimed low, and fired three quick rounds through the drywall. The first missed, the second hit flesh—a yelp, then a curse—and the third pinged off a support beam.
Someone returned fire, but the angle was wrong, and the bullet chewed up the linoleum instead.
“Movement, center hallway,” Macon called. “You got ’em, boss?”
“I got ’em.”
Jojo clung to my belt, refusing to let go even when I tried to edge him deeper into cover. “You promised you wouldn’t get hurt,” he whispered.
I grinned, couldn’t help it. “Not even scratched, baby. I got a bet to win.”
He ducked his head, but I saw the tiny, insane smile he hid in the crook of his elbow. He trusted me, with a faith that was either beautiful or totally fucking reckless.
Barrett’s voice rose from the living room, high and panicked. “They’re coming through the—shit, the front window—”
I pivoted, sighted down the hall. One of Hargrove’s men was already halfway through the window frame, trying to clear the jagged glass with the butt of his rifle.
I didn’t waste a round on his vest—went for the thigh instead. He dropped, screaming, legs kicking at the air, and the next guybehind him froze just long enough for Macon to take him out from the side.
Two bodies, one clean floor.
Harrison barked, “This is insane! There’s a law against this—there’s—” Then he caught my eye and shut up. He saw what I was, in that moment—a cold, calculating son of a bitch who didn’t care about laws when family was on the line.
But there was something else, too, flickering at the edge of his anger. Not respect, not yet. More like a dawning realization that all his years of discipline and ambition were a pale imitation of what it took to survive for real.
Burke’s voice again, clipped and sharp: “Eagle’s nest compromised. Got three shooters on the hill behind the barn. I’ll keep their heads down, but they’re not amateurs.”
“Light ’em up,” I said, then checked Jojo for the hundredth time. He hadn’t moved, just breathed in time with my heart.
I peeked out again, scanned for the next wave. Sure enough, two figures were running across open ground toward the chicken coop—trying to flank the house, maybe get a shot at the rear. I took a knee, lined up, and double-tapped the lead guy. The other dropped behind a rain barrel, probably shitting himself.
The AR’s recoil sent a shock up my bad leg, but I barely felt it. My body was all electricity and focus, the rest background noise.
“Burke, you got suppression?” I called.
“Working on it,” came the answer, and a split second later I heard the dull thump of a grenade launcher. Not real grenades—Burke wasn’t that nuts—but the smoke round he’d rigged up for crowd control. The back of the barn disappeared in a cloud of white. I heard panicked shouts, then the scattered thunder of retreat.
“Three down, four remaining,” Macon called from the mudroom. “But they’re digging in.”
“Hold position,” I said. “If they breach, we go close-quarters.”
Barrett peeked around the couch, wild-eyed. “Is this—are you—killing them?”
“Only if they make me,” I said. “Stay low. Help your father.”
He nodded, then dragged Harrison deeper into the living room, away from the broken glass and the bodies outside.
Jojo caught my arm, nails digging in. “Don’t go, Rawley. Don’t leave me here—”
“I’m not leaving,” I said. “Just defending.”
His lips trembled, but he nodded.
I knelt beside him, put my mouth to his ear. “You’re everything. You and the baby. I’m not going anywhere unless it’s through every man they send.”
He squeezed my wrist, hard. “Promise?”
“Swear to God.”
