Judge reaches between us to grab the warrant, standing between Knox and Saint. I read it over Judge’s shoulder, and that language isn’t right, rushed, vague.
But I can’t focus on it for long. Knox is pushing forward regardless, not looking at anyone else but Saint.
He’s fucking putting on a show again. He’ll never learn.
“You knowingly interfered with an active investigation and obstructed lawful process,” he continues.
Trumped up charges that hold no legal precedent, but that nervous one is twitching.
Sin clocks it beside me.
“You provided shelter, transportation, and protection to someone actively evading law enforcement.” The sheriff brandishes his cuffs, letting them dangle from a finger. Milkingthe theatrics. “You have a bad habit of stepping in front of men who pay a lot of money not to be crossed.”
Saint steps forward, ready to take the blow to protect his club. The threat is clear. If he doesn’t come, Knox and his boys are ready to burn us to the ground.
Knox’s voice lowers, the threat clear. Saint is standing in the way of that entitled piece of shit getting what he wants. “You’re coming with me, Saint. Mr. Dalton’s patience is gone.”
One of Knox’s merc deputies makes a move—too fast, too eager—drawing a gun to subdue Saint.
My heart stops.
Saint doesn’t flinch.
Pixie inhales sharply.
Sin shifts his weight.
“If we can’t get the body Grant asked for, we’ll take the one that keeps getting in the way.”
Wren pops up between Saint and the shooter, her hands up. “Stop!
Fuck. She’s supposed to be downstairs, safe. Not trying to protect us. These aren’t the kind of men who care that she’s a woman, that lets that fact sway them from doing their jobs.
Wren makes steady eye contact instead of looking at the gun. The smart move. Deliberate. How many times has she been held at gunpoint now? How many times has she talked her way out of a situation that could kill her?
My gun is in my hand. I’m not the first to draw, but I’m not usually.
“It’s me you want.”
I struggle to breathe at the pleading in her voice, she’s choosing Saint over herself. Too damn selfless. But she doesn’t understand how much danger she just put herself in.
The merc’s trigger finger tenses.
Wren’s hands shake. “Please.”
Saint shifts, ready to yank her behind him. He won’t be fast enough.
Bang.
Wren jerks, then she’s falling. Blood blooms across her chest. There’s so much of it already. I’m on my knees beside her as everything speeds up.
Sin becomes a monster, gun firing, knife twisting, a gurgled scream preceding the thud of a body behind me.
Pixie tests her lungs with Wren’s name.
Blood covers my hands as I press a clean hankie into her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. I press hard, and she cries out softly, breath coming hard and fast. It feels like an inhumane amount of pressure, I hate causing her pain, but it’s that or worse.
I’m frozen over her, stuck hurting her. Again.
