Since both his hands were occupied, Lance couldn’t flip them off. So instead, he adjusted to aim at the asshole Lynn had had to mace. He noted the guys moving in his peripheral, taking aim. He felt Lynn curl her fingers into his shirt. And he squeezed the trigger.
She’d never been to war, never seen or felt it the way her father had before she was born. The way Lance had before they’d met. Still, Lynnette told herself that if she thought of the events unfolding in the forest that day as a war—however small-scale, however spontaneous—and not like an arguably illegal skirmish between armed criminals and highly trained, concerningly armed civilians, she could swallow it. Sort of. She damn well had to, regardless.
She meant what she’d said to Lance before he and his friends had executed her pursuers. Those men weren’t just cold-blooded murderers. They helped to abduct, terrorize, torture, and sell their fellow humans for profit. Women, specifically. Which meant not only were their victims subjected to unimaginable torture, assigned hideous tasks or broken for show and tossed aside, they were also sexually assaulted. Likely repeatedly.
When she thought about it that way, the men they’d left on the ground hadn’t deserved such swift deaths. They had deserved to hurt, to suffer, to know fear and the sour taste of desperation. But it was an unfair world, and so, they had to settle for the bad men being unable to do more harm.
Jon, Jenna, and Alex met them somewhere between where Lynnette had been rescued and where she’d left Jenna to hide. Jenna was clinging to Jon’s arm and limping again, but only a little, and that was going to have to be a positive. All things considered.
“Lynnette!” Concern filled Jenna’s voice, but she didn’t pull away from Jon.
Jon’s gaze flicked over the group. “Are you all good?”
Lance looped an arm around Lynnette’s shoulders, keeping her at his side. “Yeah. Four down.” He paused. “Well, three and one in the process.”
Alex arched a brow. “You left one alive?”
“Fucker should be drowning in his blood about now. Best I was willing to offer.”
Jenna’s gaze slid back to Lynnette, and in lieu of being able to shrug, Lynnette offered a smile. She didn’t want to think too hard about having walked away from a man with two holes in him, audibly gasping for breath and clearly in distress. It went against her nature. Though it helped to remember the gun he’d held in her face. And the vile threats he’d made.
Threats she had no doubt he’d made to others.
“Any sign of Pretty Bird?” Lance asked as the two groups merged into one and adjusted direction. As far as Lynnette could tell, it seemed like they were aiming to exit the forest.
Jon gave a singular shake of his head. “Not yet.”
Lance’s fingers pressed into Lynnette’s shoulder as if in a subconscious grip. “For what it’s worth, I think he was watchin’ us when I caught up to Lynn. Through a damn osprey.”
Alex muttered something Lynnette couldn’t catch.
Lynnette thought back to the bird Lance mentioned, only half-listening to Jon’s response. She was the one who’d pointed it out to him, though she suspected Lance had already been workingon a theory about their foe’s ability. Not that they yet knew what it was.
That reflection reminded her of another issue and she nearly wrenched herself from her boyfriend’s rather possessive grip in order to reach for Jenna. “Hey, Jen, as soon as we get the chance, you need to let me look at that wound on your shoulder.”
Jenna made a self-conscious sound and tipped closer to Jon. “It’s really not so bad.”
“We’d appreciate that, if you’re up for it,” Jon said almost before she finished. He turned his head partially over his shoulder in Lynnette’s direction. “I got the bleeding to stop, but there’s nothing I can do for the rest.”
Lynnette nodded reflexively, though Jon was already looking forward again. “No problem.”
It wasn’t until Jon came to a stop and raised his free arm, fist clenched, that Lynnette consciously realized they had fallen into a semblance of a formation. She and Lance were close behind him, with Lance on the outer edge—which she assumed was not coincidental—and her lack of knowledge on formal marching or general military formations made it impossible for her to picture their exact overall structure. But they were absolutely not walking in an unorganized cluster. As was evidenced by the synchronized way each man’s steps promptly halted.
Lynnette wasn’t entirely sure they even breathed as Jon’s fist held in view.
Jon’s head didn’t turn side-to-side like she might have expected. He didn’t start speaking to address someone up ahead. He merely held still, and silent.
The subtle sound of fabric rustling and bodies shifting was all she could hear as their friends, the men around them, adjusted their stances and their grips. Lynnette held perfectly still and focused on her breathing. She took strength from the continued weight and warmth of Lance’s arm across her shoulders, hishand holding her close. In her periphery, she noticed he’d also adjusted his stance a bit, so more of his back was exposed to the wilderness—between it and her.
His other hand was free, fingers loosely curled.
“Another half-dozen coming in on our left flank,” Jon said, speaking quietly. “One guy standing back, probably thinks he’s out of range. I’d bet my inheritance that’s our target.”
Lance chuckled.
“Cabrón,” Herb whispered. “You got an inheritance?”
Jon lifted his middle finger in response, then let his arm fall to his side. “Lance, I need you on offense, brother.”
