But, unlike his younger brother, he looks altogether calm. Too collected. Too detached.
Victor Hale follows last. His broad shoulders, thick arms, and built frame fill the doorway. His movements are smooth and precise. There’s no nervous energy in him. Just a readiness that comes from years of experience.
Lawson slowly stands. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” he calls evenly.
I watch as Calebstartles first, hand diving for his waistband, as I move away from Abigail and emerge, gun already drawn, but Beau beats me to it.
“Don’t,” he warns, his gun pointed right at Caleb. I wasn’t watching, but somehow he made it closer to the cabin faster than any of us.
Caleb freezes.
Grayson doesn’t move.
And Victor’s gaze sweeps the tree line once—likely calculating and planning exit paths.
He moves fast.
Too fast.
He shoves Caleb sideways and draws all in the same motion.
The first shot cracks through the clearing. Metal screams as bullets punch into the truck door.
I move right as Lawson fires.
Beau and Jasper push forward from the left.
Victor uses the vehicle as a shield before climbing in and starting it. The movement is smooth and practiced like he’s done it a hundred times before. There’s not an ounce of panic in his eyes as he fires off more rounds through the cracked door in our direction.
Meanwhile, Caleb scrambles through the snow, slipping while trying to reach the Escalade.
Grayson ignores his struggling brother and backs toward the Escalade with his gun seemingly pointed at nothing as he waves it around like an idiot.
Caleb slips again in the snow, this time face-planting. “Grayson!” he shouts, but his brother ignores him as he opens the passenger side door of the Escalade.
As Grayson slams his door closed, Victor throws his open wider and plants his boots back on the ground, likely to grab a still struggling Caleb. Victor aims his gun in my direction,and Jasper takes that as his chance. He charges, not letting off, even when Victor hears him coming and spins. Jas slams into him like a freight train, and the gun flies from Victor’s hand, skidding across the ice.
The two of them crash against the side of the SUV so hard that I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter the window. Grayson moves to open the passenger door, but Beau is quick to fire off a round into the metal, preventing him from doing so.
Victor recovers first, and he drives a fist into Jasper’s ribs—a deep, brutal shot that forces the air from Jasper’s lungs.
Jas grits his teeth and swings back, connecting hard with Victor’s jaw, who barely stumbles.
He counters with a knee to Jasper’s thigh, then an elbow across his temple.
Jasper staggers but doesn’t fall.
He’s been beneath the heel of a bull. He can take worse.
Caleb manages to gather his bearings enough to sit back on his ass, grab his gun, and start firing off in all directions.
One of the shots cracks past my ear, and then bark explodes from a tree trunk just inches from where Abigail is hidden.
Wood splinters over her shoulder while snow drops from the branches above her in a white cascade.
She screams, and the sound cuts through the clearing sharper than any gunshot ever could.
A loud roar sounds from Jasper as he grabs Victor by the collar and slams him into the hood hard enough that the metal dents and snow shakes loose from the roof.
