Page 57 of Fatal Fantasy

Just as she opens her mouth again, I see the flash of a muzzle from the side mirror, and like Carter suspected, it’s already too late.

“Get down!” I yell over the sound of the gunshot, a lone bullet hitting the rear bumper, but if they fight like I do, they’re aiming for the back tire.

“Jasper, do something! We’re fucking target practice!” Carter screams, and even with Tyson’s efforts to calm her down, she’s letting the anger take over, making it impossible to get through her stubborn, blood-thirsty head.

As they swap battle plans, a bright blue sign appears on the road, signaling a scenic pull-off in the distance, and an idea forms, but rather than bring my thoughts to the group, I act on instinct.

This is the kind of scenario I was bred to thrive in, the urge to kill those who want to harm us, combined with my elite survival skills, trump any plans of operating on a defensive scale.

In a split second I pull off the road, the only thing between us and tumbling down the mountain being a thin, wooden guard rail, but I stop inches from it, effectively using the car as a shield.

With no warning, the SUV breezes right by us, but my victory doesn’t last long, the brake lights immediately lighting up, signaling that they aren’t letting this rest.

“Everyone out!” I order, hushing the squabbling and reaching behind the seat for the only automatic weapon we possess.

Between the three of us, I’m the best shot, so I perch the weapon on the hood of the car, knowing we only have seconds before the SUV spins back around.

Tyson and Carter take their place on each side of me, Carter more protected by the car, while Tyson opts to take the position by the trunk.

Breathe. Squeeze. Kill.

In my head, I repeat the mantra ingrained in me since I could hold a gun, and within a few seconds, the headlights illuminate our stronghold, the firefight showing up right on cue.

With my brother beside me, I’m always confident in our ability to clear a battlefield, but that bravado only increases knowing that I have California's best sharpshooter to the left of me.

Carter is the missing piece to our duo, and even though the promises we made ring loudly in the back of my head, I’d bet on the three of us to win, every fucking time.

TWENTY-EIGHT

TYSON

One second, we’re cruising through the mountains, Carter taking the chance to feel the freedom on her skin, and the next, we’re staged on the side of the road, ready to let bullets fly in order to preserve her life.

In no world is this fucking normal, but I didn’t relearn how to walk, cross the country, and kidnap the girl of my dreams just to lose her when things get a little tough.

Preparing for this kind of thing came with the territory of rescue, and thankfully, we have enough firepower to down one car full of goons until we reach the next safe house I set up.

Her father was never letting his best asset go without a fight, and as the two best soldiers draw their weapons, I do the same, the three of us aiming for whoever dares to disrupt our chance at a new life.

“Two out,” Massi says, staring straight ahead until we see the faint glow of headlights, his counts always dead-on accurate.

Since we started running missions together, we came up with a system, a way to communicate how far away our enemies were, and to this day, it’s like muscle memory.

One measurement is one shot. Two means they are two shots away, our little language meant to determine how many bullets we’d need, or how close our targets are based on how many shots it’d take to immobilize them.

It’s our own form of clicks, like soldiers use in the services, but still just as effective if you understand it, and this code is what’s kept Massi and I alive through many, many battles.

“Carter, stay low,” I warn, not wanting her to be seen before we get off a few shots, and her eyes quickly meet mine, but instead of arguing, she takes my word, ducking to the ground in a crouching position.

“On my count. Carter, don’t move until I say three, understand?” Massi coldly commands, the blood-thirsty killer that lives inside of him being activated right before our eyes.

“Two hostiles,” I inform, seeing two shadows moving in the vehicle, but none coming from the backseat.

This is a scouting mission, meaning this won’t be our only fight, but the second those two car doors open, Massi begins the countdown, and I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m shooting to kill.

“One.”

There’s no torture room, or a place to drag their limp bodies in order to extract information, there’s only the battlefield, and either we kill these men, or they take our most precious asset – Carter.