Page 111 of Breaking His Exile

Hobbs froze. Blood sheeted from his broken nose, staining his chin, dripping onto Rainey’s jacket. He looked up at Creed, incredulous.

“Creed.” Mal’s voice went tight. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Creed didn’t answer Mal. He stepped forward, the rifle leveled at Hobbs’s head, and reached down with his left hand. The folding knife. He pulled it from Hobbs’s loosened grip, flipped it open, and cut the zip tie around Rainey’s wrists in a single clean stroke.

Rainey’s hands came free. She gasped — a sharp, ragged sound — and rolled onto her knees, pressing her palms flat against the gravel as she dry heaved.

“Creed.” Mal shouted, his composure cracking. “You dead man. You’re a fucking dead man, you hear me⁠—”

“Shut up,” Creed said. He hadn’t looked at Mal. His eyes stayed on Hobbs, the rifle steady, his finger inside the trigger guard. “Back up. Now.”

Hobbs straightened. Blood ran down his face in twin streams. He looked from Creed to Mal, waiting for instruction.

Gemma came from the left, fast, closing the distance to Rainey in three strides. She grabbed Rainey by the hair and the arm and hauled her upright, the pistol in her other hand pressing hard under Rainey’s jaw.

“Enough,” Gemma said. Her voice was high, tight. “Nobody moves. Creed, put the fucking gun down. Mal, shut up. Nobody moves or I shoot her.”

Rainey’s feet scrambled against the gravel. She stood half-bent in Gemma’s grip, the pistol under her chin, her freed hands hanging at her sides. Blood ran from her lip down her neck. Her eyes were clear, and she drove her elbow into Gemma’s ribs.

Gemma doubled. The pistol jerked sideways. Rainey twisted free and threw herself backward, putting two feet of distance between them, and Gemma came up swinging.

Where the fuck was the cavalry? Shouldn’t they be here by now?

Evander searched the trees and saw nothing.

No, there was something dark, moving low.

Tilly exploded from the tree line with a deep-chested bark, raw and furious, and she hit Gemma at full stride.

The Cane Corso’s jaws closed on Gemma’s arm below the elbow, and the sound Gemma made was not a scream. It was something beyond screaming— a high, animal shriek that tore through the morning as Tilly’s weight carried Gemma sideways and down. They hit the gravel together. Gemma’s pistol skittered free. Tilly’s jaws tightened, and Gemma’s arm bent at an angle arms weren’t meant to bend.

Then Tilly released the arm and went for the face.

Gemma’s shriek became a gurgle. Tilly’s teeth found her cheek, her jaw, the soft tissue below her eye. Blood sheeted from the wounds, painting her throat, her jacket, the gravel beneath her. She screamed and flailed, but Tilly held on, shaking her head like she did when she played with her favorite rope toy.

“Tilly!” Rainey’s voice. Raw. Hoarse. “Tilly, off!”

The dog released. Stepped back. Stood over Gemma with her hackles raised and her teeth red, her dark eyes fixed on the woman on the ground. The growl that came from her chest was the deepest sound Evander had ever heard her make.

Gemma lay in the gravel with her face opened from cheek to jaw and her arm broken. She was still conscious. Her good hand pressed against her ruined cheek, as she sobbed.

Everyone in the turnout froze and stared at the carnage.

Then everything happened at once.

“Kill them!” Mal screamed. He was backing toward the SUV, pulling a pistol from his waistband, face contorted and too red. “Kill them all! Open fire!”

Hobbs moved toward Creed. Creed fired.

The round took Hobbs high in the chest, and the big man staggered but didn’t drop. He came on, and Creed worked the bolt and fired again, and this time Hobbs folded. His knees hit the gravel, and he went down face-first and didn’t move.

Gunfire erupted from the ridge.

Jax and Ghost.

Finally.

Mal dove behind the SUV’s engine block as rounds punched into the vehicle’s body.