Slade snarled at Tiger. “Sit.” It was all the warning he gave before he twisted the wheel hard and the Jeep left the road. He had to violently spin the wheel again seconds later to avoid slamming into a tree.
Tiger cursed and grabbed hold of anything he could. Slade had left the pavement and drove at a dangerous speed through the woods. The Jeep bounced roughly, the ride nearly terrifying as they dodged obstacles and barely missed trees. Tiger held his breath a few times, thinking the Jeep wouldn’t clear between thick trunks a few times. One of the side mirrors didn’t make it when it slammed into a tree, exploded from the impact, and Tiger heard paint scraped off the side of the door.
“Don’t drive out into the open when we get there. We’ll sneak up behind them and take them out. They won’t hear us with all that racket.”
“Fuck that. I’m hoping to draw them away from her.” Slade snarled the words, too enraged to care what happened to them as long as they fired at him instead of at Trisha.
“I want them after me instead.”
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“They are humans,” Tiger growled. “They don’t fight that way. We won’t draw them off, at least not all of them. Listen to me. I know you are enraged but do what I say. You aren’t rational.”
Slade nodded, knew his friend spoke the truth, but he couldn’t seem to think past the fear of Trisha getting hurt or killed. He knew he’d left rational behind at the first sound of the gunfire when he’d driven off the road.
“Fine.”
* * * * *
Trisha watched Harley flinch, jerk back and grab his bloody arm when a bullet struck him. He didn’t stop firing his gun though. He just gripped his injury for a few seconds before he ignored it.
She wanted to help him but knew it would be suicide to try to reach him. Bullets struck the cabin repeatedly and holes opened up along the wall by the door in a sudden flurry but Harley threw himself down at the last second. He crawled, cursed, and moved to a new location. He stood and began firing again. More bullets tore through the cabin walls as the men outside returned fire. A framed picture hanging on the wall near where the couch had been shattered from a bullet, sending glass raining down.
Trisha turned her head to check on Brass, who leaned against a thick support beam while he fired outside. He’d obviously guessed accurately that some of the men would try to sneak up along the back. Trisha heard a noise and stared at the kitchen as the countertop Brass had wedged against the window came crashing down. It hit the sink and slid to the floor. Trisha saw movement as the long barrel of a gun entered from where someone had obviously gotten the window open.
“Kitchen window,” Trisha yelled.
Brass dived for the floor and slid across it a few feet on his belly until he could see the kitchen. He twisted onto his side, gun in hand, and aimed. Brass shot the intruder in the head when a man attached to the barrel of the gun climbed through the window.
The body jerked before he collapsed with half of his body slung over the sink. Brass turned and blinked at Trisha before he dumped an empty clip from the handgun and shoved in a new one. He lunged to his feet to reach his post by the support beam again.
His gaze peered out the window he guarded.
“Tell me if you see anyone else, Trisha,” Brass ordered. “Don’t look away. You’re our eyes.”
Trisha mutely nodded but remembered he wasn’t looking at her. “I’ve got your back.” Her voice came out shaky but she knew he heard her when he didn’t repeat the order.
She stared in horror at the body draped through the window. Blood ran down the cabinet under the sink and pooled on the floor. She forced her attention away from the red and the grotesque sight of what was left of his head where pieces were missing. She 174
focused on the window opening instead. If someone used it to enter the kitchen they would be able to shoot at Brass and Harley. Their sole focus needed to be on the outside.
The shooting stopped suddenly and Trisha held her breath. She was afraid to look away from the window and she didn’t. The lives of men she cared about depended on her keeping a steady visual.
“They are reorganizing,” Brass growled. “How you doing, Harley?”
“Two hits but just grazes on my arm and lower leg. I’m good to stand.”
“Moon?”
“Still here and fine. I’ve gotten six of them for keeps and winged two more. They are staying behind the trucks or sneaking through the woods to circle around. Right now they are huddled, probably trying to come with a plan to rush us. I don’t have a good shot from the back. The porch roof blocks my view.”
Brass lowered his voice to a whisper. “Ammo?”
“I’m good,” Moon called from above.
Harley hesitated. “Low.”
“Moon? Cover the front.” Brass kept his voice soft to prevent it from being heard by the men outside.
“Got it.”
“Harley, trade positions with me after you resupply. Hold the back while I fix the problem inside the kitchen.”
Trisha watched Harley limp to the bags on the floor. He shoved ammo clips into his pockets along the legs of
