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Oh, god. “Clint, he’s a terrible shot. Even if he hits Storm?—”
“Police are on their way,” Clint murmurs. “Take Storm and go.”
“No,” I whisper.
But he’s already sliding down the saddle.
I take the reins, desperately patting Storm’s neck as I try to calm him down. Amazingly, he settles under my hand, watching Clint with his ears pricked forward.
I have no doubt that, given the chance, Storm would wade in after Clint and stomp the shit out of Aaron. I’m half tempted to let him. If I didn’t worry that Aaron would shoot him, I would let Storm do whatever he wanted to that asshole.
Instead, we both watch Clint. He storms forward. Aaron points his pistol at Clint, and for a second, my heart is in my throat.
He’s going to shoot him.
“Clint!” I scream. I urge Storm forward, and he trots toward them…
But Clint’s faster. He ducks, head going down and under the range of the weapon. His hand, though, snaps up and knocks it out of Aaron’s hand.
They scuffle, and the sound of tires and sirens makes me look up. I see my trusty 4Runner, accompanied by more flashing lights than I’ve ever seen in my life, driving down the road to us.
My heart swells. I nudge Storm forward, and the window to the SUV rolls down.
Inside, Landon and Shane smile. “Hi, Hellcat.”
“What the hell are you doing driving my car?” I ask. Behind us, the cops are streaming out of their car and toward Clint and Aaron. My heart skips as they head straight for both of them. “Wait,” I murmur. “They’re not going to arrest him, are they?”
“No, Hellcat. We called the cops.”
“But how do they know?—”
“The surveillance footage,” Shane says. “We had Aaron walking into your house, then walking out with you unconscious.”
“My dad?—”
“Is fine. He’s waiting for us back at the ranch,” Landon says.
There’s yelling. I turn to look at the scene that’s unfolding in front of us. Clint’s beating the hell out of Aaron.
“Police!” the officers yell. “Hands up where we can see them!”
“Clint!” I call.
Clint glances up at us. He sees the car, the cops, and he looks to where he has Aaron held by the collar. He delivers one more solid, resounding punch, right to Aaron’s eye. I can hear the crunch of it from here, and I wince. Storm whickers, seemingly in approval.
“Fuck me,” Landon murmurs. “That had to hurt.”
“Going to jail with a shiner is going to be great for him,” Shane agrees.
I sigh, trying to calm Storm as he shifts underneath me.
Clint marches back to us as the cops take over. He brushes off one of the officers, making a beeline for us. Storm leans forward, nibbling at Clint’s shirt.
“Was that necessary?” I ask.
Clint shrugs. “Seemed necessary at the time.”
“Clint, you cleaned his clock!” Landon hoots from the SUV. “That last punch? Stone cold, man. Stone fucking cold.”
