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Where the hell was Damon?
Since he didn’t have a clue, Presley scrambled behind another tree, his gaze firing all around. Until he spotted someone.
But it sure as hell wasn’t the someone that he’d been expecting. Definitely not Damon.
Jesep.
The man was leaning out from a tree, and he had a gun. A gun he was in the process of aiming at Presley. So, he was the one behind this.
Presley felt the surge of hotter than hell anger along with a fresh hit of ice-cold adrenaline. He didn’t need either to put an end to this shit.
“You should be dead,” Jesep snarled. He fired, his shot slamming into the tree. He cursed and re-aimed. “And those losers I hired to do the job obviously failed.”
Presley didn’t respond. Not verbally, anyway. Using the sound of Jesep’s voice, he homed in on the man’s specific location. And once he had Jesep pinpointed, he adjusted his aim. He pulled the trigger.
And his shot sure as hell didn’t hit a tree.
It slammed into Jesep, blowing the gun out of the man’s hand and taking off a piece of his finger in the process. Oh, the irony of that. Sweet, sweet irony.
Jesep howled in pain. Music to Presley’s ears, and he hurried to snatch up Jesep’s gun so he couldn’t try to retrieve it. When Presley stooped down, he soon saw the small arsenal of weapons right behind the asshole.
“You should be dead,” Jesep spat out again.
“Yeah, yeah,” Presley responded, catching onto Jesep by the collar and dragging him away from the other weapons.
Once he had the bleeding, cursing man a safe distance from the guns, Presley reached in his pocket for the plastic zip ties he always carried. He’d barely gotten them on the man when he heard a new sound.
A bad one.
A scream.
And he thought that it’d come from Hattie.
Hell in a big assed handbasket.
Something was wrong, and he was betting thatsomethingwas Damon. Since Damon wasn’t here, that meant he could have gone after Billie and Hattie.
Presley didn’t commando crawl this time. He broke into a full-out sprint, tearing out the trees and racing to get to Billie. He didn’t see her, but he sure as heck spotted Damon.
And he had a gun.
Presley had no doubts that his gun was poised and ready to murder Billie and Hattie.
He pulled up, getting into a position to take Damon out, but there were more gunshots. His heart stopped. Just stopped.
“Billie,” he shouted.
He started running again. He had to get to her. He had to save her. But Presley soon saw that wasn’t necessary.
Billie had already done the saving.
She was on her knees, her gun aimed at Damon, and the man was now sporting some gunshot wounds to the chest.
Fatal ones.
Damon dropped like the dead weight that he was.
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