Page 85 of Boneyard HEA

I can’t reach Zasha, but…I can get to Shawn. I shove myself off the floor and take two long strides, and…

Shawn fires off two shots before I snatch up my objective—the metal rod with the oh-so-sharp point. I jerk it from the stand they wedged it into, heft it high. I channel javelin practice from eight years ago at high school. His back is square on to me, and what a big goddamn beautiful target.

Drawing back, I summon all my muscle power, push off with the toes of my back foot, and twist and throw. The spear spins.

It flies, beelining for his back but dropping fast. Then it sinks into him above his belt. The thunk is audible as two feet of it disappear inside him, then his scream cuts in, and he drops, while trying to clutch his back and that massive rod with allll the spikes.

He twirls, the pistol clatters to the floor, and the point is visible, where it has popped out low down on his stomach. Blood spurts and colors the floor, then he collapses, groaning and whimpering.

Within seconds of my triumph, the second door bangs open behind me, the one opposite the main door. The one I’ve never seen open and that I thought was a closet. Panicking, I spin to find a near identical invader in dark tactical gear, with a big fucking gun.

“Juniper, drop to the floor!”

Tomás! Yesss!

I crouch low and he fires his rifle. Turning my head, I see a hole appear magically in the middle of Zasha’s forehead and a red spray blow out the back. The revolting man lifts his head, shakes twice, then topples, landing in a twitching heap, dead.

Relief floods me, overwhelms me, and now I’m shaking. Except I am alive.

I bow my head and breathe before I look up and make sure Aaron is okay. He’s lying on his back and looking over at me. Fear haunts his eyes until I nod and raise one hand, waving. He surveys the room and starts to crawl to the first man who threw that grenade. That man is sliding down the hallway wall. There’s a trail of blood on the wall he now sits against.

“Tomás?” Aaron asks him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that’s not Tomás.

Which is when Shawn reaches out, picks up his pistol and lifts it, his aim drifting my way.

From my left, a rattle of shots spits from Tomás’s gun, and the man crumples, flopping halfway onto his back, with his arms and legs spreadeagled. The back part of the spear is holding him off the floor and twisted sideways. The blood-coated pointy bit sticks up and toward me. I did that. He’s like a medieval warrior speared in battle. As if. I get up and totter to him, my strides strengthening as I advance. Georgia is okay and huddled in the far corner with Karsten cowering beside her. I don’t blame her. She’s still cuffed. Him? Fuck him.

“Juniper?” Tomás follows me, cautiously, probably not sure if there are others in the house.

“It’s done, Tomás. There is only Karsten.”

“I’ll take care of him,” he says, steel in his voice. “No one is going to hurt you here, ever again.” He collects Shawn’s gun before he moves on.

“Because they’re all fucking dead.” I kick Shawn’s corpse in the side, and what a satisfying kick that is.

Then I flip him onto his front, so the haft of the metal spear pokes upward at the ceiling. I twist the spear, and twist again and wrench, rotating it until I can yank it from his body. Strings of evil flesh and gristle cling to the spikes.

What do I do with this? Of course.

I plunge the sharp end back into him over and over, stamping it into him as if he’s a cockroach on the floor.

A small sound makes me look, and I find Georgia by my side. She’s trembling and still cuffed.

“Ohmigod. I’m such a douche.” I drop the spear with a clang and hug her. I can feel her shaking. “Wait here. You okay here? I’ll get the keys to those.” Meaning the cuffs.

She inhales, lets it out. “I’m okay, or I will be, or maybe I mean, I’m much better than I was five minutes ago. You know?”

We exchange weak smiles, and I hug her again. “Sorry. I’m so sorry you went through this.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.” She actually laughs. “The key is in his pocket.”

I crouch and search the bloody corpse, my hands going from wet pocket to wet pocket. Blood, who gives a shit when it’s his. I glance over at Tomás and Aaron, now and then, to be sure they’re doing okay as well. Karsten is wandering, watching them talk to the other man. He pulls off what must be his bulletproof vest and pokes his chest.

Aaron isn’t growling at Tomás. Phew.

Something hard bumps my fingers in a side pocket. I pull out a key chain. “Got them.”

She’s sitting next to me, watching, examining the body of our tormentor with vivid curiosity. I think…I think she’s going to be okay, and I find myself tearing up over that. I ignore the spill of tears, blink them away.