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“Where the fuck is Bishop?” Shadow snaps.
An eerie feeling captures me. Bishop wouldn’t just sit around, peeking through a window while Dixon tied Lennox up. He’d take the same opportunity any of us would and put a bullet in his head while he was distracted with her.
“This is what I can recall from when I was in there earlier,” Colton says, slapping a piece of paper on the hood of the SUV and attempting to draw the floor plan.
“She’s in the bedroom, here,” Kid says, pointing to a door Colton draws close to the living room at the mouth of the hallway. “I could only see part of her, but her hands are tied with rope.”
Cold desperation washes over me, but Kincaid still has a grip on my vest, and a warning in his eyes every time I look from the crude drawing back to him.
“Don’t make shit worse,” my boss growls.
I look to Colton for help, having heard the story of nearly this exact situation that he went through with Sophia and a deranged man a couple of years back.
I know the man didn’t just sit around and wait for her to be hurt more.
Darkness spreads further around us, and I look over to see Shadow has unscrewed the porch light. He’s frozen in place, his eyes locked on the tiny gap that makes the line of sight visible from the porch. After a few seconds, he nods in our direction, telling us that Dixon didn’t notice the light being extinguished.
This is a good sign and will help us keep tabs on what’s going on inside. But every second that ticks by is a fucking waste.
Shadow is making his way across the yard, his rifle held to his chest when the first gunshot goes off. I don’t even have time to try and fucking figure out where it came from before it goes off again.
We all move, Shadow kicking in the front door before the rest of us can make it onto the porch.
I want to fall to my knees when Shadow breeches the bedroom she’s in only to turn back around.
The worst thoughts fill my head as I cross the small room, wondering just how fucking bad it is when my teammates don’t try to stop me. I don’t count the shots being fired, but they continue to echo, rattling around in my head long after I clear the threshold.
Blood blooms on his chest, a look of surprise widening his eyes, but Joey Dixon is dead before he crumbles to the ground.
“Lennox,” I scream as I cross the room, startling her.
She shifts, the gun swinging in my direction, and she looks confused when it doesn’t fire.
The only thing that keeps me from being shot is the fact that she emptied the weapon into the dead man at her feet.
“Fuck, baby,” I say, rushing to her and dropping down to her side.
She pulls the handgun back, hitting me with it. The lack of force she can manage while I know she feels like she’s fighting for her life is concerning.
“Get off me!” she screams, the gun falling to the carpet, her still tied hands attempting to strike out at me.
“It’s Sawyer,” I say. “He’s dead. He’s dead. I’m Sawyer.”
“Is she—”
“Get the fuck out,” I growl, reaching over her to rip the blanket from the bed.
Kincaid backs out of the room.
I notice the blood stains on the mattress, knowing she had a gun hidden there. I don’t know if she didn’t have the chance or if she’d initially forgotten she had it because her face and shoulders have been bruised by the number of times he struck her.
“Let me cover you up,” I beg, attempting to wrap the blanket around her naked body.
Fuck, I don’t know if he had time to only strip her naked or do worse.
“It’s Sawyer,” I repeat, pulling her to my chest even with her fighting against me.
Deep down, I know it may not be the best thing, going against her wishes, and if this were literally any other situation, I would take her request into consideration, but I can’t not touch her. I need to feel her breathing. I need to see the pulse in her throat.
“Sawyer,” she whispers, and I allow her to pull back a few inches so she can look up at me.
I try to wipe the blood from her left eye, but all it does is smear the red stain.
“He killed my sister,” she whispers, her chin trembling uncontrollably.
“I know, baby,” I say and pull her back against my chest.
She doesn’t fight me this time.
“The medics are here,” Kincaid says, his voice a little different.
“We’re going to get you checked out,” I tell her, still not making a move to pull her to standing.
“Get off me,” she whispers.
My heart breaks as I move away, my hands at my side to indicate I mean her no harm.
