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I mean, technically, we’re in danger, but only really if they move closer or suddenly become expert shooters.
“They’re reloading,” the other patrolman says. “Gragg, what do we do?”
Gragg, still looking shaken to his core, looks at Kincaid. My rifle is up and pointing in that direction the second Gragg gives my boss the nod.
“Who first?”
“Jesper,” Gragg says. “He fired first.”
I squeeze the trigger, Jesper falling in one direction, his bike falling in the other.
“Motherfucker!” Adrian Larrick yells, his voice cracking. “Brant.”
“He’s still loading his gun, Kincaid,” I say, Adrian locked in the sight of my rifle. “Miles is lifting his weapon.”
“Do it,” Gragg says, and I pop off a second shot.
“They’re going to fucking kill us!” the younger Larrick growls.
The kid, who can’t be over twenty-one, doesn’t even have a weapon out.
His voice is full of fear, and I wouldn’t put it past Adrian to have forced the kid to tag along.
“Kincaid,” I snap.
I make the decision on my own, putting a bullet right between Adrian’s eyes. I watch through my scope as Adrian Larrick’s eyes go wide, his mouth hanging open as he crumples lifelessly to the asphalt.
The fourth Keres member is sobbing at this point, his hands held over his head in surrender.
“If you so much as twitch,” I yell at the kid. “You’ll end up the same way.”
“Swear to God, man. I won’t.”
The patrolman who was giving feedback is the one to stand, withdraw his sidearm, and walk around to handcuff the kid.
The cuffing is a little rougher than it probably should be, but that’s one of those things that’s hard to control when adrenaline is raging.
“You good?” Kincaid asks as I lower my rifle once the guy is in cuffs.
“I’m good,” I say, but honestly I’m not. “This won’t be the last time we hear from Keres. The president and VP gone? They’ll be out for blood. I doubt that kid will spend much time in jail. He doesn’t have a weapon and didn’t shoot at us.”
“We’ll cross those bridges when we get there,” Kincaid assures me. “You’ll need to debrief.”
Translation—I just killed three people, and he wants to make sure my head is a hundred percent online before I’ll be able to head out for work again.
“Yes, sir,” I tell him.
“Follow up with Hound,” he says before walking toward the other police officers.
Hound doesn’t say a word as he walks up and wraps his arms around me, his heavy hand slapping against my back.
“You’re good?”
“I’m good,” I tell him.
Taking a life is never easy, and it shouldn’t be. But today, knowing I was doing it to protect my family, made it three of the easiest kills I’ve ever been responsible for.
“Clear your weapon. We’ll be heading home soon,” he says as he takes a step back.
